What a wag

WHO are these wags? When I started in journalism I knew sports reporting would never be my forte. As a trainee I was forced to write a story about a hockey match - which was cancelled - and just about managed to do what was required.

WHO are these wags?

When I started in journalism I knew sports reporting would never be my forte.

As a trainee I was forced to write a story about a hockey match - which was cancelled - and just about managed to do what was required.

In my interview to work at The Evening Star I made it clear I was built for comfort not speed and knew little about the world of sport, football or any form of exercise beyond a gentle game of croquet and the occasional flat race meeting.

Sport has never really blotted my copy book.

But today I feel compelled to try to make the effort and discuss with you some thoughts on the world of football.

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I learn with interest that it has emerged football players could be shunning Sunderland because their other halves don't fancy shopping there much.

Apparently someone called Roy Keane believes that some stars have to talk transfers through with their wives and girlfriends for non-footballing reasons, and shopping is on the list.

This is all rather amusing - from what I can gather none of these girls have much grace, style or panache - let alone modesty - and I find it difficult to believe Sunderland cannot supply what they want.

Also, as we all know but probably shouldn't say anymore, it is grim up north and no one wants to live there whether there's shops or not.

Of course, at a different level this wag phenomenon is little more than another unfortunate example of our growing obsession with materialism, consumerism and stuff.

Once upon a time in this country we used to worship in church - now on a Sunday we worship money and shops and aren't we devout?

I don't know who it was that said “all you need in life is a small suitcase” but I often wonder if they didn't have a point.

Shopping and buying things has become an accepted form of passing the time - its even called leisure shopping - with the result of putting people into debt, paying a huge environmental cost and fuelling our greed.

These young wags seem to have little else to worry about other then what to wear and where to be seen. It must be a terribly vacuous existence and in many ways these wags deserve our sympathy.

To be defined by someone else's talent and someone else's money must be a truly awful position to be in. To have to shop all day long, not just on a Sunday must be soul destroying.

To send them north would be cruel indeed.

DO you play the air guitar?

I play the piano but the air guitar is not an instrument I have ever mastered.

Evening Star colleague Colin, who is very important and carries a briefcase, is known to play the air piano - he'll often tap out his fingers to the tune of songs such as Puff the Magic Dragon or Jolene, and expect us to guess what he's playing.

It's a game few win.

AS elusive as ever, my wide fan base is only ever revealed to me in the most dribbest of drabs.

But today I have heard of 80-year-old Ipswich man Jock Hunter, who is a regular reader.

My appeal clearly stretches right across the generation gap so hello Jock, how are you? Well I hope.

Have you ever been in Coe's newsagent in Thoroughfare? It is the domain of another fan, Mrs Patel.

I have yet to venture in for ten Silk Cut and a Vimto and three Mars bars without some form of entertaining verbal banter.

Last week Mrs P announced she would like me to write about the truth about me.

She said: “No one is perfect and you can't just make yourself look good.”

Well dear readers and Mrs P, I have a confession. I drank far too much white wine on Friday night in an Ipswich hostelry. I was ill and I was almost unable to stand, let alone talk.

I am not drinking white wine again - it sends me mental.

Do you have a drink that disagrees with you?

GOD don't people go on about their holidays? It's all they ever talk about.

I think Felixstowe is just lovely, but people don't care too hoots about their carbon footprint and think nothing of jetting off somewhere at this time of year.

Hazel from the Evening Star, is going on holiday - indeed she has talked about nothing else for weeks - to Canada I think, to stay with someone who has a pool in their back garden.

She can't wait and it sounds a lovely trip but I do hope when she returns she won't keep going on about what a wonderful time she had - I couldn't stand it.

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