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Post by knowingeye on Mar 7, 2009 8:51:20 GMT
From the author of "She Stood There Laughing" Stephen Foster The Guardian 7th March 2009 Fine writer though he is, you could never claim that Stephen Foster is leading the pack. She Stood There Laughing, his droll account of a dire season supporting Stoke City, adapted the format established by Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch; Walking Ollie, his droll account of life on the leash with a difficult lurcher, coincided with John Grogan's canine memoir, Marley & Me. Now he has produced a droll dissection of the north-south divide which covers much the same territory as Stuart Maconie's Pies and Prejudice Maconie marvellously summed up his awkward transition to the southern middle classes by recalling how a radio producer first asked him to supper. Delighted as he was to receive the invitation, he was at a loss to understand why a sophisticated BBC type should want him to go round for milky drinks in his dressing gown. Having left Stoke for London to pursue a career in the catering trade, Foster similarly finds that north and south are two nations divided by a common language; this is most forcefully driven home when he turns up for a school reunion carrying a chilled bottle of Sancerre, prompting one of his former classmates to observe: "You're a proper middle-class gayer now, aren't you?" The comment causes Foster to muse on the meaning of the term "gayer", which is exclusively understood by those native to the Potteries (who, Foster says, you can always spot in restaurants "because they're the ones who check beneath the plate to see the stamp"). The coinage doesn't necessarily imply homosexuality. Rather, Foster's school-friends have come to view him as "the sort of fairy who likes poetry and doesn't have the decency to keep quiet about it". Just how much this has become the case is confirmed by an episode in which Foster dives into the open-air swimming pool at Eton, and then quotes poetry about how cold it is (Stevie Smith's "Not Waving but Drowning", which he says is one of his favourites). Foster didn't actually swap a rough comprehensive in Stoke for the poshest public school in the country - he's not that much of a gayer - but he did fall in with a mate whose mother was a housekeeper there. And he at least has the decency to admit that the temperature of the pool gave him a grudging respect for Eton scholars: "You needed to be hard to go through this ritual. And no doubt the masters made you do it in winter as well, having first had to break the ice on the surface of the pool." The best episodes of the book are invariably those in which Foster arrives in a new environment and begins to unpack his bag of prejudices before realising that many members of the landed class are just as hard-up and desperate as people in Stoke. There's a fine account of a country house weekend in a shambolic pile to which the title-holder has brought shame by running up huge debts, then disappearing with an au pair; while his wife consoles herself with gallons of gin and the place is kept solvent by "a fleet of sisters offering riding lessons, practising as (unqualified) vets, concocting flower arrangements from the hedgerow and making bird tables to sell at fetes". Foster's dawning sense of awareness is admirable: "Here was what I was repeatedly discovering - once I had left my bedroom in the Potteries behind, the rest of the world did not always turn out to be as advertised." Yet there is a problem with the extent to which Foster has begun recycling himself. Walking Ollie virtually mirrors the upwardly mobile course described here, culminating in Foster's emergence as a writer from the University of East Anglia. And there is virtually nothing more that can be said about Stoke - "a disaster of a place with a disaster of a football club" - that has not already been said in the football memoir. Foster's prose skips along nicely, and the book is never less than an entertaining read; yet the randomness of its episodes, and elisions between them, suggest an author attempting to squeeze out whatever autobiographical details he has left, like the final pressing of a batch of olives. Not that Foster would once have been remotely bothered about pure virgin oil. But it's a distinction any middle-class gayer will understand. • To order From Working Class Hero to Absolute Disgrace for £9.99 with free UK p&p call Guardian book service on 0330 333 6846 or go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop
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Post by Deleted on Mar 7, 2009 8:58:41 GMT
I've read this and its a bloody good read. Really funny and entertaining.
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Post by Lakeland Potter on Mar 7, 2009 9:02:20 GMT
Interesting they mention Stuart Maconie in the article. I was dragged along this winter (unwillingly) by mar laydee and a couple of friends to "an evening with Stuart Maconie" at the Theatre by the Lake in Keswick and had one of the most enjoyable evenings I have had - almost as good as watching a good Stoke win as I commented in the bar afterwards. I'll certainly order winger's new book - once the price has dropped a bit!
