This is Iryna #27760, she could be your new Russian bride (I suspect that silver will have to cross palms on the way though), best of all, she aspires to "Intercourse with the people".

The Wildhearts, it's almost like they didn't spend half the last decade in a smack induced coma, they arrived, they played, we drank (Southern Comfort is now de riguer at these do's, Paddy excepted), can't remember what exactly they played but it was more or less the whole of Earth vs. The Wildhearts, a couple each from Fishing For Luckies and PHUQ, and nowt from the fuzzbox nightmare that was Endless Nameless. It was great, no real moshing, far too crowded, just bouncy, bouncy, singalong madness, and this morning my ears still retain a small high pitched whining noise that won't go away. Only down point of the night, due to a breakdown in communication I lock myself out of the house and have to hide in the shed for an hour to avoid hypothermia while the wife comes home.

Oh my God, I've just come across this, apparently Neil Gaiman keeps a blog, and you can ask him stuff, I'll have to stop writing now 'cos I can't reach the keyboard when I'm face down on the carpet shouting "I'm not worthy O Great One", ahem, Neil Gaiman.

We're off to see the Wildhearts tonight, woo and yay indeed. There are a number of things to wish for when seeing the Wildhearts live...... 1) That they turn up, we've all been there before, crowded gig, empty stage 2) That although they are unlikely to be sober, they won't be so off their faces that they can't play 3) Ginger + Danny won't have mainlined their own bodyweight in heroin 4) They all play the same song, at the same time, see points 2+3 5) Please, please, nobody vomits on stage, see points 2+3 Anyway, if everything goes to plan, see you down the front for Caffiene Bomb!

Don't take the train, please don't fly anywhere, go in the car ? think again, just walk everywhere, it's far safer in the end.

This may qualify as the poorest site on the internet, unless you know better.

We've been reliving our youth in the kitchen this week, we listen to a fair bit or proper (i.e. British 70's/80's) punk, along with some so called modern punk, but Dawn brought in Adam Ants Hits album, and to the horror of the younger staff, some serious strutting and grooving has occurred, sadly, we can all still remember how to dance the 'Prince Charming', Yeeeee Haa. I painted a huge ant-warrior head on my bedroom wall as a teenager, with the 'Antmusic for Sexpeople' banner over the top, it baffled my mother and my father never entered the room again, a result then. It is a shame then that Adam has recently gone mad, and I've got to say he hasn't aged well, from this......... to this I always thought that Marco looked like he'd rather be doing something else, like playing prop forward, I always imagined meetings where Marco would be saying "Oh God no Adam, you want me to dress like what??"

There's a spider in my wingmirror, quite a big one, usually he gets back behind the mirror when I set off, but sometimes he just clings to his web for the hell of it, screaming with fear and joy.

Ah yes, just testing out my new blogger pro capabilities with a quick pic of Mr. Wierdness himself.

Here's the Hanse Conje thing, you see I do love cricket, it's a magical sport, and Cronje was one of those cricket god types, I'd watched him thrashing the pants off dear old Blighty far too many times, so when I heard the news on the radio that said the great man had thrown matches for money I saidIf Hanse Cronje's thrown a game I'll eat my hat. An unpleasant dinner was to follow.

I was about to do a short article on my love of cricket, the downfall of Hanse Cronje and how that led to me eating my hat, but whilst doing a little research I found this, Fat Chicks in Party Hats, it's fattist, anti-midget, anti-disabled, funny, and the most non-pc site I've stumbled over in a while.

Waferbaby: we eat bandwidth for breakfast, lol, well that's what they claim, have a poke around in the how to section, but avoid the shaving in odd places if you're squemish!

Fantastic weekend, it was our turn to host the triangular match, Ilkley, with The Island Golf Club of Dublin, and Portstewart Golf Club of Northern Island, I've got to point out that those Northern Ireland lads are the hungriest blokes I've seen in a long while, if you ever go to a buffet with them, make sure you're first in the queue. It was a smashing, if long, weekend, and the two visiting teams were some of the nicest guests we've had all year, cheers boys.

