Ballad of A Thin Man - Health Feature for Journalism Diploma

The ballad of a thin man

An Oxford professor has found that the BMI index means tall people think themselves fatter than they are. But what of the tall man who thinks he’s perfect?

Are you sure your ok? Have you been eating properly? You look a bit…erm, how to say, skinny. These are regular intrusions into my private life that I receive from concerned colleagues and friends.

The thing is, at almost two metres tall and approximately 80kg in weight, I am what I like to refer to as slim. Well, not only slim, but tall, slim and handsome. Other people like to call me a beanpole, lanky streak of piss or, particularly when I am abroad in a place where the English Premier League is broadcast, Crouchy.

After years of receiving these comments I still hadn’t developed a thick skin and had begun to get very prickly about the whole thing. This was until a routine medical assessment at one of my previous employers turned into a feet on the sofa, hands on temple, full-on confessional and blubbing session. I had to ask the nurse. Was I really too thin?

The reassuring lady held my hand and took me on a path of enlightenment, when she introduced three little letters into my life. B.M.I. These three little beauties stand for Body Mass Index, which is a way of measuring if your weight falls into the normal range for your height. How had I got to my early thirties and not heard of this? The nurse wasn’t able to answer that question, but she was able to take my measurement. I gasped as I saw her finger hover over the underweight section. Was all the criticism I received actually true? Before, thankfully, she landed her pinkie slap bang middle in the normal section. That is all I needed to see. I was ordinary. Hallelujah!

This is why a recent bit of research from an Oxford professor has knocked me sideways. BMI has always been calculated as weight divided by height squared. But Professor Nick Trefethen is not happy with this. In a letter to The Economist, published January 5, he writes: "It was invented in the 1840s, before calculators, when a formula had to be very simple to be usable. [This has meant] millions of short people think they are thinner than they are, and millions of tall people think they are fatter."

I certainly don’t need to be told that I think I am fatter than what I am. I was happy with the way things were. I wanted that sense of smugness when people questioned me. After receiving the good news from the nurse, for once in my life, I was happy with my appearance. It gave me a new found confidence to deal with the mockers.

When I was at my cricket team’s monthly curry night some players were discussing the athletic frames of our teammates. ‘Sturdy’, ‘rotund’, ‘big-boned’ and ‘amply proportioned’ were a few names used to describe some of the team. When I felt their gaze fall upon me, rather predictably someone piped up with, “Ere, you’re too thin to be with us, you need more meat on those bones.” I already had my reply prepared for this Dick Van Dyke wannabe, “Actually,” I said “I am neither too thin or, god forbid, too fat. I am in fact perfect.”

Loud guffaws greeted my claim, as the table resembled a bunch of swine being given their dinner. “Perfect? Who told you?” Now was my chance to hit them with science. Somehow I had embellished the nurse’s ‘normal’ and enhanced it to ‘perfect’ but that wasn’t going to stop me. “My BMI is perfect,” I replied. The pigs grunted in union and banged their elementary utensils on the table as I rammed home my point, elongating the word “Per-fect”. A victory for me, the table silenced, until they eyed up their next victim in the name of banter.

So I will ignore you Mr Oxford professor, if you don’t mind. I don’t need my self-esteem damaged. I eat my required amount of calories every day, enjoy plenty of beer and good living but never really put on any weight.  Anyway, even if you are right, I don’t even mind being defined as being underweight. It is those concerned people who try to transfer their own weight worries onto me that should be getting all the criticism.

Neville Southall - Book Review for Journalism Diploma

The Binman Chronicles

by Neville Southall


De Coubertin Books, £18.99


Reviewed by Robert Davies

This autobiography from the former Everton and Wales goalkeeper begins with a volley of swearwords that will make you feel like you are in the middle of a barrage from Fergie’s infamous hairdryer treatment. The F bombs are not coming from one of Neville’s many ex-managers though; they are coming from one of his pupils.

This is because Big Nev, as the tabloids christened him, is now a teacher, which is a role he has come to after a variety of others. From a brief stint as a binman, which explains the title of his autobiography, through reaching his peak as arguably the best goalkeeper in the world at Everton, followed by a nomadic ending to his footballing career playing for a variety of non-league clubs.

The Binman Chronicles details all of this and throws in plenty of old-fashioned footballing anecdotes along the way; from lining up apprentices in the goal for the senior Everton pros to kick footballs at them, to the Keystone Cops-like amateurism of the Welsh national team. The stories are all picked over and dissected for laughs in a you just couldn’t get away with it these days kind of way.

