Cry Gawd for Harry, Snooker and Saint George.

Snooker player using a 'rest.'

Today is Saint George's Day and Saint George is the patron saint of England.

In countries like Ireland, where their patron saint is Saint Patrick, their day is a public holiday - in fact till the 1970s the pubs were closed on Saint Patrick's day.

Saint Patrick's Day is also a public holiday in Newfoundland, Labrador and Montserrat – bet you didn't know that did you?

Saint Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland and Saint Andrew's day is also a public holiday there.

Saint Andrew, by the way, is also the patron saint of Greece, Romania, Russia and Ukraine and in Germany they celebrate Saint Andrew's Night - Andreasnacht – in Poland they celebrate Saint Andrew's Prayer.

All that celebrating so you would think they would observe their day here in England, Saint George's Day, and we 'd see celebrations, with the singing of Land of Hope and Glory, the wearing of the red white and blue but do we see it? To use a phrase from Billy Connolly – not a jot!

The only celebrations will be those toasting the 'bard;' his birthday was always thought to be St George's Day but it now seems it has been changed to April 26th - well that was the day he was baptised - and he died on St George's Day - Shakespeare I'm talking about!!

I have heard that there is a Saint George's Day Parade in Birmingham today and that there was one in Manchester yesterday – but it isn't a public holiday; everybody has gone to work and I haven't heard anything on the radio.

A few years ago the Welsh Assembly voted to make Saint David's Day a public holiday there but they had to apply to the Prime Minister's Office of Tony Blair and they turned it down.

The only big event in London was The London Marathon yesterday; it was marred by the death of one of the competitors, a 30 year old woman, who collapsed near the end of the race. It didn't have the same affect as the 2 horses that died in The Grand National last week (yes it was only last week).

Prince Harry was at the marathon and he seems a friendly kind of fella – very kind of blokey – unlike his brother; he doesn't have that awful South Kensington accent like his dad and Uncle Andrew or the half estuary accent like his Uncle Edward so I say good luck to him in his cage.

The other big thing that started yesterday was The World Snooker Championship; this will dominate the television for the next few weeks.

It's held in The Crucible Theatre, Sheffield and it is a big big business. The thing about snooker, as opposed to pool, is that it is a pondering game of enormous skill.

It was invented by army officers in India in the late 19th century; it was adapted from billiards, as pool was, and has now overtaken billiards in popularity, as pool has and is very popular the world over – except America.

The Americans called in snucker rhyming the 'U' sound with how you would say butcher.

The word snooker is also a state of play in the game itself: it's when a ball cannot be seen clearly by the cue ball and the only way to hit it is to cannon onto it via the cushion or by swerving the cue ball.

The difference between pool and snooker is that the table for snooker is 12 feet by 6 feet and the pool table is 7 feet by 3 and a half feet.

That's the big difference – it's a huge table so when you try to break the balls at snooker and you have to break them gently and not 'leave' anything on for your opponent; in pool you hit the ball as hard as you can as you are bound to get one in a pocket and then you are away.

But let us go back to the marathon and that girl that died. She died in Birdcage Walk a few minutes from the finish. She had been sponsored by friends and relatives and the object of her charity this time was the Samaritans.

She had climbed mountains and worked wonders for charity in the past and this morning the amount sponsored stood at around £5,000 – at the moment it is up around £81,000 and growing. This is what she was doing for charity; it seems such a moment when the giving to charity is all in the news because of the limits that are being put on the tax relief rich people are getting for their donations; unless they get tax relief they won't contribute.

Claire Squires wasn't claiming any tax relief for her donation; there she is below; spare a thought.

Claire Squires

The Marathon at Bird Cage Walk.

The Grand National

The Grand National

with eventual winner in yellow on the right

There are a few things in Britain which are unique to the place a few things which happen and when you live here you take them for granted.

There is the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race (on the River Thames), The Derby, The Eurovision Song Contest and The Grand National.

The Eurovision Song Contest is a song contest between the European Countries – although Israel won it one year – the Boat Race is only peculiar to Britain but the Grand National is the greatest steeple chase in the world.

If you remember there was a movie about it called National Velvet which was one of the earlier films of Elizabeth Taylor.

The audience figures for the National go into many many millions as it is transmitted all over the world and as it is transmitted by the BBC it is the best uninterrupted coverage you can expect.

There are bookies on every corner in Britain – some would say too many – and it is the bookies greatest day of the year. The Derby would be the only other contender for this but usually nearly everybody will have a bet.

