Clachnacuddin 4 Keith 0

01aug09
Highland League
Grant Street Park, Inverness
att. 150 (approx.)

On Academy Street near the centre of Inverness there is, as you might imagine of a Highland city, a kiltmakers. Turns out, from the sign nailed onto the wall outside their showroom, that Inverness Caledonian Thistle FC have their own tartan, exclusive to Scotkilt. The picture on the sign (detailing that 5% of each sale or hire goes direct to the club) shows two fellas decked out in said kilt; one chap tops it with a Caley Thistle replica top, the other bloke seemingly got up for his wedding. This says to me that the Scottish people created kilts to side-step that troublesome question of etiquette and relationship ethics that hits all men on their big day i.e. how can I work my football scarf into my wedding outfit?

However, there are two senior teams in Inverness, and the other, Clachnacuddin, doesn’t appear to have its own supporters’ club sarong. Nonetheless, it was the first day of the new season, and the new polo shirts were in, so there remained much to be sartorially excited about down at Grant Street Park. In addition, new beanies were displayed on the table between the turnstiles and the pitch. They wouldn’t be required straight away though as the sun baked the ground throughout the game which, for a Highlands holiday, really wasn’t what I had signed up for.

Mind you, I shouldn’t complain at the lack of squally winds and hammering rain as I expect the grass bank that housed a great many standing feet today is a much less agreeable proposition for mid-February fixtures against, say, Rothes. The weather-beaten faces of the grass bank faithful suggested they remained in situ regardless, although the fact that the covered terrace at the far-end was out-of-bounds hinted that they might not have any choice in that.

The Highland League operates in a northerly hinterland barely touched by the Scottish Premier and Football Leagues, although more so than it used to be. Despite the lack of a pyramid system, the Highland League has lost several sides to the ‘big’ leagues in the last twenty years.

Inverness Caledonian and Inverness Thistle merged after being advised that a joint application for one of two slots made available after the Scottish Leagues expanded by a division in 1994 was likely to be more successful than either of their individual bids. That expansion also robbed the Highland League of the Dingwall-based Ross County, whilst the SPL’s growth to a 12-club division meant both Peterhead and Elgin were nicked to make up a ten in the Third Division in 2000.

All this has meant their territory has rather been encroached on. Not that the Highland League is a cover-all in itself with only Fort William working out of the west coast, and being so famously rubbish that they have only won 5 games and drawn 2 in the 112 games of their last four league seasons. Mind you, it covers a wider geographical area than during its earliest days.

Clachnacuddin’s last championship, in 2003/04, meant they equalled Inverness Caledonian’s record of 18 Highland League titles. However, one must factor in that for the first thirty or so years (having been first established in 1893) the league consisted of no more than ten sides, and often much fewer. In fact, in 1896/97 only four clubs were able to complete the season, and all of those were based in the same town, Inverness Citadel being the final part of a foursome with Clach, Thistle and Caley. The following year the league expanded to nine, but even that intake of five new sides included two further teams from the city: Inverness Union and Inverness Celtic.

Indeed, looking at the league tables from that era, teams like the Cameron Highlanders, the Seaforth Highlanders, the Highland Light Infantry and even the Black Watch would appear for a season and then disappear for a few seasons if not for good. With that in mind, Clachnacuddin’s proud record must have an asterisk put against it. Mind you, as the saying goes, “you can only beat what’s put in front of you. Even if hardly anyone actually is ever put in front of you.”

As is clear though, the Highland League has grown in membership and stature over the years, their results now deemed important enough to appear in the classified round-ups on the radio. It is a league chock full of wonderful club names that are so evocative of the region you could make a big f***-off haggis out of them; names such as Buckie Thistle, Forres Mechanics, Fraserburgh and Inverurie Loco Works. Three more, Strathspey Thistle, Turiff United and Formatine United, have been added this season to take the league up to eighteen clubs. Sadly, the gorgeously-titled Banks O’Dee FC missed the cut.

In terms of the names, I’ve long been drawn to Clachnacuddin simply because they appear to be the most ‘Scottish’ of the lot, by which I mean the most Scots Gaelic sounding. Which is why, until I started planning my holiday last year, that I didn’t realise that Clachnacuddin was actually a city-based outfit. It’s a name that suggests that they should really be playing away from civilisation on a pitch where hoofed clearances are in danger of drowning in an adjacent loch. Not that that is so fanciful a notion, what with ‘Clachnacuddin’ translating as “stone of the tubs” relating to the stone where women returning from the banks of the Ness would rest their wash-tubs. This inscribed stone used to sit outside Grant Street Park, but now resides outside the town hall.

