No longer the wonder of Woolies in Stoke-on-Trent (or South Cheshire)

Picking over the embers of a dying empire left me with a sour taste in my mouth. What drove me to walk inside good old Woolworths, in Sandbach, I'll never know.
Maybe it was a sense of something unusual going on inside. In fact, what was unusual for this high street legend was that it was packed to the rafters with shoppers
You couldn't move inside. But this once glorious shop now resembled at best a jumble sale, that is the start of a jumble sale, when traders push innocent punters aside to get their hands on the best of what's on offer.
As I stood taking in the atmosphere, all I could smell was death of an institution. But this did not concern shoppers who eyed a bargain.
It was like attending a wake, when cold-blooded relatives pocket something valuable from the house of the deceased before anyone notices that it has disappeared.
Across Stoke-on-Trent I'm sure the same scenario was acted out. It all seemed so desperate. Desperate for the 30,000 Woolies staff who face an uncertain future and desperate for the shoppers to grab a bargain before they become the victims of the credit crunch.
And just a short distance down the road the death toll was loud and clear for that other retail giant MFI.
White vans queued up outside the store in Stoke-on-Trent like hearses destined for the cemetery. Brightly-coloured signs gleefully screamed 'Closing Down Sale, Everything Must Go', but there was no glee in the faces of shoppers or staff.
Indeed, there was a certain furtiveness about the shoppers, a feeling that they didn't want to be seen making profit while there was so much loss.
Like children in the sweet shop, they didn't want to be seen stealing the penny chews.
Should you wish to read more on life in North Staffordshire and South Cheshire pop along to The Sentinel...

Time for a Pina Colada in Stoke-on-Trent

Talk about depressed...the igloo is now a pool of water. The threatened 12 foot deep snow drifts for Stoke-on-Trent are no-where to be seen and I'm outside the office, Hawaiian shirt on, sitting on a stripey deckchair sipping a Pina Colada.
Yes, welcome to December in Stoke-on-Trent. The suns out and three members of staff are sunbathing on the lawn outside our offices in Stoke-on-Trent.
How on earth the female members of staff just happened to have bikinis with them will remain a mystery for many years to come.
I know I have been like some demented weatherman this week but all this talk of snow in Stoke-on-Trent has ruined my life.
After two days of sleeping in the office and 422 verses of "One Green Bottle Standing On The Wall" sung out of tune with the office junior, I've had enough.
Even the MD has surrendered and refuses to talk to any of us. We realised at 10.50pm last night that it was futile waiting for the snow so we called an impromptu office Christmas party.
We dashed into the Las Vegas of the north, known locally as Hanley, and to make up for lost time ordered 200 quadruple vodkas with ice (this was the only ice I saw all night)...
Today I'm pleased that we only drank 198. The other two would have been crucial as to whether a member of staff would have had to pay a visit to the A&E unit.
We could not have faced waiting 63 hours for a University Hospital of North Staffordshire bed as someone did in a story reported today in the The Sentinel.
But then again, getting a bed of any kind after two days of kipping on the floor of the office would be a welcome relief...

For whom the jingle bells toll in Stoke-on-Trent

Day 2 in the igloo and after approximately four minutes sleep in the office last night, a proper severe weather warning alert has bounced onto my computer screen as I sit sadly at my desk in Stoke-on-Trent.

I fear the worse. The war spirit was invoked by the MD last night to ensure we didn't go home and so that no-one could offer the "we're stuck in snow" excuse (which roughly translated means we're not going to turn up to work, we're off into Hanley for some Christmas shopping).

Not even the "Red Cross" whisky could help the pain of sleeping under the desk disappear. Now the prospect of another night at Hotel Mayhem looms large.

The MD, who can holdly speak this morning after taking the lead in 44 renditions of Jingle Bells, the last one at 3am today, is huskily encouraging us to sleepover for just one more night.

There is already a history of Stoke-on-Trent shutting down if the snow fall goes over 1cm in 10 hours. Gridlock looms large and we can only hope that Michael Fish has issued the weather warning and got it wrong again...