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Post by knowingeye on Mar 7, 2009 9:10:36 GMT
I'll certainly order winger's new book - once the price has dropped a bit! The price has probably dropped already in certain bookshops.
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Post by bunnyscfc on Mar 7, 2009 9:44:14 GMT
knowingeye,
You mis-spelt 'car boot sales' mate, lol
<indeed 'tis a fine book and probably the review in the Guardian would have been better if not by a shandy drinking southerner>
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Post by winger on Mar 8, 2009 11:31:09 GMT
This is more like it: Proper review. Be even better if they'd spelt the title wright. nb: don't be tight fornside, remember - St Peter didn't get us where we we are today by keeping his hands out of his pockets.
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Post by deliasmith on Mar 8, 2009 13:35:23 GMT
Winger - interested in 'bath' v 'barth'
When I worked in down south I used to be asked to repeat the word 'book': 'boo oo oo k' they used to say back to me gleefully. Which was annoying because it was Cambridge University Press and the word came up a fair bit.
I have got a Volvo, and shop at Waitrose and John Lewis. My grandson is called Rafael - we piss on Tobys.
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Post by winger on Mar 8, 2009 19:45:19 GMT
Rafael - I do hope he's named after the footballer & not the painter.
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Post by jugger on Mar 8, 2009 20:13:47 GMT
Rafael - I do hope he's named after the footballer & not the painter. ..more likely a turtle. J8-)
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Post by winger on Mar 8, 2009 22:45:51 GMT
well done jugger. I am too senile to remember stuff like that.
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Post by mumf14 on Mar 8, 2009 23:02:49 GMT
Did this geezer come from Fegg Hayes....I know of a Stephen Foster who went to London in the early eighties as a trainee chef.
Could be wrong .?
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Post by OldStokie on Mar 8, 2009 23:21:31 GMT
Oi, Boy, 'senile' is my thing. FWCH is a cracking read. I reckon it will go down well with the Stokies who moved away to make their way in life and to those who remember the 80's well. 'Mr Nice Guy', winger, is really a bit of a bastard at times. He's never a smarmy bastard though. But that's why I get on well with him. See you in Poland, winger, unless we have another 'burnout' at Bag End before. The weekend when we play M'boro is out. I have relatives staying. Perhaps we can blag a night at Elt Towers before we go? I'll do the cooking this time though. Goat soup and sawdust cake doesn't go down too well with proper Stokies. OS.
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Post by winger on Mar 9, 2009 9:01:05 GMT
That could quite easily b me mumf; which mumf are you?
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Post by Smudge_SCFC on Mar 9, 2009 9:28:04 GMT
I'm from Fegg Hayes as well. Cumberbatch Avenue boy! Doesn't really add anything to the discussion of course but seeing as how Fegg Hayes got a mention...
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Post by Not_Nick_H on Mar 9, 2009 9:36:55 GMT
Have you updated the relevant text to say "a disaster of a place with a football club enjoying abit of a renaissance*"? ;D Coincidentaly, I read a review of Maconi's latest book yesterday, in whch he explores the concept of "Middle England" - sounded quite good. * "renaissance" - The Guardian readers will like that.
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Post by OldStokie on Mar 9, 2009 10:00:28 GMT
This is getting to be a Fegg Hayes love-in. Smudge, were you one of 'the boys' sitting on the wall supping ale while gayer was into his Sancerre? M.
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Post by winger on Mar 9, 2009 10:22:21 GMT
I once fancied a girl from Cumberbatch Avenue, she would have nothing to do with me of course as people from the top end were beneth her dignity.
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Post by skiptanbroonacari on Mar 9, 2009 10:23:00 GMT
"gayer", which is exclusively understood by those native to the Potteries
I have NEVER heard anyone use the phrase "gayer"
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Post by Bick on Mar 9, 2009 10:35:02 GMT
Heard of this, but never seen it. Never got enough time (or inclination) to read at the moment!