It appeared to be a fairly low key beginning to the league season here against Keith, display of new merchandise aside. When asked by one punter if there was a programme available, the turnstile operator explained “Nah, the guy’s away”, although this being Scotland it was difficult to tell whether this meant he was on holiday or he’d just run off somewhere.

This understated nature of the occasion was understandable given that Clach finished eleventh of the then fifteen last season and they still owed a significant amount of rent arrears to the Highland Council for the use of the ground leaving them somewhat short on the playing budget. In addition, there had been confusion over plans to build housing over the current social club and dressing room structure and move a new facility to the far end of the ground.

Not that the Clachnacuddin players appeared in any way affected by the uncertainty surrounding the club nor the serenity of the atmosphere, turning in a strong loosener that left Keith as battered as a chip-shop Mars Bar. Keith couldn’t even blame the officials. The ref had said strongly to his assistants as they warmed up, “I need you to be fucken switched on today”, and they remained so. “You’re playing a blinder lino” shouted one home fan after a close off-side call, earning himself a genial smile and nod from his target.

Despite Clach’s overall domination, Keith had started strongly in both halves. The first major chance of the game fell to them on 15 minutes, when Garry Harris crashed a free-kick off the underside of the bar. However, the home side took the lead ten minutes later, a corner by Alan Pollock eventually coming to Stuart Leslie who performed an over the shoulder number that went in via both the bar and the back of keeper Ivor Pirie’s forearm. After several squandered chances, Clach’s second came three minutes prior to half-time, a corner being flicked on by Colin Williamson to Gordon Morrison who turned it in through a number of bodies.

During the interval, the Grant Street Park tannoy was put to public service use, the announcer completing a number of similar enquiries with “I’ve still not found the owner of a set of car and house keys found behind the dugout. So if you’ve been round there, stick your hand in your pockets, otherwise you’ve got a long walk home.” It is to his credit that he spent his time doing this rather than trying all the locks in the car park and abandoning the second half in favour of a joy-ride.

Despite Keith starting the stronger in the second period, Clach were largely coasting, and this was perhaps signified best by their physio tucking into a pie and a cup of tea as he leaned against the wall next to the dugout. You could hardly blame him though, given that Clachnacuddin recently won a “Best Football Pie” award seeing off 24 other Scottish and 105 English clubs in taking the title. Stick that in yer grill, Delia.

On this display, Clach could well be challenging for honours of a more meaningful type come the end of the season, as after a brief period lacking in vitality, they finished strongly. Neil MacCuish pinged the bar in the 53rd minute, whilst three minutes later Alan Pollock rose like the platform of a cherry-picker to meet a cross perfectly and guide home the third.

Within ten minutes, they had a fourth. After MacCuish had had a shot parried by the keeper, most of the players stood around assuming the ball would trickle out for a corner. Stuart Leslie though, so switched on his head was glowing, nipped in and dragged the ball back, turning and firing under Pirie’s lackadaisical frame whilst everyone else was dabbing the sleep out of the eyes.

That kind of alertness is exactly what Clach manager Iain Polworth will need from his players if they are to be greater than the sum of their parts and have the kind of breezy league campaign they’ve not really had since winning the whole show, now six long seasons ago.

Braintree Town 0 Havant & Waterlooville 2

22aug09
Conference South
Cressing Road, Braintree
att. 527

Ordinarily, Braintree is one of those away games one doesn’t feel too unhappy to miss. Horrible ground (albeit improved since the dwarf shed behind the clubhouse end goal was removed – supporters over 5ft 10in no longer have to pick the splinters out of their scalps on the way home); a mental, fluffy bearded steward who appears keener to get a fight started than a late-on-the-card boxing ref with a looming dinner reservation; and an on the hour train service to London which requires a breathless sprint after the final whistle or sixty minutes of demoralising wandering well outside the centre of town. There is also the lingering, but nowhere near as strong as it was, resentment at some of the antics of their top brass three seasons ago.

On top of all these, and possibly most importantly, was our record of two defeats and two draws (one of which was followed by our downfall in a penalty shoot-out which, I grant you, was terrifically exciting, but still). So, with a long and expensive train trip to Weymouth to pay for next Monday, Braintree was the obvious corner to cut.

