The Hurricane

I'm sure at some point there will be a TV film called 'Hurricane' staring that guy who played Charles Bronson. I'll probably watch it, just to relive the 1982 World Snooker Championships, witness this twitching figure, creeping around the table, ready to sink another ball, before the ref has had a chance to place a colour on the spot, his concentrated facial expression barely  concealing theinner rage. Even watching Higgins relax, if relax is the right word was just as entertaining. There at the small table, he'd be sucking cigs, surrounded as he often was with good luck cards, birthday cards or get well soon cards. I remember one championshp one when he had a cold he took a little pot of honey, spooning it into his concoction. 

I admired Higgins. He was my first hero, before Zico. My nan disliked him. He wasn't a nice boy like Steve Davis, he also wasn't as boring. Over the past thirty odd years you'll have comne across many terms to describe him; words Hellraiser, Pisshead, Irish, Wildman, Genius, Hurricance. But I don't think such terms suitably descibe his complexity or indeed his talent. Like George Best at the top of of his game he  was the greatest in his field. Any clearence or a visit to the table by Higgins was far more entertaining, shambolic and inspirational than that any of other snooker player before or since. And at the boorish who want to question his talent or dedication, as far as I'm aware,  he was forever working on his game and putting in the hours. I doubt you could fluke TWO world snooker championships, and in such style. That he didn't capitalise on this, wasted it, pissed hs life away, however you wish, and Im sure the tabliods will, wish to term it, was obviously the tragic. part. Although his reputation off the ball preceeded him, as a child I identified with the spirit of the kind of underdog (which he was far from), the gentle voice and in some cases his non compliance to the establishment were, I felt admirable, when placed alongside swotty Steve Davis and all that lot. 

I'm against shambolic rebels when they have no talent or skill, when they are overated, overhyped. Alex Higgins wasn't overated. And certainly never hyped. He was creative, imaginative, talented and his 1982 campaign, encapsulated all that was characteristically Higgins, how his style and inventiveness outshone his contempories and brought a new lease of loife to the sport. He's a kind of fairytale anti-hero who you'd tell your grand kids about. I'd even say that although snooker was generally popular in the 80s, it was the likes of Higgins contributed enormously to its widespread popularity. The 1982 semi-final between with Jimmy White needs to come out on the cinema. For non snooker fans like myself, it is the best game you may ever see in your life. 'Hurricane VS Whirlwind 1982'. 

Perfection. 1991.

There's not many albums I know of where from start to finish, every track, every sound, every riff, every chord progression, every lyric, every song title are suitably  written, produced, arranged, mixed and sequenced to form something that not only works as a piece of art but as a perfect pop album.

Electronic's debut album is that album.

This original edition doesn't even have 'Getting Away With It...' on. I would even risk upsetting fans of The Smiths, New Order and even Pet Shop Boys to say that this album actually sits above the likes of Please and Technique (and most other classic albums by other artists as well).  It carries similar lyrical sentiments about relationship breakdowns, communication breakdowns, solitude, alienation and existence and still remains life affirming. But the chill of the icy synths are warmed by the soul of the beats, bass, strings and guitars as well as Bernard's fragile and heartfelt vocals. Beautiful.

Milk

Milk is good. Drink milk. If there isn't any milk, find a cow and milk it. I've been a milk drinker for pretty much all my life. The best milk I ever tasted was probably whole milk from the Unigate milkman, which came in those sexy, curvy bottles like this:

As far as I'm aware I only occasionally see pure orange juice in these bottles. But this isn't a blog entry about bottles. Maybe it's my memory but I swear that milk tastes better from the bottle. Anyway it became cheaper, cooler or better for the earth's crust or something to sell milk in plastic bottles and bags, in supermarkets. Milkmen became rare, supermarkets became bigger and farmers and independent diaries found it difficult to compete. Thus the milk, I think went downhill. It became homogenised, so in whole milk you didn't get that creamy texture among other properties. All of a sudden things went through some kind of filter process that I don't understand which was used as some kind of selling point. Take Cravendale for instance.  I try and only buy the organic, Jersey milk now if I can help it. I saw a programme about the history of milk production on BBC 4 featuring the Gosling's. It impressd me to such a degree that I will pledge to buy their products from the Able and Cole online shop when I have more money. What impressed me about it wasn't just their enthusiasm and passion for good milk quality but how much love and respect they gave to their cows.

So there you have it. Milk.