MPs fail us on ticket touts

I SEE our highly-paid members of Parliament have managed to totally fudge an issue yet again - now there's a surprise.


This time they have rejected calls for a ban on Internet ticket touts, and recommended instead that artists and promoters should be given a share of their profits.


How in the creation of monkey nuts do they think that's going to work?


Some chancer gets £100 for his £20 ticket for an Arctic Monkeys gig which he's never had any intention of attending, and then sends Alex Turner a cheque for his cut? Come on, get real!


No, the Commons Culture, Media and Sport Committee has failed in its duty to everyone who has ever been forced to pay massively over the odds for a ticket for something they really want to see.


The committee has urged eBay and other websites to "clean up their act", especially over the "distasteful" sale of tickets for charity events such as Live8.


And it has called on promoters to provide refund systems so fans who genuinely cannot attend events they've bought tickets for are not forced to recoup their money through other channels.


The last part makes sense at least, but not tackling the rip-off culture which is prevalent in this country is a disgrace.


Demand is always going to outstrip supply for big events such as the FA Cup Final and gigs by such popstars as Kylie Minogue and Robbie Williams.


But allowing the re-sale of tickets by those lucky enough to have got their hands on them is just fuelling this black economy.


It was simpler in the old days: if you wanted a ticket to see your favourite band you queued outside the venue and waited for them to come on sale.


If you were near the back you might be unlucky, but at least it was your own fault for not getting there earlier.


The Internet has changed all that of course. The whole sordid transaction can be done electronically at the click of a mouse, as long as you've got plenty of money in your Paypal account once you've outbid all the other poor saps who missed out on a face value ticket.


Anyone who sells tickets on the 'net for bumped up prices is no better than the vermin who skulk outside sold-out venues offering to "buy and sell tickets".


How they don't get arrested or at least moved on for causing a nuisance in the street is beyond me. I thought such blatant touting was illegal, but most venues seem prepared to tolerate it.


I know people who are quite prepared to pay over the odds for something they really want to see, but not me. I'd rather just wait for the DVD to come out.


And if I couldn't shift a spare ticket for face value (or less), I'd rather tear it up than sell it to a tout so he could rip off some poor mug.

Are Newcastle fans racists?

SO Newcastle United fans are all racists now because of a few ill-chosen chants aimed at Middlesbrough's Egyptian striker Mido? I don't think so.

Yes, singing "He's got a bomb" and "He's going to blow" because he's a Muslim isn't big or clever in the current climate of terrorist alerts.

And labelling the £6m signing a "paedo" because it rhymes with his name and fits a 20-year-old stigma attached to the Teesside town isn't funny either.

But in many years of watching football at grounds all over the country, I've heard far, far worse abuse directed at players, without a word of criticism afterwards.

Now I'm not in any way condoning such abuse, I'm just saying it's been part of the game for years, and probably always will be, even in these Sky-sanitised days of the Premiership.

Anyway, isn't it part of a football supporter's brief to do (within the limits of the law and ground regulations obviously) whatever they can to inspire their own team and put off the opposition?

It certainly has been as long as I've been attending matches, from Sunday league level to internationals and cup finals.

I remember seeing Blackburn's David Speedie - a footballer everyone loved to hate, unless he was playing for their team - take fearful abuse, much of it of an extremely personal nature, from 5,000 or so Newcastle fans at Ewood Park a few years ago.

He answered them in the best possible way, by sticking the ball in their team's net three times (though his celebratory leap onto the perimeter fence after completing his hat-trick didn't exactly calm the situation).

And he's by no means alone: ask Dennis Wise, Roy Keane, David Beckham, Alan Shearer and many other players about the stick they've had from opposing fans over the years, and they'll all tell you it's part and parcel of the game.

Remember, too, that there's nothing so fickle as football fans. For years Newcastle supporters chanted abuse at striker Mark Viduka, based on his weight and nationality, and questioning his parentage.

But now he's one of theirs they celebrated his goal at the Riverside on Sunday like the Second Coming, while it was the Boro fans who were dishing out abuse to their former hero.

