Mark Samuels

1. When I was a kid, the excitement associated to the anticipation of pre-season was almost unbearable. Every season, you’d look at your squad and think, “this could be our year”. As a Villa fan, that misguided belief would now be laughable. It must be a shame for all these Brummies growing up and never, ever thinking: “This could be our year”.
2. Go to football. There’s a severe lack of kids. Why? Well, the lack of competition – producing a lack of anticipation – could be one thing. Expense is another; who can afford to travel round the country with their kids? Computers are also significant. Most kids would probably rather play Fifa then watch the Premier League. And if they do, they won’t pay for a ticket, or pay for a Sky subscription. They’ll watch if free on the interweb.
3. In fact, there’s a severe lack of anyone. Newcastle got just over 40,000 for their match against the Villa last week. That was the Toon’s first match at home in the Premier League since they’d been promoted. Villa, for their part, have been associated to an (unproven) 40% drop in season ticket sales. Their lovely local rivals Small Heath attracted just 6,000 for their mid-week League Cup match against Rochdale. Meanwhile, attendance figures for games have been modified to include tickets sold rather than people actually in the ground. I wonder why…?
4. The reason people don’t go to matches is because football is bloody expensive, and you’re basically paying for flash gits to drive round in stupid cars with naff paint schemes. These flash gits finally got their comeuppance at the World Cup, when the so-called Golden Generation exposed itself as an over-rated generation that, well, couldn’t give a toss.
5. You know how everyone loved football after Italia ‘90? Well, South Africa 2010 will be like 1990 – except in reverse. Everyone has finally woken up to the fact that the Premier League is uncompetitive, the ‘Chumpions League’ is a closed shop for rich swines and the players are nowt like us ordinary peasants. Bring back trips to Brum with my Dad as a kid, stopping at the sweet shop in Aston to buy a bag of chocolate éclairs and then watching the Villa lose 2-0 at home to Charlton in the pouring rain. At least I used to be able to think next year could be our year (expect it never was, of course).

A former editor suggested to me that anyone who doesn’t buy The Guardian in their 20s hasn’t got a soul, and that anyone who doesn’t buy The Times in their 30s hasn’t got a brain.

It is, of course, an over-simplified generalisation. Like the quote (wrongly?) attributed to Margaret Thatcher which suggests: “A man who, beyond the age of 26, finds himself on a bus can count himself as a failure.”

But I digress – and the point I am trying to make is that over-simplifications, however generalised, can sometimes strike a chord. Take the recent column in The Guardian by author Jenny Colgan, which rejoiced in the falling sales of three-wheeled buggies.

The column – which starts with the word “Hurrah!”, possibly the poshest introductory one-word sentence imaginable – explains why the three-wheeled buggy is the noughties symbol of “more-money-than-sense parenting”. The offroad buggy is, apparently, naff conspicuous consumerism: “No longer would a handed-down Maclaren do,” she says.

In our case, Colgan’s kind of right – but not for the reasons she suggests. We have two children who both need to be pushed in a buggy. The three-wheeler allows us to push both at the same time. It’s not possible, you see, for one person to push two buggies.

And naff conspicuous consumption? Do me a favour – our buggy was passed on free by mates, who’d had it passed to them by other parents. So talk to the hand, Jenny Colgan; our offroader is practical and cheap as chips.

Over-simplifications? Like I said at the start, they never work…

If you’re not a member of the Samuels family, you should probably stop reading about now. If you are – and you’re not Dan – you’ll probably stop reading anyway.

The premise, for those of you that are still with me, was simple: eight members of the family drew a team from each of the original seeding pots for the World Cup (which gave me South Africa, in terms of the top seeds – lucky me).

The winner of each seeding group (that’s the team that goes the furthest in each pot, please keep up) wins the huge sum of £2. So, in terms of two of the seeding groups, we already know the winners – Japan got the furthest out of pot 1 (extra time, last 16) and Slovakia got the furthest in pot 3 (2-1 defeat, last 16).

Teams still in with a chance of bringing you the cash are in bold. And to think, everyone laughed when I pulled out Ghana. Here’s that draw, and the remaining teams, in full:

• Mum | 1. Honduars | 2. Chile | 3. Serbia | 4. England
• Dad | 1. USA | 2. Ivory Coast | 3. Switzerland | 4. Spain
• Annette | 1. South Korea | 2. Cameroon | 3. France | 4. Italy
• Mark | 1. Japan (ladies and gentlespoons, we have a winner!) | 2. Ghana | 3. Denmark | 4. South Africa
• Lily | 1. New Zealand | 2. Uruguay | 3. Slovenia | 4. Netherlands
• Jemima | 1. North Korea | 2. Nigeria | 3. Portugal | 4. Argentina
• Louise | 1. Mexico | 2. Algeria | 3. Greece | 4. Brazil
• Dan | 1. Australia | 2. Paraguay | 3. Slovakia (ladies and gentlespoons, we have a winner!) | 4. Germany

Apologies if you’ve visited this site during the last couple of weeks and found that, well, not very much has changed. I’ve been on paternity leave, following the birth of my second daughter Jemima on 8th April. It’s back to work on Monday, so I’ll make sure to keep the site fresh.