However, it turns out the leopard that represents our performances as Cressing Road was in the mood to display his brand new set of spots and so, and I never thought I’d say these words, I really wish I’d made it to Braintree. Finally a win there courtesy of yet another Manny Williams brace, taking his total this season to seven in five games.

Two home draws and three away wins thus far then; currently in second or, if you ignore goal difference (as I like to when it suits me in this way), joint-top. Furthermore, it’s not like we’ve played any no-hopers yet, all five of our opponents having won at least two games themselves. Indeed, Braintree and Staines’ only defeats have come at our hands.

Still, it is still only five games in and the next couple of weeks will bring further tough challenges. Basingstoke and Dover are our home games, the former having an unexpectedly good start, and Dover (much more expectedly) currently leading the table.

In addition is that away game at Weymouth, which is difficult to call. After taking a couple of humiliating barrellings against Bishop’s Stortford and Eastleigh, they’ve taken four points from Maidenhead and Worcester.

We’ve had good results against Weymouth by and large over the years but, as this weekend’s Braintree result shows, history is bunk; all that matters is the here-and-now.

Still, I’m pleased I’ve been keeping a lid on the over-confidence, as each result reveals a new delight, an extra little fizz of excitement, rather than a blasé shrug.

This posting also appears on ' Bin Man 87', one of the many blogs on the Conference South Guide site.

Havant & Waterlooville 2 Bath City 2

18aug09
Conference South
West Leigh Park, Havant
att. 1,181

If nothing else, one thing we’ve learnt thus far this season is that Manny Williams does not deal in sh*t goals. Not for him the claim of a soft shin deflection, no getting a drab miscued daisy-flattener through the hapless legs of a nervous youth-team keeper drafted in through an injury crisis. Offer him a two-yarder off his arse and he would look at you askance and with not a little contempt.

So, needless to say we’ve been wowed. Manny has been playing with such regal élan, you half expect him to jog out wearing robes and a crown.

Another thing we know is that if you need a trigonometric problem solved, Manny is your man to help, as his awareness of angles during this game was both bang on and BANG! IN!

First, in the seventh minute, he picked his spot perfectly, with only really one to choose from, to fire through Will Puddy’s flailing legs. A finish of pure class, perhaps not as good as Saturday’s effort, but not much will be. The bar has been pushed up virtually out of reach.

Well, almost, as the sheer fearlessness and impudence of his 90th minute equaliser will also live long in the memory. Put through one-on-one with Puddy racing out to him, and a defender chasing him down, he waited til virtually the last moment then curved the ball softly so it hung in the air like a new moon, seemingly for hours. Hearts thumped, pulses made like Usain Bolt, bottoms clenched like Venus fly-traps, and eventually the ball pinged off the post and in.

It was a ‘cometh-the-hour…’ moment, met with scenes of bouncy delirium on the West Leigh Park terraces the like of which we’ve not really seen since we hosted Swansea City, aided and abetted by a pretty astonishing midweek crowd of 1100 plus. Actually we’d be pretty delighted with that on Saturday, let alone a Monday night.

However, the fact that we needed that equaliser and the fact that we should have buried them during our long periods of domination in the first half mean that there are still things to be worked on, even though the team spirit, the performance of some of the younger players and some incredible saves from our new keeper Aaron Howe have been very encouraging.

Yet, after nine undefeated days of the season, with two wins and two draws, this second one of which felt like a win, there is much to fuel our grins.

Onwards now then to an away game at Braintree where, omens be damned, we never win. However, confidence should be rippling through the squad like a stormy tide, and this Saturday might be the time to obliterate that stat. I’ll be crossing my fingers in hope, I’m not so confident yet that I believe anything is a definite.

This posting also appears on ' Bin Man 87', one of the many blogs on the Conference South Guide site.

Staines Town 1 Havant & Waterlooville 2

15aug09
Conference South
Wheatsheaf Park, Staines
att. 396

I don’t know if you’ve come across Whack-A-Mole. Basically it’s an end of the pier arcade game where you have to basically bludgeon cute plastic insectivores every time they pop up to check the whereabouts of the mallet-wielding extremist they’ve been hearing about below-stairs. Its fun and cathartic and of course, as blood sports go, is at the less murderous, more kiln-based end of the pigeon shooting axis.