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Post by Will_75 on Mar 9, 2009 15:01:27 GMT
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Post by RAF on Mar 9, 2009 15:21:34 GMT
So to cut a long review short then:
Winger is a plagiarising cuntbag!
Quelle Fucking Surprise, let's all have a massive shit in amazement! I could have written that review in 1 line.
H
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Post by mcf on Mar 9, 2009 15:30:33 GMT
Don't get me wrong, being an author must be one boring and lonely occupation.
Writing about dogs takes the sadness on even further.
What these fucking idiots don't understand though, is that they advertise their own glum lives by just admitting to giving a book about a dog a go in the first place.
Buying it for 40p from a boot sale? What kind of muppety, penniless cl1nt goes to a boot sale?
I only read it because a) I know him and b) it was sent to me for free.
What the fuck does anybody expect from a book about a dog?
The four legged fucker was never going to save lives - if they wanted that then the twats should have just watched Lassie or the Littlest Hobo.
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Post by RAF on Mar 9, 2009 15:39:11 GMT
Fair comment Merkin. I was thinking pretty much the same thing about the person who was knocking the book for not being factual enough and putting the dog in danger. It's people like that who would leave all their worldly goods to a fucking cattery but not chuck 50 pence into a NSPCC bucket on the high street. People like that need fucking putting down.
H
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Post by Will_75 on Mar 9, 2009 15:43:30 GMT
anyone who calls winger an idiot is ok by me
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Post by mcf on Mar 9, 2009 16:02:56 GMT
Yet these people seem to be lining the pockets of our resident idiot?
Given this, they are really big idiots.
If winger wasn't an idiot, and was capable of looking after a dog then what kind of book would that have been?
'I took the dog out for a walk on the lead, I passed the Norwich ground where I watch my favourite team and sit by the love of my life. What a great cook she is - almost the perfect bint! Dreaming about Delia made me lose track of time and so it took me quite a while to stroll all the way back again. Not before Ollie turtled out though.'
Yeah, thrilling that!
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Post by theginsoakedboy on Mar 9, 2009 16:56:21 GMT
Winger, Sancerre is so passé this year. If you must, then try Domaine Michel Girard 2008. The rosé is also worth a look. However real hooray Henrys are moving to Pouilly Fumé. Try Domaine de Maltaverne 'L'Ammonite' 1996. It is delicious, and expect to pay £13.50.
You could try Noel Young in Trumpington or Hedley Wright in Bishops Stortford.
Always glad to be of assistance.
GSB
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Post by winger on Mar 9, 2009 22:49:57 GMT
Pls do a review Merkin, either the one about the twattery of carboot sale dog books @ 40p or the one where I sit kissing Delia and cheering for my Beloved Canaries or most preferably a splice of both.
Regard it as a challenge: make the fucking thing publishable on Amazon. And don't forget to give 5 stars.
nb: Puily Fume is a bit Friday night on the lash for me ginsoaked, with the Chabs or the Sanc refernces I am simply trying to portray the idea of the everyday tipple. It's Puligny Montrachet for special occasions, so long as OS is paying.
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Post by mumf14 on Mar 10, 2009 1:10:17 GMT
Interesting stuff....Winger and Smudge of Fegg Hayes extract eh...? I remember Cumberbatch Ave...Most kids who lived there knew who both their parents were , and in most cases had a family car... Andrew Whalley used to live there, and then there was the Doctors on High Lane..Dr Pasi.. Memories eh..? I notice that you didn't proclaim your alliegences on the Fegg Hayes thread the other day.... Shame on you.!
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Post by mcf on Mar 10, 2009 7:10:58 GMT
Fegg Hayes extraction
Surely people would prefer to claim thay have crabs.
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Post by OldStokie on Mar 10, 2009 7:46:28 GMT
I'd like to know how anybody can read a book, throw it away after he's halfway through it and then do a review on Amazon. He might have missed a great comeback like both Villa games. Then again, he may have been right but the silly twat will never know. Come on, Merk, do a review on there about those who left negative comments. Danny, with your knowledge of wines, you sound more like a middle class gayer than winger. You should write a book. Its not too hard. OS.
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