Today's Unwelcome Twitter Whirlwind: My View in More Than 140 Characters

My plan this morning was to drop my daughter at pre-school, get some groceries, have a cup of tea and then get on with a bit of sewing. FYI I was going to to make some lavender scented fabric hearts to send to my best friend in San Fransisco.

Unfortunately, as I was drinking the tea, I decided after some thought to reply to the tweet rallying support for a petition in connection with the Hillsborough disaster.

A mother, Anne Williams, who tragically lost her innocent 15-year-old son wants an explanation as to why his time of death was recorded as 3.15pm but a police officer had previously stated that he was alive at 4pm. This is all to do with why ambulances weren't allowed onto the pitch to treat people who might have been saved.
I stated that I did not feel able to sign the petition or further advertise it as I stood by South Yorkshire Police.

I write for a rugby league magazine and in the past have been a journalist in mainstream media so I usually wouldn't wade into such a debate. The only reason I decided to comment on such a controversial subject was that many other, high profile, figures had thrown in their support for the campaign. This surely means I have a right to voice my, albeit different, opinion?

The comment was made to my modest 450ish followership. I hate the word 'followers' by the way. It sounds patronising. But the message was picked up on by a more high profile person and forwarded to his audience of 5900.

I braced myself for the abuse I would inevitably receive and made further elaborative comments to explain my position. These comments have so far not been forwarded by the famous man, despite my suggesting that this would be a fair thing to do.

The thing is I am from Sheffield and my dad was a serving South Yorkshire Police officer for 35 or so years (although a detective so not working at football matches). I feel a loyalty towards the organisation as a whole.
Those who died at Hillsborough were blameless and I cannot bear to think of the pain of this mother.

I do not object to her fight.

I do not object to an inquiry or the search for the truth.

My objection is with the blanket demonisation of the police from that day on, the disregard for other factors which led to this tragedy and the bullying which stops people from voicing this aforementioned view!

That petition is just not one for me to sign.

Now my iPhone is relentlessly buzzing with the news that my original 140 character text is making its way further through Merseyside. I can say that although there is abuse constantly coming back to me on this four hours later none of it is too poisonous or personal.

But it isn't nice to have the strong and aggressive hatred of so many thrust upon you.

If only I had stuck to my original plan today of making those lavender scented fabric hanging hearts. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

And if it were the case that I would know Garry Schofield (the famous retweeter) from Adam if he slapped me around the head with a wet kipper, I would not be handing him a Christmas card come December. Thanks to him I am in contention to be the third most hated person at Anfield after David Duckenfield and Kelvin MacKenzie.

A Wags World Cup and Why I'm Going on a Cruise While This Tour's On

I write this as the first group of England Rugby League players and staff are airbourne, between Dubai and Sydney, en route to New Zealand for the Four Nations tournament. I'm constantly checking the airline's website to see if there are any updates to the time they're due to arrive. I've even set up a facility where I get a text when they land.

In 2008 I went out to the World Cup with my 9 month-old daughter and my mum and dad. This time I've decided to give it a miss. I've thought about how I'd structure a review of my World Cup trip and I've decided that a list of highs and lows will be the most succinct way of doing it. When you've cast an eye over it, and noted the difference in length of the two lists you will perhaps understand why I'm off on a med cruise this year instead:

Rugby League World Cup 08 Lows In Chronological Order As Far As I Recall:

When I got to the airport I was told that three out of our four visas were invalid due to careless errors on the forms we'd filled in. Cue panic. Turns out this was quite easily sorted by our nice airline peeps.

Baby was extroadinarily restless on flight out there, leading to me having to stand in the aisle for 2 1/2 hours at one point singing 'Marching on Together' to her in lullaby stylee.

On only one of the 6 legs of our flights there and back was I sitting with my parents thus negating the point of them coming out to help me on the flight.

The seating arrangements also meant me having to breastfeed in VERY close proximity to total strangers.

Every time there was a bit of turbulence the air stewards asked me to take Evangeline out of the sky cot, so when I did get her settled I had to wake her up.

Evangeline vomited down me in Bangkok Airport, but the porter who was pushing my mum's wheelchair spoke no English and I couldn't stop him motoring through to the gate to stop him to clean up.

This is a corker! When we got to the gate at Bangkok for our follow on flight the BBC World Service News screen informed me that England had fallen to a record defeat to Australia 52-4.