Have you noticed, also, that it's only good players who are singled out for such treatment? The reason being that the journeymen and downright rubbish players are scarcely worth wasting your breath on if you're an opposition supporter.

Whatever your opinions on the list of much-maligned players mentioned above, you can't deny they've all done the biz where it matters.

And the targets of terrace abuse will continue to do so, however politically correct the rest of society might become.

Shepherd out - and about time too!

APOLOGIES for not updating this blog for a while, but yesterday events at St James's Park have driven me to my keyboard again.

As a long-suffering Newcastle United supporter, I was delighted to hear yesterday that Freddy Shepherd has been replaced as chairman.

Not before time too, if you ask me. Let's hope his departure signals the start of a new broom sweeping through the corridors of SJP.

I've never forgiven Mr Shepherd for the infamous 'fake sheikh' incident, where he and co-director Douglas Hall were set up by a News of the World reporter.

They called Geordie women "dogs", dubbed Alan Shearer the Premiership's "Mary Poppins" and boasted about how little the replica black and white shirts they flogged to fans for £40 a throw cost to make.

The pair rightly went off with their tails between their legs, but quietly scuttled back, and before you knew it they were back in power again.

But football fans have long memories, and the pair were never forgiven those indiscretions.

Over the years, Mr Shepherd has made me cringe with embarrassment just about every time he made one of his 'Fred the Fan' statements.

He slagged off Man United, said he didn't care about lower league clubs, and sacked Sir Bobby Robson shortly after saying he didn't want to be known as the man who shot Bambi.

Well, Mr Shepherd, a lot of fans will be joining me in saying 'good riddance', and hoping that the new hierarchy at the club don't manage to put their foot in the brown sticky stuff quite so often.

Howay, or I'll kick your head in

I was in a shop the other day when I heard a young mum, 20 or so, threaten her young son, in a bid to get him to leave.

Now we've all done it, but I thought "Howay, or I'll kick your head in" a little over the top.

The bairn, who must have been all of two, wisely grabbed his mam's hand and left as fast as his little legs could carry him.

As my mouth fell open and I tried hard not to stare, I wondered if it dawned on this lass for even a moment exactly what she had just said.

Now the bairn was well dressed and looked in rude health, but when his mam is threatening to "kick his head in", what hope does he have of growing up with proper morals and values?

I'm not suggesting for a moment that she would have harmed a hair on his head, but I was appalled at her casual use of such violent language.

Did she stop for a moment to think that if he is brought up being used to grown-ups talking like that, he'll think nothing of uttering similar threats when he starts school in a couple of years' time?

How will she feel then, when she is summoned to see the head about her offspring's aggressive behaviour, or when social services come knocking on her door?

It's all too easy to forget just how big an influence we adults can have on children - they copy the things we say and do, often without knowing what they mean.

My son, who's 13, has picked up lots of my mannerisms (not too many of the bad ones thankfully), and it's only when I hear him say them that I realise where he's got them from.

Every parent owes it to their child to bring them up right, teaching them the basics of decency and respect, and there's time yet for that young mum to do just that.

I just hope she reads this and thinks twice before she issues such a throwaway threat again.

What's the point of Paris?

Can someone tell me what exactly is the point of Paris Hilton?

The heiress to the hotel-owning family's riches really has showed her true colours recently as she tried to wriggle out of a jail sentence.

You may recall that the 26-year-old was given a 45-day sentence after breaching the conditions of a probation order she was given for drink-driving.

Clearly thinking that she's so rich that society's normal laws don't apply to her, she basically went and did it again.

After trying for weeks to wriggle out of a spell behind bars she finally tasted some porridge this week.

It didn't last long though: within three days she was freed, released after claiming she was ill with an unspecfied medical condition. I think it was called something like spoiltbrateritis.

Instead of sharing a cell with some other lawbreaker - 'cos that's what she is, let's not forget - she was sent home, and told she could serve the remainder of her sentence under house arrest, with an electronic tag on her ankle.

Well at least that's one sort of bracelet she hasn't worn before!