At home, all is well. Mummy is recovering and Lily is coping with being a big sister. Thanks to all for your best wishes.

Speak soon and up the Villa!

The last month or so has been a reality check. I went with my Dad to the League Cup Final, thinking the game might be our opportunity to take home a trophy. One disappointing performance – and a very poor refereeing decision later – and our dreams were dashed.

More than just a defeat, the game proved to be a bit of a watershed. The Villa are still in the FA Cup but my natural Brummie despondency leaves me to conclude we’ll lose. We’re still in the hunt for fourth spot in the Premier League, too. Sky Sports would have you believe fourth spot is the promised land; I would vehemently disagree. We don’t win things very often and I would swap fourth place for victory in either of the domestic cup competitions in a heartbeat.

More to the point, I think we’d make an arse of ourselves in the Chumps League. The Villa lost in the qualifying rounds in this season’s Europa Cup and I fear a similar fate should we qualify for the European Cup (that’s the trophy’s real name, in case you’ve forgotten). I think the ‘race for fourth’ (T.M. Sky Sports 2010) will finish as follows:

• (4th) Manchester City – Straightforward run-in; class in depth
• (5th) Aston Villa – Not a bad run-in; not a great squad
• (6th) Tottenham Hotspur – Bloody hard run-in
• (7th) Liverpool – They are going nowhere fast

Which still doesn’t explain why I am being such a miserable swine when it comes to the Villa. Well, because as my Dad said: “What’s the point?” We don’t win trophies, we’re doomed to always come 6th in the League and – even we did qualify for the Chumps League – we’d end up out of the trophy and in debt. So, I had to have a think about why I still love the Villa. And here’s why:

1. We invented football – The Football League was invented by former Villa chairman William McGregor
2. We have a beautiful name – It’s almost poetic; I mean, just look at it: Aston Villa
3. We play in great colours – Not red, not blue, but claret, blue and gold
4. We won the European Cup – And no one can ever take that away
5. We are not Birmingham City – No more comment required
6. We have a great ground – Villa Park is a proper British football ground with four big, separate stands
7. We are not arrogant – Villa fans expect little and get little
8. We have won stuff – Every so often, things turn out right; we never take winning for granted
9. We are the Samuels family – Me, my Dad, my Grandad, my Great Grandad are/were all Villa fans
10. We had Paul McGrath – And he is God

Ah, I feel better now. Bring on Chelsea! Bring on the Chumps League!

I guess you probably think Waitrose is a classy store. Your call, I guess – but the following example of (non-)customer service has left me changing my perceptions of the highly rated retailer.

Shopping at Waitrose is normally great. Part of the John Lewis Partnership, it offers a smashing range of products, is better priced than most people believe and is connected to the brilliant online shopping specialist Ocado.

Unfortunately, a recent experience has left me to conclude that Waitrose is also the kind of retailer that allows an outsourced firm to charge a family (one Dad, a pregnant Mum and a three-year-old daughter) £25 to park for more than two hours in their car park as they spend more than £100 on a weekly shop. Thanks Waitrose.

Rather than drone on like a demented consumer champion (any of my neighbours in Wanstead will tell you that I have already bored them senseless about the incident), have a look at the following droning letter of complaint I sent to Waitrose HQ. And get bored by that instead:

To whom it may concern

I am writing to complain about an incident during a recent visit to the Waitrose store in South Woodford, London. As a regular customer that has received many years of quality customer service from the Partnership, I was dismayed to see the following incident occur.

My heavily pregnant wife, my three-year-old daughter and myself parked in a family bay and shopped as normal in the store. We completed our shop and, on returning to our vehicle, found a £25 parking ticket because our car had been parked in the same place for more than two hours.

First, and as can be seen by the included receipt, we completed quite a large shop. Buying food during a busy weekend is always a time-consuming process and is likely to take a considerable period of time.

Second, your web site refers to the friendliness of the Partnership experience. We met three groups of friends and spent time talking to your affable till attendant. We would not, however, have opted for the friendly experience if we knew there was a chance it would cost us £25.