Evangeline had a very upset stomach and her nappy, er, leaked while me were landing in Sydney. It was all up her back and I of course had to have her atttached to me by a seatbelt on my knee for 40 mins.

When we got to baggage reclaim in Syndey they had lost my brand new, bought especially for the trip, pushchair. They loaned me one til the found mine (it had gone on to Auckland) and we nicknamed it the sh*t mobile.

Jetlag is not good with a 9 month-old. So easy to let them sleep while you have your dinner but then they're awake til 4am.

Sydney harbour has these long beaked birds that don't take no for an answer. This caused a massive family fall out which looking back is quite hysterical.

In Newcastle we stayed in the same hotel as the Kiwis. The hotel was nice but Newcastle is not very touristy and it was hard to get a meal with a baby. Oh yes, and we lost again, this time to the Kiwis.

After the final whistle we walked up and down outside the stadium (me carrying baby, Dad pushing mum in wheelchair) to try and get a taxi. After 2 hours Jason had to come and rescue us in England car.

Up to this point the weather had been poor but when we got to the Gold Coast it got worse. Rain rain rain, wind wind wind, cloud. Awful.

After the weather got worse we went to Brisbane and it was like Armageddon. Brisbane had the worst storms they'd had in 38 years while we were there for 10 days. NEVER seen anything like it. Thunder like you've never seen. Rain you'd never want to see again. Lighting that looked computer generated. It was, and I am not jesting, declared a national disaster zone.

We were staying in a nice place a bit out of town in Brisbane. Parking in Brisbane was $15 aud for half an hour. So we had a hire care and couldn't afford to take it into town. Oh, and yes, we lost again in Brisbane and were out of the tournament.

While Jason was on the job we only saw him for an hour here and there every couple of days. I totally appreciate that this is how it should be when the boys are in camp, but it's still a long way to go for that.

Jason managed to get transferred onto out flight to come home. Yay, I thought. Help on the flight home. Jason was in business and there was one period of six hours during which he did not emerge from behind that velvet curtain! He said it was because the 'Fasten Seatbelt' sign was on and he thought he couldn't move. I had to ring him on the internal phone because his daughter needed a drink of water and we weren't getting any service. He brought me a bottle of his compimentary Evian then returned to his fully reclining throne saying, "I have to go back. They are about to serve the canapes." I kid you effing-well not.

Oh I forgot this bit and have had to come back.... When I got off the plane I realised I'd left my wallet in a loo in Brisbane Airport and my mum through up all the way home in the taxi.

The fact that everyone thought that we could win the World Cup, but it turned out we were bobbins.

I never went to one single 'barbie' while I was there.

The fact that Australian KFCs put gravy IN the mashed potato?!?!?

Rugby League World Cup 08 Highs In Chronological Order As Far As I Recall:

The promise and anticipation of the trip of a lifetime.

Darling Harbour Sydney, great shopping and atmosphere. What a place to say you've been. Bought a roxy bikini and bucket and spade set.

My husband surprising me and turning up at the hotel in the middle of the aforementioned 'big beaked bird family row'. I hadn't seen him for more than three weeks and had never understood people crying with happiness until the moment that I bumped into him at reception.

Sharing the Newcastle hotel with the Kiwi boys who are a pleasure, and the Kiwi TV commentary team. Had a great low key night with Stephen McIvor and Peter Ropati. Peter seemed lovely and they've since let him go. Shame. Stephen was a character. Oh, Andrew Johns was staying there too and we bumped into Mal Reilly at a pizzeria. (Name dropppppppeeeerrrr - Sorry!)

Seeing the England boys turn their backs on the Haka. Say what you like about the rights and wrongs of it; I was there.

Meeting Stevo, Eddie and Phil at Newcastle Airport. Stevo and Eddie were lovely and offered to help me with luggage and baby.

The wonder of Surfers Paradise. People say it's like Blackpool. I haven't seen many Gucci or Louis Vuitton outlets on the Golden Mile. If only I'd been there a few years before, childless and ready to catch some waves, I'd have been able to lap it up.

The amazing atmosphere at the Suncorp Stadium, Brisbane, for the semi-final despite it being pretty empty and getting to meet Tony Smith's family from Aus and sit with them for the match. Tony has changed our lives for the better and this meant a lot to me.

People stopping me and telling me how cute my baby looked in her full England kit.

Australia Zoo. A wonderful, inspiring place. So sad.