Who'd be a city boy ? Not me. I'm going to try and make you jealous, I'm sitting, having breakfast, looking at the view from the front windows. Across the narrow road leading to Nesfield are the 18th and 1st fairways, divided by a srtip of mature trees some of which are showing the first tints of autumn colour. Gulls and Magpies work the cropped grass for insects, the gulls are spaced about at random but the mags move in a loose skirmish line, almost executing a sweep pattern across the green. The wharfe forms the natural boundary for the course, today it hides low in its bed next to the 18th. It's fast rising the Wharfe, up and out of its bed in an hour or two when hard rains fall up the dale, flooding the course and fields for a day, or two, then falling away as quickley as it came. There are fields on the opposite bank, fields studded with sheep, fields that rise gently to the road, then the ground above the road becomes wooded and steep, and sprinkled with houses. There are more buildings than you would think, screened and hidden by their garden boundries of majestic Oak, Beech and Sycamore. The woods give way to moors above, deep green bracken, purple brown heather and rock all along, follow this ledge of rock to the far left and you come upon the old quarry at the Cow and Calf. Everything is bathed in bright, early morning, late summer sun, the few clouds casting slow moving patches of shade on the hills. I tell people about this view, and in return they tell me about the views over the Grand Canyon, or Kilimanjaro, or Mont Blanc, and how much bigger and more spectacular they are, but they miss the point, Mont Blanc is an adventure, and whilst I would be excited to see the view from it's slopes, I couldn't sit there in quiet contentment with my heart at peace, because I wouldn't be home, Yorkshire Soul.

If a member of the the famous Warburtons family of bakers were to form a heavy metal band, would they be known as........And They Shall Know Us By The Trail Of Bread? Ahem, moving on then, ever wondered when the Second Coming/Apocalypse was likely to take place, then check out the Rapture Index, yup that's the one, all non believers shalll be swept away in a breath of holy fire. Well, the index stands at 170 (that's "Fasten your seat belts" time for the righteous), but it is two points down on last week. Personally I'm astounded that the end times are drawing closer due to US unemployment and the introduction of the Euro, mind you, Lady T said European integration would be a fast track to hell. Old Maz Manson has always had a word or two about the astonishing panorama of the end times, I'm begining to suspect he might know something I don't, certainly he'd know about the price of drugs, although whether he'd know the current price in Glasgow is debatable. As a chef, I often get asked for recipes, well look, Jamie fucking Oliver has recipes because he writes books (or more likely has them written for him), all other chefs use the chuck it in until it looks right method, in fact I don't do any cooking, buy curry here and then buy some puddings here, set yourself up as a restaurant, see if I bloody care. Do treat yourself to a puding though, they're magic.

Wow, what a day, we already had 50 people dining when another 40 hungry, thirsty Irishmen descended on us, and lo, there was much swearing in the kitchen, and they're here all today, and Sunday too, will our beer supplies hold out? I have a habit, it started out fairly inexpensively, but it's grown. Like many others I was given a little by friends, then I searched it out for myself, now I find myself spending more and more money on it, it's wine. I've managed to develope a taste for fairly expensive vino, I used to be content just to drink it, now I'm putting cases in the cellar not to be touched for years and considering buying en-primeur, it gets a grip on you. Anyway, those nice folks at The Times are running a wine and dinner for £10 offer, not bad at all. Some nice chaps from Newark RUFC visited us earlier this year, they said they were going to post some pictures of themselves on the course, this is their web page, and they have misled us, not a picture of Ilkley in sight, we did get a mention though. Here's a band from Ilkley Po90, can't tell you what they sound like, but early Pink floyd looks a pretty fair guess from their website.

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Yesterday we hosted the Friends of Park Avenue, this used to be a Yorkshire County ground until it burned down, I don't know whether this was due to the large bolt of lightning shown here, or whether it was due to rough boys with matches, it probably wasn't that last bloke, but be wary if he asks for a light. I'm a huge cricket fan, it's always good to meet your heroes, oh yes, we had them all here yesterday, Ray Illingworth, Brian Close, ah, they were the days, before Yorkshire were shit. I'm so impressed, Fraser, the nice man that writes the ever entertaining Blogjam, managed to find my blog, how is this ? I have no idea, it wasn't publicised, the man must have a radar brain, or something. Disaster, the European tour may be off, as Marco Pierre White said, the upside of running your won kitchen is being able to hire and fire whoever you want, the downside is that having fired them you may not be able to get away on holiday. Hats off to Private Eye for the brilliantly tasteless cover this week, sadly their website is still showing last weeks John Prescott joke, but this weeks Michael Barrymore pic should have the usual flood of "If I had a subscrption I'd be cancelling it" letters pouring in.

I'm not in love with Matt Bellamy, but his voice is doing strange things to me, although you can't hear most of his lyrics, they are indeed strange and beautiful.

It's Tuesday morning, I'm trying to have half a day off, my other chef has just returned from 10 days in the South of France, lucky girl, she's been down there in Nice whilst I've been stuck in a hot, sweaty kitchen. Hopefully we're setting off to Rome, Paris and Barcelona later in the year. I wanted to watch AC Roma, PSG and Barca all play at home, but the missus has put her foot down, so we settled for one match only, Barca vs Real obviously, until I found out you have to be a very wealthy man to watch Barcelona!!!, apparently only the rich watch football in Spain.

Well hello, as I only reached lesson 5 in the teach yourself html in 24hrs this seems the only reasonable way to proceed, oh, and thanks to Fraser