If they don't have a bet people will probably belong to a sweepstake at work where the name of a horse is drawn from a hat and if you are drawn the winner you take all.

You know which horse you have drawn before the race, of course, so you can follow it on the TV.

These days you can also follow it at the bookies on huge screens and there is quite an atmosphere in the betting shops.

Betting shops are usually miserable places as gamblers are not usually full of personalities. They keep themselves to themselves and some pretend they know something – something they got from the horses mouth. Others pretend they understand the form book but most pretend they win most of the time.

About 20 years ago there was a 10% gambling tax in Britain and you could either pay on your stake or on your take. If you won, obviously, it would be better to pay on your stake but most gamblers would pay on their take. I asked a few why they did this, as I always paid on my stake, and they said they lost most of the time.

But now there is no tax on gambling at all and no vigorish, like in America; the bookie has to work out by the amount of money that is being wagered on each horse to work out the odds and that is how they make their profit. If a favourite wins it is a bad day for the bookies. But they don't have many bad days – I mean have you ever seen a bookie or a farmer on a bike?

So on Grand National Day – and Derby Day – the miserable, scruffy, smelly, fag smoking gamblers cram in to the corners of the betting shops to make way for the flutterers, flitterers and first time gamblers.

Many years ago – in fact in 1961 when I was working on the motor bikes at the post office – there was a sweepstake at work and I drew a horse called Nicholas Silver – a grey.

I think it cost me a shilling which – for the youngsters out there – was one twelfth of a pound; in other words 5p or 5 pence.

I don't think a grey had ever won the National but in any case I went to the bookies, which were illegal in those days, and put a bet on. I put a whole pound which was about a sixth of my wages; it was a big bet as I was a fool.

The bookies was in a suburb of Birmingham called Selly Oak and I had to go up an alley to find the place.

As I've mentioned before, I had to wrap my pound note into a piece of paper and on the paper I wrote Nicholas Silver £1 win and handed it to a man standing in a door way.

The horse won at 33-1; so I won the sweep at work and also a lot of money from the bookies. On the piece of paper was my nome-de-plume and I had to quote this when I went to the bookies and he handed me £34; £33 for the odds and my £1 stake back.

This was a great deal of money to me back then and I wasn't really old enough to gamble but as it was an illegal bookies in any case what does it matter?

Official gambling in those days was only by credit; you had to have an account with the bookies and you paid your bill at the end of the month or whatever – and you were usually posh.

On Saturday the race was won by a grey again and this was the first time a grey horse has won since Nicholas Silver in 1961 and guess what the price was. 33-1.

And did I back it? No!

I watched the race on TV and kicked myself when Neptune Collonges came in first; there he is, above, in the yellow with the Irish jockey on his back; in fact most of the jockeys here are from Ireland.

It was one of the most exciting races I can remember and it took a photo finish to determine the winner.

I did fancy a horse called Sea Bass, which was ridden by a woman (from Ireland, of course) and it came in 3^rd making her the highest placed female in Grand National History.

The big tragedy was that they had to put 2 horses down. It is the price we, or the horses, have to pay for such an exciting and unique event and we have to ask ourselves if it's worth it.

The decision to put the horses down is not made lightly. If a horse breaks a leg or a fetlock they have to be destroyed as there is no way you can 'contain' a horse so they kill the horse before they are in any real pain - and it's heartbreaking.

The people that usually complain about this don't usually have anything to do with horses and the people that put them down are usually the people who look after them like members of the family every day of the year.

William Shakespeare - did he or didn't he?

Bill the Shake.

Let's go along with this post and see where it goes . . . .

As regulars readers will know, I am not an expert on anything, so to take on the argument as to whether William Shakespeare actually wrote the plays he is credited with writing, is a tall order for me but when has that put me off?

I have appeared in a few Shakespeare plays and been paid for it as well as doing one when I was at drama school. I must say that I liked it very much. I have a problem watching Shakespeare sometimes with some of the over playing and lack of realism but that's just me.

I remember Jonathan Miller in Beyond the Fringe speaking lines like an Olivier influenced Shakespearean actor which showed up just how ridiculous some of the Shakespearean acting really was; and still is I'm sorry to say.

I remember years ago, Enoch Powell pontificating about William Shakespeare and saying that Shakespeare couldn't have written all the plays – in fact he said he had written none of them and that it was some aristocrat writing them in secret. He said how could he have known all the workings of the court to be able to write in such detail about it?