Superior Court Judge Michael Sauer had other ideas, however, and ordered she be brought back before the court, refusing to accede to requests for her to take part in the hearing via telephone.

"Who does she think she is, the Queen of bloody Sheba?" as TV's Jim Royle might say.

A justice official described her release as "outrageous," and revealed he received more than 400 angry emails and hundreds more phone calls from around the US protesting at her treatment.

Never mind locking her up: I know how to make her really suffer - cut off her inheritance and make her get a job like ordinary people.

Life begins at 40

A MAJOR milestone was passed in our house recently: my other half and I both turned 40 within a few weeks of each other.

I don't know why, but I've always thought there's something monumental about approaching the big 4-0.

I suppose you realise that however long you try to hang on to the notion that you are, you're simply not young any more.

But, having safely passed through the other side, I can honestly say there's nothing to it. I feel no different at 40 than I did at 39.

Life Begins At 40, so they say - and that's what gave me the idea for the name of this blog.

I think I've enough life experience to offer some food for thought on most subjects you'd care to name.

So I'll be regularly filing my thoughts on whatever tickles my fancy or - more likely - arouses my ire, from the topical news and sport of the day.

I've spent my working life in newspapers, but I won't be writing this as a journalist, just as a member of Joe Public who has a view on what's going on in the world.

Hopefully my observations will draw a wry smile from like-minded people of a certain age - or any age, for that matter.

But even if my ramblings make steam blow from your ears, please give me some feedback - at least you'll have bothered to read them and I'll have provoked a reaction.

Now then, what's made my blood boil lately....?

I must be getting old

I REALISED at the weekend that I really must be getting old.

I chose to spend parts of my bank holiday weekend in Newcastle, and what struck me was the growing daytime drink culture which is enveloping the north east.

On Saturday I spent a perfectly pleasant afternoon dipping in and out of record shops and bookshops.

That was when I wasn't trying to steer clear of marauding groups of lads on stag weekends, half a dozen to 30 or 40 at a time in their souvenir T-shirts or, more entertainingly, in fancy dress.

I saw half a dozen Batmen, almost as many Robins, Superman, Spiderman, several of the Fantastic Four, Captain Jack Sparrow, and, most amusingly, Darth Vader.

There were almost as many gaggles of young (and not so young) women in cowboy hats and frankly not much else going from bar to bar, with the cackle level rising after each one.

I'm glad these revellers crossed my path, and that of my fellow shoppers, early in the day however, as I'm not sure their antics would have been so harmless once they'd had a few bevvies.

On Bank Holiday Monday I dropped down to the Quayside at Ouseburn, where Evolution, the annual free open air music festival, was taking place.

Again, it was good-natured enough, but a couple of sights I came across mid-afternoon made my mind up not to hang around until closing time.

There were lots of people having a drink, either at the handful of excellent pubs within a stone's throw of the site, or within the 'venue' itself.

Nothing wrong with that: I have been known to neck a few pints myself on occasion, and there seemed no sign of trouble, with plenty of police and stewards about to handle any that did occur.

What did irk me was the teenage lad I saw lying comatose on the ground beside the portable toilets, ignored by the 'friends' sitting just yards away.

He only moved to occasionally add to the steadily-growing pool of vomit beside his head. What a great way to spend a bank holiday.

Moments later I saw a young girl, scarcely old enough to be out by herself, let alone drink, zigzag her way through a non-existent crowd, looking like she would need medical attention very shortly.

A few minutes later, an emergency ambulance entered the site and began picking its way through the crowds.

I didn't stay long enough to find out if it was heading to the aid of one of these two young people, or some other kid who couldn't hold their drink.

But the events did raise the question of why some people use the excuse of a bank holiday to get absolutely trolleyed.

I can't remember it happening when I was young, yet you can hardly go to any town or city centre on a public holiday these days without noticing an increased police presence.

I reckon I'll stay at home next bank holiday weekend, and if the weather's fine I might even enjoy a couple of chilled bottles of beer in the garden.

You certainly won't find me lying face down in a regurgitated pile of what I had for breakfast. As I said, I think I must be getting old.