Australian hotel buffet breakfasts.

Music to Watch Leeds Rhinos By

With just a few days to go until the Challenge Cup Final it's time I had a look at my matchday playlist to see if there are any tracks I could do with adding to it.

I've been building my list of rip-roaring motivational anthems since the lead-up to the 2007 Grand Final. It's not a particularly long list.

See what you think. I'll start with the obvious stuff. At no point will Heather Small feature in this list as 'Proud' and 'Hero' are songs that get on my nerves, as Joe Pasquale might say.

Here's what I have playing as I get ready to go to the match...

U2, Beautiful Day
Take That, Greatest Day
Black Eyed Peas, I Gotta Feeling
Reverend and the Makers, Heavyweight Champion of the World
Lostprophets, Rooftops
My Chemical Romance, Welcome to the Black Parade
Natasha Bedingfield, Unwritten
The Killers, Mr Brightside (Just because it makes me euphoric)
The Corrs, Baby Be Brave http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZnQksgZKzg

I am considering adding to the list Alicia Keys, Wait Til You See My Face http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5Y0dn9i3_Q

Have any you think I should add? Tweet me @peneloperadio or post below.

Matchday Sausage and Other Challenge Cup Musings

I posted on Twitter earlier that my Challenge Cup Semi Final preparations had begun with getting my roots done and was asked if this was a big game superstition in our household. Well it isn't, it's just a big game preference, but that's not to say that match related rituals are not the norm at Chez Davo.

The gradually evolving requirements that must be met before a make-or-break encounter began in 2002 with the Northern Ford Premiership Grand Final. The husband (then boyf) was Conditioner at Huddersfield Giants back then and their promotion back to Superleague that year was, in some part, down to my carrying of an old dirty gum shield in my handbag.

The story behind this bit of grotty memorabilia becoming my first lucky charm is as follows: For one season (2001) Huddersfield Giants had an Aussie prop called Troy Stone pulling on the claret and gold. He was such a fleeting presence for Fartown that I couldn't find a decent photo of him playing for them so here's him in his Canterbury Bulldogs days. He was my favourite player that season.

When the Giants got relegated he retired and went back to his homeland. According to tradition (apparently) he buried his gum shield under the posts before leaving, but when my husband told him how I'd admired him that year he went and dug it up and gave it to me. So that's superstition one. It tends to work for me unless Huddersfield are involved in the encounter then it works against me. It is a confused little charm.

The second vitally important piece of the victory jigsaw involves our dog eating a sausage on the morning of the match. I don't remember when this started but it is more important than the gum shield. My dad (a 6'4" ex-detective) has been known to get on the floor and pretend to eat the sausage himself to encourage the dog, a toy poodle called Gemima, to tuck in. She has eaten the sausage on the morning of all three of Leeds's Grand Final victories. As the boys are usually away in camp I send Jason a video message showing it happening so set his mind at rest and OMG I've managed to find the clip!

For a while there was an emerging idea that Jason had to wear broken glasses with tape on them to boost chances of a win, but I think vanity has over-ridden this one.

So although my hair appointment was not part of pre-match superstition I will be partaking in other forms of hocus pocus before Leeds v Saints on Saturday. I haven't bought a new outfit for the occasion as I'm holding out for the end game at Wembley (gum shield willing). I've never been to a Challenge Cup Final and am desperate for the privilege.

Tonight the Leeds boys will be in camp so I guess I'll have to either substitute our Friday night take-away for a Weight Watchers microwave dinner for one or have a pizza to myself. It's all sacrifice round here. I guess I'll have to take one for the team again.

Follow me on Twitter @peneloperadio for regular 'matchday sausage' updates.

Oh, and let's hope the Rhinos play how they can as well.

I like Clare Balding but I don't like BIKES

This week, on the recommendation of Angela Powers, I began following Clare Balding on Twitter. Her tweets are balanced to suit just my taste with personal and professional insights. @clairebalding1

It became quickly apparent that she had some significant beef at the moment with the Sunday Times columnist A.A. Gill. In fact she used her first ever tweet to call him that word that David Cameron ill advisedly said on the radio once.

I did a bit of digging and found that Gill had reviewed a new series of Clare's, 'Britain By Bike'. The review seems to be more about patronising women in television and being generally offensive about Clare's sexuality.