Like everything else Enoch Powell said, I disagree with him. He was a very clever fella but like a lot of clever people who are nearing genius their brain only has so much it can take in. This is why the absent minded professor or genius mathematician can't do mundane things such as boil eggs.

There has always been a school of thought that agrees with Powell but I have to ask why, after 400 years, would they bother?

Their argument is that Shakespeare wouldn't know the workings of the court or that he wasn't educated enough. Wasn't educated enough????

He went to Stratford Grammar School!! Isn't that enough.

You see because he didn't go to university they don't like the idea that he could write so many plays.

For the record he wrote 38 plays.

Alan Ayckbourn, the modern equivalent of Shakespeare, has written 73 full length plays all professionally produced – and he didn't go to university either.

He came from the theatre where plays are produced, where you learn what is acceptable and what isn't – and if you are a genius, which is what Shakespeare was, it is easy peasy.

One of Shakespeare's contemporaries was Ben Johnson and, even though he went to a posh school, he didn't go to university either. In fact after Westminster School he was a brick layer.

But why do people always question genius? It seems that every now and then they change their minds as to who wrote Shakespeare's plays apart from the great man; it also seems as if they would accept anybody apart from Shakespeare himself!

At one time it was supposed to be Francis Bacon but that went out of fashion then Christopher Marlowe was supposedly the author of the bard's work; he was murdered mysteriously so the theory was that he didn't die at all but that he pretended to be dead – like Elvis, Martin Bormann and Jim Morrison – and Shakespeare was 'his front' and lately it is supposed to be Edwards de Vere, 17^th Earl of Oxford.

The theory with de Vere is that he had access to the court, he knew the goings on there and he must have written the 37 plays – all by himself.

Forget the fact that he died in 1604, 12 years before Shakespeare and 9 years before Shakespeare stopped writing.

Why did he stop writing they say. What does anybody stop doing anything?

People are judging Shakespeare by modern standards when writers retire and write their memoirs – did they do that then?

William Shakespeare died a few days short of his 52^nd birthday; as we all get to find out that when you reach your mid forties something happens to the eyes; the rods and cones start to go haywire and you need glasses so maybe he couldn't see too good so for the last 3 years of his life he didn't write.

When Bob Dylan came on to the scene in the 60s people questioned whether he wrote all he was purported to have written – the same with The Beatles.

Anyway it is Shakespeare's birthday in a couple of weeks; he died on Saint George's Day – the patron saint of England – and in the next week there will be a lot of coverage on the BBC about Shakespeare; make a change from all the programmes on Charles Dickens and The Titanic!!

Easter Uprising, 1st World War and my Grandad,

The Proclamation to the people of Ireland.

During the first world war there was an insurrection in Dublin and Pádraig (Patrick) Pearse, one of the leaders, declared independence for Ireland on the steps of the General Post Office. There is the proclamation above.

The British, who ruled Ireland at the time, attacked the insurgents with their 'long range guns' and ever since, the rebellion has been commemorated in Dublin each Easter.

The date was actually Easter Monday 23^rd April 1916, it was organised by the Irish Republican Brotherhood and called The Easter Rising (in Irish Éirí Amach na Cásca).

Apart from knowing their catechism, the Irish know the names of all the heroes from that Easter week, and the names of the fifteen men who were executed by firing squad very soon afterwards.

Pearse was one of the first to be executed on May 3^rd 1916; 9 days after the start of the insurrection.

One of those shot was the poet Joseph Mary Plunket who was suffering from consumption, at the time, and was married in the prison chapel just before his execution. He didn't write any poems, as far as I'm aware, about the insurrection (maybe he didn't have time) but some of his poems have a feeling of death about them.

His father was a Papal Count which is why his Christian names are of a saint; one male and one female as is the custom for Papal Counts.

W. B. Yeats wrote the poem 16 Dead Men which dealt with the executions (the 16^th man was Sir Roger Casement who smuggled arms into Ireland) and his masterpiece of a poem Easter, 1916.

I asked my mother one day what grandad did in the uprising and she said “Ah – he was away getting gassed. Fighting for the British.”

She said it as if the sole purpose for going to France was to be gassed. But that's what happened. I asked my grandad what he knew about the Easter Uprising and he said very little.

He said the officer called him to one side and told him that there was a bit of trouble in 'your country.'

Thousands of Irish men were away fighting with the British whilst their comrades were at home fighting against them. It is the dichotomy the Irish have found themselves in over and over again - for example I believe they were on both sides during the American Civil War.

