As fever gripped the nation, Liverpool's very own caped crusader posed for pictures on the steps of the city's John Moores University after being made an honorary fellow.
, wore the thin, uncomfortable smile of a man who'd much rather have been sat at home in front of the PlayStation with a chip butty and a can of Foster's - particularly when his fellow-indoctrinee was the perma-grinned
Sorry, but I've never seen the point of bestowing these meaningless titles on our sporting folk, although Dip. Ed does have a certain ring to it.
Read the rest of this entry
It's all very well going on the planet, but you haven't really made it in life until you've had a horse race named after you.
So no prizes for guessing who had the biggest smile at Haydock on Sunday as he judged the best turned-out nag for the .
At one stage the Hitman looked so happy he appeared to be crying tears of joy, until revealing he had an allergy...to horses.
Read the rest of this entry
Had a chat with my old sparring partner Ian Holloway yesterday. When I say sparring partner, I used to put some rather banal questions to him for his and he would bring them to life in his own inimitable way.
Anyway, we had a brief natter about the , where several papers have linked him to the job, but his lack of a pro-licence could scupper his chances.
This all seems a bit daft to me given his 13 years' experience, albeit with varying degrees of success. You wouldn't keep off the telly until he'd done his performing arts degree, would you? Although on second thoughts...
Read the rest of this entry
It's gonna be steak 'n' chips for me when I get in, following in the Tour de France.
Not only is he the first Briton since David Millar in 2003 to win a stage, he's also the first bloke from the Isle of Man ever to do so.
That is the significant part, as my dear lady also hails from the fair island and I can guarantee I won't be able to get within a million miles of the phone tonight, as she excitedly discusses the landmark event with fellow Manxies.
Read the rest of this entry
As entered the , a ticker ran along the bottom of the screen informing us of the programmes that had been shunted across to ´óÏó´«Ã½2 - Keeping Up Appearances, Songs of Praise, Last of the Summer Wine, 'Allo 'Allo...
Thankfully I had already postponed the planned trip to visit my dear old Nan in her old people's home. Things could have got pretty tasty in the TV room if I'd suggested staying with the tennis - especially with offering another tempting alternative on ITV for anyone the wrong side of 60.
Once the epic on-court battle had finally reached its conclusion, we were immediately treated to an episode of The Vicar of Dibley - a bit like following the Olympic men's 100m final with an egg and spoon race.
Read the rest of this entry