Fry's delight...

Well, well; the saint in human form otherwise known as Stephen Fry has put his foot right in it by suggesting that women do not enjoy sex.

I think most people - of both genders - would have nodded vigorously had he simply added two more words: "with me."

St George he was for England...

This photograph depicts part of King Street in Whalley, which, as you can see, has been liberally decked out with the Cross of St George in anticipation of their celebration of our patron saint's day next Friday.

In point of fact, every business premises on the road was sporting our national flag, creating a parade of red and white about a quarter of a mile long.

Looks like the people of Whalley intend to take their St George's Day celebrations seriously this year; not too strenuous a proposition even for the most athletically challenged, given that there are four pubs within a fifty-yard radius of the spot from which I took this shot, alarming the two men in it in the process, I suspect...

Why Bolton, Owen?

I have to say, both as a football fan generally and a Lancastrian one in particular, that if it actually comes to pass, this story surprises me greatly.

Why on earth would Owen Coyle - an unqualified success as manager of Burnley, a club he steered into the Premier League last May - want to swap the hot seat at Turf Moor for the one at the Reebok Stadium as manager of Bolton Wanderers?

Whilst Bolton is a far bigger town than Burnley, the Trotters' (Bolton, to the uninititated) fan base is not much bigger than the Clarets', given the proximity to Bolton of the two giant Manchester clubs.

Furthermore, the Trotters are also in a worse league position than Burnley right now and therefore, theoretically at least, at greater risk of relegation to the Chumpionship.

More unusually still, it is widely known that following his success in returning Burnley to the top division of English football for the first time for more than thirty years, Coyle, a Glaswegian, was offered the manager's job at Celtic, an opportunity he turned down to guide the Clarets into the Premier League.

Let's just pause there for a minute.

Owen Coyle, a sensible, well-spoken, intelligent, tee-total Glaswegian Celtic fan turned down the chance to manage the club he supported as a boy, to remain loyal to Burnley. He chose to stay in Lancashire, battling against what were then (and still are) steep odds to keep a mill-town club with average home gates around the 20,000 mark, in the English Premier League, rather than assume command of one of the biggest clubs in these islands, with a virtual guarantee of Champions League football every year, to say nothing of Scottish League and cup titles and the unswerving loyalty of 55,000 fans every week.

Curious.

The only explanation I can come up with are that Burnley matched the salary on offer in Scotland, plus Coyle's commendable loyalty and his desire to compete week in and week out against the best teams in the country - not something on offer in Scotland, it has to be said. It might also be the case that as a relatively young man, he has a young family who are settled in their schools and together with his wife, he chose (sensibly) not to uproot them unnecessarily.

But why consider a move to Bolton, and why now?

Bolton, Burnley, Wigan and Blackburn Rovers, the four 'small' Lancashire Premier League clubs are all much of a muchness, it seems to me, in terms of their potential, although I did tip the Clarets for relegation at the start of the season.

Unless I'm missing something here, such as Burnley's chairman refusing to back him in the transfer market, or worse, planning for relegation, I can't see what a shrewd and excellent young manager like Owen Coyle has to gain by moving the twenty miles or so from Burnley to Bolton.

I suppose we may find out, if and when he holds his first press conference as manager of the Trotters, but until then, I'm scratching my head, frankly...

Strictly compulsive viewing...

Well done to Tom Chambers who, together with his professional partner, Camilla Dallerup, has just been crowned Strictly Come Dancing champion for 2008.

It might be as camp as a row of pink tents, but I don't care; I thoroughly enjoy it and I have watched every single show avidly.

My personal favourite for the title (after Austin Healey was knocked out) was Rachel Stevens, who, over the course of the series developed into a quite superb dancer under the expert tutelage of her professional partner, Vincent Simone. But credit where credit is due; Tom and Camilla won the competition on the strength of a quite brilliantly choreographed and executed final 'show dance' which even blew the judges away.

Saturday evenings won't be quite the same now that the series has finished.

Reasons to be cheerful, part two...

Following up very briefly from my last post, last Friday's 'Christmas' drink with my pals went off without a hitch and much fun (and beer) was had by all.

And by way of a very welcome bonus, whilst wending our alcohol assisted way around Clitheroe town centre, I was delighted to see the Cross of St George flying from the castle flagpole, fully illuminated for all to see.

What's more, the flag of the English Nation (for such is what the CoSG is and what we English are) was still flying there at full mast on Sunday afternoon.

Proper order.

Jingle bells, jingle bells...

Well, it's coming up to that time of year again and I'm off out tonight (or should that be this afternoon, as we're meeting in the pub at 5.30!) with my pals for our (first) Christmas drink.

As you may have gathered, it promises to be a lengthy affair, with banter and mickey-taking aplenty.

As a result, postings may be a little thin on the ground for the rest of the weekend, as I work my way out of the doghouse with Mrs RToK...