The 'bit of trouble in your country' was followed by the civil war and when independence was finally won, a movement of Unionists wanted the north to be partitioned away from the south and stay colonised by Britain. It is generally called Ulster but Ulster is made up of nine counties and there are only six in the so called Northern Ireland – a phrase my mother never used, by the way; she called it The North of Ireland.

If the whole of Ulster was to stay British it might have meant a majority of Catholics so they dropped Cavan, Donegal and Monaghan and left them in the Republic: talk about Gerrymandering. So the north were left with one Catholic county – Derry.

There is a pub in the San Fernando Valley called the 32 Counties - that's how many counties there are in the whole of Ireland so you know where their sympathies lie.

If you are wondering how this all started, and how there were, or are, so many protestants in the north, you have to go right back to the time of King James I, who sent a contingent of Scottish protestants to the north of Ireland. This was called The Jacobean Plantation of Ulster and a significant amount of land was set aside for Scottish courtiers and servants.

I don't know how many were sent over but it was about the same number who went on The Mayflower to America a short time later. I think the population of America speaks for itself but Catholicism still dominates most of Ireland.

However, The Jacobean Plantation of Ulster is recognised as the biggest ever real estate rip off.

But back to 1916; back to my grandad fighting with the British in the trenches; an Irishman aged about 20 when he went off in 1916. He was a married man with at least 2 children – my mother born in 1914 and her brother Tom – and was finding it hard to manage so he joined up.

I didn't ask him much about it, as I wasn't that interested in that war back then, but I pressed further about the atmosphere he found in Dublin upon his return from the Great War. He said he didn't get on well with his brother who had fought on the other side in Dublin.

He would go to the pub with his two brothers and the three of them were from different organisations; one was in the IRA the other in the IRB and my grandad was an ex (gassed) British soldier as far as they were concerned; it didn't stop them drinking with each other though.

My grandad would tell me of the days before he went away and he would say that the owl-ones (women) would stand on the street with their long frocks and pee in to the drains; you knew when this was happening, he said, as you could see them opening their legs slightly and standing for a few minutes – very handy for them too, now I think.

Here we are 96 years after the Amach na Cásca; Ireland, Southern Ireland, the Irish Republic, is ruled from Dublin but the country is still partitioned. The people up there call themselves Irish but they are still under the jurisdiction of London.

The Irony of Thatcher, Reagan and Easter.

It's a funny old thing isn't it; irony. Pronounced like that, by the way with the 'r' used; I heard so many mispronunciations when I was in America such as using the first two syllables like you would say iron – the thing that comes with the ironing board.

Some people say that the Americans don't know what irony is but the ones I knew did and in fact I'm not sure if I know for sure as the dictionary explanation says the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning.

I mean that's sarcasm isn't it?I mean isn't it?

Irony to me is when someone tries to do some bad deed to somebody and . . . . well let's invent a little plot.

Let's say that a man is so poor that he mugs someone on the street.

He waits around a corner and pretty soon a little man with a funny hat comes along so he jumps on him and beats him up; injuring him very badly. But when he goes through the man's wallet he finds that there is nothing of any value in there; just some papers and cards. In a rage he tears the papers and throws the wallet into the river.

So he has beaten the man up for nothing.

But when he gets home, feeling miserable and a failure, he finds his wife jumping for joy for she has found that her late father's collection of baseball cards could be worth a lot of money; he has always known this but it's always been one card short.

She tells him a man with a funny hat is coming around with the missing card and they will all be rich.

That to me is ironic – the meaning in the dictionary is wrong.

Those kinds of things happen in real life and the story of Christ is the same; it's always been known as the greatest story ever told which is what it is and which is why a lot of people believe it and other stories have been written based upon it.

A great movie called Cool Hand Luke is a kind of Christ story complete with miracles, (the eggs), a crucifixion (he gets shot) and he rises from the dead in the shape of his photo being put back together with the shape of a cross across it and the prisoners worship his memory.

In real life President Ronald Reagan emptied the mad houses of America and, I am told, stopped funding research in to Alzheimer's Disease – he ended up with the disease himself.

Margaret Thatcher did the same in Britain and she has ended up with dementia.

And the Christ story; well his father, the father he had on earth, Joseph was a carpenter; he made all kinds of things and Jesus's brothers - yes he was supposed to have had brothers – ran the family business.

One of the things they made were crosses.

I think those stories are ironic?

Happy Easter and Passover.