However, if you want to know more about the person then there are disappointments as there are huge gaps in his personal life and a glossing over of facts. The breakup of Neville’s marriage and the subsequent falling out with his daughter are barely given a mention. Instead, we are given superfluous information such as being told three times that the Manchester City goalkeeper, Joe Hart, is a good prospect for the future.

What we do learn about Neville is that he never really got the respect he deserved from Everton and certainly didn’t stay there so long for the money. He played a total of 751 games for the club and was an integral part of the glory years of the mid-eighties. Nevertheless, when Neville was at the end of his Everton career a bid from Chelsea which would have tripled his salary was turned down by Howard Kendall, despite Neville no longer being in his plans. When Neville did leave Everton he was on £6k a week and Claus Thompsen (Whose he? Exactly) was on £10k. For such a loyal servant it hardly seems fair.

Big Nev was once described by a teammate as “the classic eccentric with a complex character.” This biography proves the statement to be accurate but a better editor would have explored his character more.

END

Abeno Too - Restaurant Review for Journalism Diploma

Restaurant Review: Abeno Too, with sparking stereotypical Japanese efficiency, combines good food with a show, whilst also finding space to store your Christmas shopping. Just don’t expect to leave full.

It takes a lot to get me anywhere near central London during advent. I hate crowds, I despair at how it commercialises Christmas and I don’t function in the cold. I do love Japanese food though, and the prospect of okono-miyaki after a day of jostling with the crowds on Oxford Street was enough for me to join my girlfriend, hitting the shops.

Upon entering Abeno Too laden with our shopping the first thing I notice is that it’s not much bigger than a large living room with space for about 40 people. Where will we put our bags? Where are everyone else’s bags? After being guided to our bench we are let in on the secret. The seat lifts up, so we can toss our soon to be unwanted gifts underneath.

We are seated, like the majority of the clientele, around a U-shape desk. You are guaranteed a front row seat here, as the cooking takes place in front of you. But before the show begins, an explanation for the uninitiated: Okono-miyaki is a kind of Japanese savoury pancake, cooked with a variety of ingredients. Having warmed up and now feeling a lot happier about the place I call home, I choose the London mix, which is bacon, cheese, pork and salmon. My girlfriend goes for the Tokyo mix; pork, prawn and squid.

Now, on with the show. Daichi, our server, pours the okono-miyaki mixture on the hotplate, waits for it to sizzle, and then flips it over before slamming a lid down on it. When the fully cooked okono-miyaki is revealed, the lady next to us gasps.

Next comes the colour. The white Japanese mayo is squirted on in a swirly pattern, the brown sauce follows between the lines, then a sprinkling of green seaweed, followed by a smattering of pink squid flakes that flutter in the air. All of this earns a round of applause from the lady next to us, who then looks sadly at her noodles.

After all that theatre, there is a fear that the food would be underwhelming. One bite later, I could relax. The okono-miyaki was crispy and the many ingredients complemented each other well. Unfortunately, as the serving was so small, I couldn’t have many more bites. On the positive side though, that did give us an excuse for dessert.

We plump for green tea ice cream with a red bean accompaniment. We receive one scoop with a serving of red bean so small that it could pass as vapour. The quality of the ice cream couldn’t be faulted; the two spoonsful I had were very refreshing. We couldn’t be sure who ate the vapour.

We lifted up our seats, picked up our shopping and left for home. My stomach, just like my wallet, almost empty.

A meal for two with drinks and service costs about £35. 17-18 Great Newport Street, WC2H. www.abeno.co.uk

END

Red Card Roy - Football Feature for Journalism Diploma

Football Hard Man: Red Card Roy

“Football is not like it used to be,” so says the old man that props up every bar in every boozer in Britain. “There are no characters anymore, no hard men.”

The old man at the bar will then bore you with stories about footballers like Norman Hunter, Graeme Souness or Billy Bremner, but if you want to learn about a hard man with character, then you need to know about Roy McDonough. Officially England’s hardest ever footballer, with a record of 22 red cards.

A biography about Roy titled, Red Card Roy, subtitled ‘Sex, Booze and Early Baths – The Life of Britain’s Wildest-Ever Footballer’ has just been released.  As well as the red cards, Roy’s career saw him play more than 650 games for seven league clubs, score 150 goals, sink thousands of beers and sleep with 400 women. All while wearing a full-on growler of a moustache.