Clare Balding has always come across to me on television as rather a lovely lady. I have massive respect for her expertise on horses. I also think she does a nice job in strange circumstances of fronting the BBC's Rugby League Challenge Cup coverage. I love that she tries to know as much as possible about it in comparison to some of Sky Sports News's presenters who do the double header with Martin Offiah on a Sunday night. I mean as if he doesn't jet-propel my heart to my mouth enough with his seemingly epic fear of the live TV situation, they have an anchor whose rugby league knowledge goes: "Rugby league. That's the one they play up north isn't it? Didn't Andy Farrell play it once?" It must be super comforting for him.

(Totally off the subject, I was once offered a job as a football commentator for a club's own radio station. I said no as I didn't have an in depth knowledge of football. They said it didn't matter. I has to disagree.)

So anyway. Clare Balding. I like her. Turns out she's a lesbian. I was told that for definite a couple of years ago. I didn't exactly fall off my chair in shock. I was probably interested in the circumstances for about ten minutes. How long had this been common knowledge? Did she have a long term partner? Has she always been a lesbian or had she ever been straight? I don't know the answer to any of these questions and I'm not really that bothered. Guess what? Paint dries, and the Pope is a Catholic. More boring, obvious and irrelivant observations

To call her a "dyke on a bike" and make dull and simple 'butch' digs is a little schoolboyish isn't it? Oaf-like?

Here's my review of the series I haven't seen: I don't like bikes (yes that's BIKES) so I probably won't watch it. I think that's about as insightful as A.A. Gill's go.

Oh, and this Gill fella looks a bit like Kilroy but with imperfect teeth.

Relegation and the NFP - My Golden Rugby League Year

Considering some of my previous and planned blog posts I have noticed a worrying theme: angst. Moan, moan, moan, moan. Anyone would think from reading them that I would rather my husband arranged life insurance at The Abbey than facilitate my family's special and sometimes privileged existence through sport.

That in mind I'm going for a TOTAL change of tone here. I shall recount the highs from my bestest, favouritest, most fabulous ever year in rugby league.

Having spent almost five seasons at the Leeds Rhinos now, including three Grand Final wins and a World Club Challenge some of you may wonder why I look back so fondly on 2002, the season my then team Huddersfield Giants spent in the Northern Ford Premiership following relegation.

I had only been a rugby league WAG for 2 years at this point and the two seasons I had been, Huddersfield were God awful. Just rubbish. Seriously bad. Relegation was almost a relief.

One good thing then about the 2002 season was that we didn't lose, ever, at all, all year. So that's a positive. Well we did lose in the Challenge Cup but that didn't count.

That year I saw what rugby league was about. Some grounds changed ends at half time, some sloped considerably, come had portocabins for players lounges and at some you got wet when it rained no matter where sat/stood. I remember many characters including one lady who shouted abuse with froth spilling from the corners of her mouth. I'm not saying that Superleague doesn't have such characters but they were more at home in the NFP.

The Buddies Cup was born in 2002. That was then name then for the National League Cup. The sponsor, Buddies, is a soft drinks manufacturer. They make the kind of bright blue pop that you give kids outside the pub with a straw in it. It is best accompanied by Seabrook crisps, IMO. Perfect. We played Hull KR at Featherstone and won 32-6.

The game was marred by a sending off for Stanley Gene. He took some stick during this match from both players and supporters. Stanley had previously left KR to go across the city to Hull FC for a short spell before joining the Giants. The red card was for tripping and as Gene left the pitch a pint was thrown on him from above the tunnel.

The children (and I am talking Primary age) of one of the roughest and readiest Giants gave the offending Robins fans some verbal of their own which was quite amusing, although totally condemned of course!

There was also a disturbance among some inebriated fans behind us (WAGS and children) and at one point we had to pass the little ones along the line of seats like a human conveyor belt to get them away from the bother. All exciting stuff.

Winning was goooooood!

In October 2002 we met Leigh in the Northern Ford Premiership Grand Final The winner would secure promotion to the Superleague. We had not lost a league match or play-off all year and Leigh had only lost to us. BIG GAME. The game was so big I took a hip flask. This is reserved for emergency situations. What did I have in it? Baileys of course.

At this stage by husband and I were still 'courting'. We wanted to get engaged but needed the bonus money from winning this match to buy the ring I'd seen. The stakes were very high.
Bobby Goulding was the Leigh player/coach at this time. We won and the Giants were back in Superleague. He lost. Double bonus.