Third, my three-year-old daughter had to be changed in the toilet. Again, this incident took a considerable period of time. My daughter also likes to look at the children’s books and magazines. While we appreciate the distraction, we would not have dallied if we had known it would cost us money.

In short, I can understand that your company might find a requirement to charge people that chose to stay in your car park and not shop in the store. But when a family spends £100, I think it is reasonable to expect that they will not be charged £25 for the experience.

Best regards

Mark Samuels

So, that letter was sent a few weeks ago. What do you think happened? Well, they wrote back quickly – which was nice. And was there a big apology? Er, not exactly:

Dear Mr Samuels

I was sorry to learn that you were unhappy with the car park charges at our South Woodford branch and would like to take this opportunity to explain our reasoning for these changes.

OK. Apology – good start. But look closely; they’re sorry that I am unhappy – not sorry the incident occured. Not looking so good now, especially when they say they’re going to explain their reasoning for the charges (also worth noting that there’s an extra space before South Woodford on my copy of the letter. The more cynical might suggest that the name ‘South Woodford’ has been simply copied and pasted into a standard letter; that’s what the more cynical might suggest…).

Whenever it can Waitrose is keen to provide unlimited free parking. Unfortunately, this is not always possible especially in areas where we must conform with local restrictions or the car park is under the control of the local authority.

Fair enough, they have limited spaces and I guess some people park and don’t buy stuff in the shop. But what’s this…?

At South Woodford there is a very high demand for the number of spaces, and to ensure there is a continual turnover of spaces so all of our customers can find a space during peak periods, Britannia Parking Limited control the car park by introducing a charge after a reasonable period of time. You would therefore need to contact Britania direct.

Woah! So to ensure shoppers can find a space, they fine you after a couple of hours. What? I spent £100 in your store – what on earth has ‘reasonable period of time’ got to do with justifying a turnover of spaces when you’re actually spending cash? If they want to keep spaces free for customers, fine – but surely not by charging people that are in the store shopping. And while I’m on the matter, what is ‘reasonable’? Does it not include spending cash, looking after your kid and having a chat with people? Clearly not.

I would like to thank you for taking the time to bring this matter to attention.

Fine, it’s given me an opportunity to moan and some free content for my blog. So, thanks to you, too.

I appreciate that whilst what I have written will not have been what you wanted to learn, I am glad to have had an opportunity to clarify our position.

Good for you. And you’re right; it isn’t what I wanted to hear – or, more importantly, what I expected.

I can assure you of our continued commitment to providing you with the service and merchandise you espect when shopping at Waitrose and hope this unfortunate incident will not deter you from shopping with us again in the future.

You’ve already failed to meet my expectations regarding service, Waitrose. But why would it deter me from shopping with you again? I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite my face; I like your shops. But I tell you what it will do – it will make me angry and push me to write a load of stuff on my blog about how disappointed I am. And I’ll tell everyone I know about how you left me feeling rubbish. Shame, really. I expected better.

Moral of the story? Don’t park in a mother and baby spot, and spend too long spending £100 in a Waitrose store. If you do, you’ll be charged an extra £25 for the experience.

One of the great things about my three-year-old daughter is that she likes a laugh. She’s shy but, in the comfort of her own home, she really likes a laugh. Much to my poor wife’s chagrin, who usually has to cope with an over-excited child and a childish Daddy.

She’s spent the last couple of months experimenting with jokes. Egged on by an immature father and the ubiquitous Justin (he’s a bloke that presents loads of shows on CBeebies, including the ‘funny’ Gigglebiz), my daughter has tried to come up with some gags. As can be seen below, she’s managed to rip off a fairly standard formula – but the gags show a strong (how I can put this?) alternative flavour:

• Why did the pelican cross the road? To go to the barbers.
• Why did the mouse run up the clock? To go in the trumpet.
• Why does the steam go in your eyes? Because it runs about.
• Why does a cup jump into the air? Because it digs on your floor.
• Why does a turtle walk on the land? Because it swims in the sea.
• Why does a cup go on your shelf? Because it sits on your table.
• Why does the turtle swim like a fish? Because it’s like you and me.
• Why does a machine cross your toy? Because it goes to the centre, where’s it’s cool and fluffy.
• Why does a cow jump over the fence? Because it wants to eat your supper.
• Why did the vacuum cleaner stamp on the house? Because it made the children run about.
• Why did the toilet cross his neighbours to get to his house? Because he bought something new to wear.
• Why does the tree lamp have a leaf? Because it’s bonkers.
• Why did the cat jump over the moon? Because it runs to the stocking.
• Why did the deer have no eyes? Because it had no idea.