“There are no real hard men anymore,” says Roy, sounding like the old man at the bar, as he is being driven down the M25 on the way to another book signing. “Roy Keane was the last true hard man in the Premier League. There is no one like him anymore.”

When Roy McDonough talks about hard men then you should listen. This is a man who karate-kicked current Stoke City manager, Tony Pulis, to the floor in an FA Cup game, verbally sparred with his then teammate and now Everton manager, David Moyes, and had a continuing battle with current Sunderland manager, Martin O’Neill, when he was managing Wycombe.

He didn’t just fight against players either. “During one game for Colchester United against Walsall,” Roy shouts just before he disappears into the Dartford Tunnel. “I got arrested and put in the nick for swearing at a fan in the crowd who was giving me stick.”

Roy first got his marching orders when he tried to strangle the referee in a schools’ cup final at the age of 16. This didn’t stop him signing for his local team Birmingham City though, and moving onto Walsall and then Chelsea. “I’ll tell you something kid,” he says in his thick Brummie slur. “Walsall’s a better run club than Chelsea.”

Roy’s bitterness towards Chelsea is understandable as he never played a game for them, which meant that to fill the time when he should’ve been playing matches, Roy instead started to get more serious about drinking and womanising.

It was Roy’s move from Chelsea to Colchester that saw him settle into his true vocation as a footballer. He was now a hard-core drinker. Or, to put it into Royspeak: “It was lower division party time.” He introduced the ‘six by six’ rule, which meant that every player had to down six pints after the game before the coach left at 6pm. Some feat considering the game finished at 4.45pm. The drinking got that out of control that as part of a new fitness regime Roy promised the physio he would cut down to just 70 pints of beer a week.

There wasn’t just booze and early baths though, there were also lots of women. When Roy was playing for Exeter City he describes himself as becoming “The Third Division’s answer to Michael Douglas.” He was with a different girl every night of the week, not bothering to learn their names just knowing them by the days of the week they would meet. He even found time to run off with the groundsman’s wife when he went back to Colchester as player-manager.

Roy’s party piece was drinking a pint of lager whilst standing on his head. He would do this most nights of the week, as there were a lot of parties when Roy was around. Contrast this to Alan Shearer who celebrated his only Premier League title by going home and creosoting the fence.

Next time the old man at the bar wants to tell you a story, tell him the story about Roy McDonough instead, it should shut him up for a few minutes at least. And for that, Roy McDonough, lower league football legend, we salute you!

EN

Tim Burgess - Live Music Review for Journalism Diploma

Tim Burgess – review, Union Chapel, London

“It is good to be back in the chapel. We are all friends here, right?” Tim Burgess states and pleads at the same time. Of course, he doesn’t have to worry, Burgess has lots of friends here, he has brought them all with him.

Burgess’ backing band comprises of Mark Collins, the guitarist from his regular band the Charlatans, members of the night’s support band Hatcham Social and Duffy, the organist from Primal Scream and ex-member of the Charlatans.

Throughout the night Burgess acknowledges this support, and shows a little of his vulnerability, by regularly stepping aside so the audience can see the band in the spotlight.

It is the open spaces of Union Chapel that showcase Burgess’ new album, Oh No I Love You, almost ten years after the release of his first. Anybody expecting any material from the Charlatans back catalogue will leave disappointed but also, appropriately for a chapel, enlightened.

The slow building Tobacco Fields opens proceedings and immediately highlights the expediency of an organ in a chapel as Duffy fills the spaces with his swirly, textural patterns.

Burgess’ set begins to build and the inter-band love-in is heightened further when Sean O’Hagan of the High Llamas’ joins him on stage with a couple of violinists for a stirring rendition of Hours.

When the cover of the Beach Boys’ Don’t Talk (Put Your Head on my Shoulder) goes horribly awry, as Burgess not just misses the high notes but gets nowhere near them at all, then a sympathetic round of applause from the band and the audience shows that yes, we really are friends here. He is just coming back from a bout of concert cancelling laryngitis after all.

This puts a full stop on part one of the show and far from stumbling Burgess just gets better. Teach me How to Live emphasises the maturity of his new tracks and Thinking of You reveals the Nashville influences at work on the new album.

The set closer, the new single White has the loudest cheer of all as its indie pop groove, similar in sound to the Charlatans, sends his oldest and newest fans happily into the freezing night air of Islington.

Tonight Burgess has shown how making friends can influence people. But perhaps instead of a Beach Boys cover, a cover of the Beatles’ With a Little Help From My Friends would have been more appropriate.

END