Following the match the WAGS had to sit on the coach outside the ground. The only person who had secured a bar pass was Tony Smith's wife and we had to wait for her to have a drink. Thank Goodness for my hip flask.

The players' coach and the families' coach dropped us all off at a regular haunt of the Giants, the Chigaco Rock Cafe and there began one of the greatest nights out of my life.

We went on to Visage and Ethos. This is one of those dual centred places that has cheesy house in one side and cheesy oldies in the other. I refer to the music and not the clientele. Oh OK it applies to both. I love this type of place.

Each song seemed to hold a special meaning that night and as I ranted along with Welsh winger Hefin O'Hare and promising youngster Eorl Crabtree the musings of that great orator Jon Bon Jovi had never seemed so poignant: "Ohhhhhhh, we're half way there. OH OH. We're living on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make it I swear. OH OH, we're living on a praaaaayer."

It was a crazy night. A few of the boys decided to follow the example of the club doctor and set fire to their own mouths with the aid of some sort of spirit. I hope you feel comfortable in the knowledge that this physician has just been named the new England Doctor to take care of the nation's best on their 2010 tour of the southern hemisphere. He's a changed man these days.

There was an official celebration the night after, Sunday, with the fans. It wasn't nearly as good. I think we'd burner ourselves out a bit and I remember being a bit peeved that my fella didn't win any awards for clubmanship despite having spent most of his waking hours working that year.

That Monday morning I had to go and watch 'XXX' at the cinema as I had to review it. It was very loud and my head hurt but I didn't mind. And there ends my best year in rugby league so far.

The first match back for the Giants in 2003 was away in the Challenge Cup to Hunslet Hawks. We lost. Gutted.

The three Grand Final victory celebrations to date have been muted by pregnancy, breastfeeding and toddler taming.

I can only hope there are more euphoric times to come.

The photos below are from the 2002 NFP Grand Final and the second night out.

Why I Think Capello Should Look To Rugby League for WAGS Protocol

Before the FIFA World Cup began I was undecided about whether Fabio Capello's WAGS (wives and girlfriends) ban for the tournament was a good idea. One part of me thought the partners of the players deserved to share in the event while another understood why it wasn't a positive thing for them to appear in the papers dancing on tables and buying up the stock of South Africa's premium shopping outlets.

But now that we have seen two substandard and grey performances form the English national team I have made a decision. I believe they should get the wives, girlfriends, children and extended families of Steven Gerrard and co. out there quick sharp.

To me (and I am no expert on football, but am an on supporting sportsmen) the camp has been turned into an office; the players into businessmen. It is ALL about football. Work, work, work.

I can only comment on the professional rugby league teams I have been involved with over the last 11 years, Huddersfield Giants, Leeds Rhinos and England, although I believe that the protocol is similar for all clubs in the Superleague. My husband has been into camp with all of these teams in the run-up to Challenge Cup matches, the Superleague Grand Final, the Northern Ford Premiership Promotion Grand Final (showing my age) and England's World Cup and Four Nations campaigns.

For all of these events the rules have been as follows: families are encouraged to share in the excitement, supports the team, enjoy the event, but at no time are they wanted at the team hotel, the players should only have time with their families when it is agreed in the schedule and at no time should they be showing themselves up. I can't think of a single rugby league WAG that I know who would even want to break with this arrangement. All we want is for our loved ones to achieve their dreams and win the match!

The families will often have a meal together before setting off to a big fixture, travel together, sit together and rejoice together in victory. If we lose there is no need for words, we just do a shruggy shouldered, miserable faced, defeated look at each other.

If the England 11 is bored, lacklustre on the pitch and disjointed looking perhaps I can offer a suggestion to at least give them passion and team spirit?

Let Wayne Rooney catch a glimpse of Coleen and Kai in the stand as the National Anthem plays and try and stop him dreaming of scoring that goal for his first son. Let Frank Lampard cross that ball knowing that Frank Snr, the driving force behind his career, is watching from the posh seats. Let the wives and the kids and the mums and the dads enjoy the tournament together and create their own camaraderie because it does rub off.

My WAG friends and I are off to Wimbledon for the day tomorrow. We've been looking forward to it for six months and have spent the last one of them FB-ing each other about dresses, bags and shoes for the occasion. We, Leeds Rhinos, are Superleague Champions and our camp is a happy one. Take a leaf?