Well, during the pre-season games and the opening stages of the Conference South season, I’ve been having my own internal game of Whack-a-Mole, the mole in this case representing ‘optimism’. Any sprigs of belief that appear have been quickly suppressed with the kind of relentless hammer action that could win someone an apprenticeship under the tutelage of Thor.

This is a self-preservation technique more than anything else. Last year during pre-season, I had let myself believe that with money in the tin and a great many of the previous season’s Conference South winning side in our first XI that we would walk it like a thoroughbred stallion in its sinewy prime. We quickly had to reassess this and downscale ourselves through ‘stalking horse’, ‘also-ran’, ‘flea-ridden mule’ and finally to ‘lost goat’.

Still, in the most part, Shaun Gale retains the goodwill of our support – his dedication to the cause meaning most are prepared to give him another chance to prove he’s up to the task of getting us promoted. That said, many of those remain sceptical that he actually can take that chance, with others going so far as to be boycotting home games until such time as Shaun leaves the hot-seat.

An opening draw at home to Thurrock meant I could leave my hammer in its holster, but it’s been back out on the beat since last Tuesday night’s victory away at Bromley. Apparently (sadly I’ve had to miss both games thus far due to being on me holidays) we spent most of the game under the same kind of cosh as that which I’ve been subjecting my more confident thoughts to, yet didn’t leak, allowing our new star striker Manny Williams to score a quick-fire brace in the final ten minutes. Which does nothing for a chap trying to keep the giddy locked up.

Neither, you might therefore assume, would a further away win at Staines. Newly promoted from the Isthmian League, they had won both their opening games in the Conference South prior to this fixture and much of the chunter prior to kick-off was alacritous head-nodding agreement that we would “definitely be happy with a point today.”

We were even keener on that point after the first twenty minutes as we had been second to every ball, conceding a soft goal in the fifth minute and looking ripe for a mullering. However, in the 25th minute, a high boot connected with Wes Fogden’s winkle-picking schnoz, earning us an indirect free kick in the penalty area. Now these efforts are usually a bit of lottery, given that the defending side always sardine their panicking bodies all along the goal-line.

Any attacking player asking advice on approaching this kind of set-piece would receive the same answer as someone asking what might be the best way to get to the top floor of a skyscraper i.e. ‘try and get lift’. Thankfully Mustafa Tiryaki was able to do just that [see above], and fiercely so, cometting his shot through the entire Staines first XI, who were offering up two different challenges. Some played musical statues on the line, guarding their groins as securely as a spendthrift does their wallet. The others charged upon our Turkish hero like early-bird Boxing Day bargain hunters towards cut-price plasma-screen tellies. Yet he out-foxed both parties with the kind of shot that makes “Boom! Shake The Room” start playing involuntarily on your internal jukebox.

Fifteen minutes later, if the equaliser hadn’t been shocking enough, we had another goal, and not just any old goal either. Some goals make you jump up that little bit higher, some goals make you scream just that little bit louder, but then there are other goals, special goals, beautiful goals. A goal such as this is quite rare of course, particularly at this level. It is the kind of goal that makes you want to leave your job immediately and dedicate your remaining days to writing epic poetry about it and sculpting marble effigies of the scorer.

Hyperbole it may be, but Manny Williams’ strike [see above] genuinely did take my breath away. Receiving the ball just inside the box and about two feet in front of the by-line, he was being closely attended by a defender but flicked the ball behind them both, turned like a ballerina and raced towards their keeper Louis Wells (who appeared to be taking time out from his day-job as an Owais-Shah-a-gram). Manny cut inside a little bit but was still working from a pinstripe of an angle, yet he made it look like a gaping chasm as he hammered the ball through Wells as though he were merely an apparition. Quick feet, quick brain, knows where the goal is, and a little bit of magic; I’m going to like this chap, I thought as the ball nestled in back of the net.

The second half was not without its challenges, partly from the home-side reasserting themselves and dominating large periods, and partly due to the fact that an injury to a linesman meant a twenty-minute delay whilst a replacement was pulled out of a wizard’s sleeve. The PA announcement suggested he’d been passing by, which suggests under-employed refs are lurking outside grounds throughout the country on the off-chance they might get to squeeze on the old shorts and make like a crab down the touchline one more time.