My wife knows nothing about technology. She doesn’t have a Facebook account and watching her search the web is more frustrating than watching Aston Villa fail to score in four successive Premier League matches.

She cares nothing for the bits and bytes of technology, like much of the world (an oft forgotten detail). But she did mention that she’d heard Apple had released some new technology.

“The Apple iPad,” I said, recognising that while she cares nothing for Steve Jobs’ latest device, she is equally unable to avoid media hype. The iPad – depending on your chosen review – is either a big phone, the greatest innovation ever (since the last Apple innovation, anyway) or the saviour of the publishing industry. Such hype suggests we’re all about to start reading books and papers on our iPads ; my wife’s response to that suggestion?

“Reading is all about relaxing, so why would anyone choose to read a computer screen?”

Quite (now get your own Facebook account and stop using mine to connect with your mates).

I live in a place called Wanstead. If you live in London, it’s on the Central Line loop; if you don’t, it’s to the east. Wanstead is nice. My Dad is always saying: “What I don’t get about this London is that even when a place is nice, there’s something really grim just round the corner.”

He’s right, of course, but he lives in Warwick. And that is basically the posh Midlands. So, he’s a bit spoilt. But Wanstead – when it comes to London and it’s rather frustrating mix of nice and grim – is fairly grand. That sense of grandness is provided by the wide, tree-lined streets, some splendid period architecture and some lovely open spaces, such as the green on the High Street and Wanstead Park.

The village – if you can call Wanstead a village when it’s five minutes from the M11 and served by two Underground stations – has managed to retain a strong identity, particularly as the rest of east London is either being smashed for the Olympics or going to the dogs (or not, in the case of the former dog track at Walthamstow Stadium).

Then last week, a Tesco opened on the Wanstead High Street. It’s been a source of conjecture, debate and protestation. The store takes the place of a former Woolworth’s (RIP, you good retail friend). The protests against the store have been long and loud (hence the delay in the store opening). A particularly vocal compaigner has been a chap called Ashley Gunstock, who admitted using the Leytonstone Tesco branch after being ‘outed’ by a local newspaper. It’s been that sort of debate.

People objecting to the store say Tesco will kill shops on the High Street. Like elsewhere in the UK, shops are always opening and closing in Wanstead – and I guess the presence of a retail giant is hardly likely to help the independents. And the community of Wanstead – and it does have a nice community; we know all our lovely neighbours – seem keen to ensure the shop is empty.

Which is why I was surprised to see people virtually fighting to get into the Tesco earlier this week, while the local Co-op – which is normally packed – was the retail equivalent of the Mary Celeste: “It’s always like this now,” said one of the workers to me at the Co-op.

Change, eh? Who needs it? Virtually everyone, it would seem.

My daughter is three this weekend. To commemorate this momentous occasion, I’m going to record another of her five favourite games (and she’ll get some presents, too):

• Doggies – I bought a bag of small plastic dogs from a charity shop. I am always that generous. Anyway, my daughter loves this bag of dogs. There are about 100 of the little hounds and there’s accessories, too. Her favourite accessory is the toilet. The dogs spend a lot of time paying money to the shopkeeper to go the toilet. A shop of toilets run by dogs? Not one I’d like to visit in real life.
• Dinos in Houses - Similarly to the small plastic dogs, my daughter has a tin of dinosaurs – which has also been invaded by a collection of insects. Which means evolution has got mixed up and Triceratops now hangs out with his mate over-sized ladybird. My daughter uses her wooden blocks to build houses for the dinos and gets upset if you don’t play the game properly. And that’s always difficult when you don’t know the rules.
• Families - We’ve got another child on the way and my daughter is into families right now. Similarly to earlier favourite games, ‘Families’ relies on the participation of willing soft toys. The toys are not necessarilly related, which means the father is sometimes a dog and the mother is a cow. Another example of evolution gone mad, I’m afraid. One of the toys plays the little girl and the mummy toy has a baby in its tummy. Then they all go on the train for a holiday.
• Peppa Pig - One for Mummy, this one. My daughter likes Mummy to play a subtle variation on ‘Families’ with Peppa Pig and her clan. She’s got a house and a school, and everyone hangs out together. Once again, she gets upset if you get the rules wrong. Which is a particular problem for non-plussed Daddy.
• Explorers – Another game based on soft toy participation. Monkey and Leopard go to Sock Valley and find the Golden Egg. Sometimes Confused Robot comes along for the ride and gets everyone’s names wrong. And French Otter, who is actually a stoat and who says ‘de temps en temps’ a lot.