Still, it’s a relief someone could be found, as an abandonment would have been devastating, not so much for result purposes (as we still had fifteen or so minutes to defend at that point) but that it would have meant Manny’s wonder goal would effectively have been declared null and void, and would have ripped all the poetry right out of it. However, we not only got going again, but we got the hen’s teeth spectacle of a match official being given a warm-hearted ovation as he walked onto the field. A salute and a grin was his response.

It was tough stuff for most of the quarter hour epilogue. Whilst we created chances, we also had to endure wave after wave of pressure, but it was a terrific defensive effort and, as my London Branch colleague Adam was keen to note, it was great to see a Havant & ‘Ville side fighting back when a goal down, and not resting on their laurels once in the lead. Looking back, we had too many passengers last year. So far this season, it appears that we shan’t go wanting for strong hearts and sweaty effort. However, I’m still going to wield this mallet over my optimism for a while yet. Three games is merely a single swallow; the season a long, long summer.

FC Deportivo Galicia 2 Bethnal Green United 6

16may09
Middlesex County League Premier Division
Osterley Sports Club, Osterley
att. 12

“Here comes the summer” trilled The Undertones back in 1980. “It does? Hmmm, then here also comes a large buzzing battalion of wasps attracted solely, it seems, to my face” one could conceivably reply. What I’m saying is that for every upside, there will likely be a downside. The upside of once more being close enough to be able to follow m’team with obsessive fervour is that it leaves little time for the freedom of fairly random neutralling; the casual, serendipitous nature of the hobo lifestyle.

If I had two wishes (it has to be two as I would almost certainly waste the first on requesting a Mars ice cream or something) it would be that I could split myself in half and be able to do both each weekend. Actually, if this is total fantasy, I’d have a third me draped over my sofa watching Soccer Saturday whilst working my way at a feisty canter through a double pack of party ring biscuits. All bases covered.

Still, that’s what makes May such an ideal time. The Hawk season is over but the lower rungs, on pitches more susceptible to winter postponement, are still playing catch-up. Thus I can indulge in a little extra-curricular without distraction and whilst the sun shows its balmy hand. Well, in theory anyway. More accurately here I was stood next to a roped-off pitch in west London whilst a shower unexpectedly threw down its challenges, where the only cover was the two jerry-built chipboard dugouts, and where the wind was blowing so hard I had to stand behind the goal at the far end just to stop my hair resembling a billowing Medusa fright-wig. The gently idyllic picture I try to paint of this type of endeavour was arm-wrestling with grim reality’s salt-and-pepper landscape and pugilistic air stream, and was finding its whitened knuckles embedded in the table beneath.

Still, despite the conditions being as unattractive as an alleyway knee-trembler with Charles Clarke, the sprawling Osterley Sports Club was a hive of activity. Two cricket matches were occurring side-by-side and, as they always do, were making me lament my decision to quit club cricket at the age of 16; relative fitness and the occasional four-for given up just so I could get a Saturday job for pin-money I’d ultimately squander. Sigh.

On the other side of the clubhouse, Cranford Archery Club were beginning their Saturday shoot. They too were affected by the conditions. After setting up their gear they shot their opening salvo and then spent about quarter of an hour on their hands and knees in the long grass behind the bulls-eye trying to locate their delinquent arras. Watching them pad about like kittens trying to see what’s under the fridge, I realised that the risk of my inadvertently re-enacting the reign of King Harold II, specifically the very end of it, had never been so high.

Elsewhere two very low-key football matches were in various stages of their unfurling*, whilst two were about to start. One of these games was inside CB Hounslow United’s fully-enclosed Combined Counties League standard ground, as their reserve team squared off against Worcester Park stiffs. None of the 88 players on show around the grounds, I noted, seemed in the least bit perturbed by the Cranford club’s waywardness, nor the thought of a looming harpooning, and thus their game focus should be duly heralded. Despite a ground with cover, from rain or any other potential projectiles, being just yards away, the match I had come for was the one about to take place on the parallel pitch just outside the fencing, and inside the rope.

Considering I have made an effort to visit my new ‘local’ teams in senior football since moving to London (Leyton, Leyton Orient and Sporting Bengal United), it seemed about time I had a look at the team that represents the town I actually live in. Formed just nine years ago to promote football to young people in Tower Hamlets (briefly changing name to London Abohani in 2005), Bethnal Green moved last year from the austere park pitch at Meath Gardens to share Mile End Stadium’s grass with Sporting Bengal. This was partly due to their ambition to eventually enter the senior echelons and then be able to participate in the FA Cup and Vase. However, last summer their application to join the Essex Senior League was turned down on appeal. Perhaps following this more successful season for them, they may now be able to present a more convincing case for an uplift.

With Hayes United a point behind and also needing to complete one more game, Bethnal Green’s task for this game was straightforward: win and be MCL Premier Division champions. They couldn’t have asked for more agreeable opposition either, FC Deportivo Galicia having only a single win to their name, and a goal deficit of -59 over their 21 fixtures prior to this.

Deportivo were formed in 1968 (as Centro Galles de Londres) by immigrants from Galicia in north-west Spain and joined the Middlesex County League in 1995 after previously playing in a variety of Sunday leagues. They finished bottom of the MCL Premier Division last year and, being fifteen points behind second-from-bottom Willesden Constantine, were guaranteed the same fate regardless of their result in this game.

Given these circumstances and with the gale behind them, the regularity with which Bethnal Green lay siege on Deportivo’s goal in the first half was unsurprising. However they struggled to deal with the force of it themselves at the start of the half, with many a ball sailing off into the distance on a regular basis. Even with only one spare available, no-one seemed keen to gather in the strays, so I did the honours on a few occasions, chasing after the speeding spheres like David Pleat in an 80’s beige suit retreating from the sound of spud-gun-fire.

Once Bethnal worked the conditions out, they began puttin’ on the championship style, scoring some fine goals, albeit some assisted by a flat-footed Galician defence. Daniel Sabaroche was particularly good, scoring twice: one a deft lob, one a well-timed flick past the oncoming keeper. At half-time it was 4-0, the second being the best of the bunch, a wicked shot from the edge of the box that caught the draft and whistled into the top corner.

Galicia scored their two goals in the second half, one right after the re-start and another after 63 minutes, playing the wind as their much needed 12th man. Their second goal came direct from a corner [see third picture], the scorer then picking up and kissing his son, who had run on the field to celebrate, and telling him “I told you I’d score one like that.” Clearly he’d watched the Countryfile forecast the previous week as Mother Nature had already handed in her claim for a hefty assist bonus.

In truth, Bethnal Green deserved their title if only for being able to score two more goals despite facing up against the wind tunnel blast. Although I imagine they were referencing their entire season when they started running around and spraying each other with bottles of supermarket champagne on the final whistle. Bethnal Green United: Middlesex County League champions 2008/09. Warms the Cockney cockles of my ol’ East End ‘eart, it do. They dun us praaahd.

*one of which, apparently, was Kensington Dragons 5-2 win over Horseed in the Middlesex County League’s Division 3 (Hounslow & District).

ADDENDUM

At the Essex Senior League's AGM, Bethnal Green United were elected into their fold for the coming season which means, as the Essex area doesn't have an appropriate step six division, a jump of two steps up the pyramid for them. Still, as the ESL has only operated with 15/16 clubs for a few years now, there is certainly room for clubs with the right infrastructure looking to progress.

Links
FC Deportivo Galicia website
Bethnal Green United website

Montrose 1 Annan Athletic 1

23aug08
Scottish League Division Three
Links Park, Montrose
att. 427

Hobo in my pocket #28

As usual in August, I'm in Scotland on holiday. As such, it seems appropriate to fill this week with a picture from last year's trip. Words and pics from, all being well, a Highland League game whilst I'm in Inverness, and possibly the big Edinburgh derby (City vs University, of course) whilst I gad about the Edinburgh fest, should appear here in the next few weeks.

Previously, on Dub Steps
23aug08: Montrose 1 Annan Athletic 1


from the Vanity Project archive (issue #1 - April 2002)

Andrew W.K.
Portsmouth Pyramids. 08feb02.

Andrew WK is making his reputation as the regular gig-goers cannon fodder of choice. Within seconds of his entrance a deluge of plastic vessels cascade onto the 'K and his band of troubadours who have clearly seen it all before. What follows is a musical Groundhog Day of songs with no discernible uniqueness but that offer a distinct polarity. If you can forget the hype, have a drink or two and appreciate the opportunity to throw yerself about with the kind of wild-abandon not seen since your cider-drinking teenage years, then it is quite easy to get consumed by our sweaty hero. Otherwise you're shaking hands with the exit door. The glass throwing suggests disapproval, but it is uncommon in fairground duck shooting to harbour any particular malice towards the target birds. It is not impossible to resist that carnival element of Andrew WK's thunderous sound, but its far more fun if you don't.