The office junior's voice broke overnight and he has offered to do the baritone part of While Shepherds Wash Their Socks At Night...

Wearily, I've accepted my lot, and while I wait for another night in Stoke-on-Artic I look for some entertainment and turn to my favourite web site for local news, The Sentinel...

Snow fun in Stoke-on-Trent

Today I'm blogging from inside my igloo somewhere in Stoke-on-Trent...it's chaos here, roads closed, people unable to get to work and more soup being drunk than beer at the last Christmas party.
There are rumours of a sleepover at our offices located in the heart of Stoke-on-Trent. Already the cleaner has been making up beds under the desks.
Due to a shortage of blankets we are now shredding paper to form bedding and flattening ink cartridge boxes and sticking them together to form blankets.
The MD has called for urgent military back-up or at the very least Red Cross parcel containing at least two dozen bottles of whisky and/or brandy.
To keep warm other senior managers have ordered hourly sing-a-longs (with the exception of the office junior who has been asked to mime because it would appear that his voice has still not quite broken.)
As I survey the winter wasteland, the 3mm of snow disappears and I wonder how life in the Artic never grinds to a halt yet a puff of snow in the Potteries becomes the bigger crisis since John Sergeant left Strictly Come Dancing...
Apparently we should blame the council gritters which failed to grit some of our hilly roads...well, at least it's an excuse of some kind...gritters that don't grit?!
For more news from Stoke-on-Artic, why not pop along to The Sentinel...

Air raid warnings in Stoke-on-Trent

Stoke City's Rory Delap, aka The Human Catapult, has a new weapon in his armoury, a towel. Desperate to get a grip of the ball before its thrown like a torpedo into the 18 yard box to cause football's equilvalent to Armageddon, towels were placed round The Britannia at the weekend to help out Mr Slingshot.
The opposing force, Hull City, had a clever plan to counteract old windmill arms. They used that wily old performer Dean Windass in a clever destraction tactic.
As Mr Delap was winding up to throw the ball into the box, Deano just happened to be warming up as few feet away.
It seemed Stoke City's towel plan had been out-manoeuvred by those Tigers from the east, until the ref booked Windass.
That gave Rory a free rein to wreak havoc near the Hull goal. Innovation though is the key to Mr Delap's 40 metre throw being effective.
Perhaps, a towel may not be good enough to dry the ball. Should Stoke City put hairdryers around the ground? This might speed up the drying experience.
What about letting Rory put on Marigolds for extra grip or a pair of wicket keeping gloves...an air raid siren could also be effective.
It worked for little old Lincoln City for many years. As the home side took a corner the siren would blast out...opposing defenders would look to the heavens in fear of an approaching German bomber.
By the time they realised they were in 1999 and not 1939, Lincoln had scored...for more Stoke City news, pop along to The Sentinel....

NHS conspiracy in Stoke-on-Trent

Everyone is getting rather hot under the collar over the lack of hospital beds at the University of North Staffordshire Hospital, as reported in The Sentinel.
There are angry cries that the NHS is in crisis and whispers that Tony Blah and Gordon Prudent have conned the public by claiming that they were the saviours of the NHS.
In Stoke-on-Trent, we beg to differ. They are not saviours. A picture on the front page of The Sentinel shows patients on trolleys lining the corridor of the A&E unit.
Some patients have waited up to 12 hours to see a doctor (...they are the lucky ones. I tried to book an appointment at my local GPs the other day and was asked if an appointment in two weeks' time would be OK? I replied saying that was fine and I would ensure they had an invite to my funeral...I got an appointment within the hour.)
Anyway, back to the point. Recently, I contended that it was fine to offer patients appalling food at the same Stoke-on-Trent hospital because it ensured that inmates left as soon as they could for some home-cooked food rather than face a slow death-by-starving.
This means less beds were blocked. So, the latest strategy of having patients lying in corridors will have the same effect.
It will ensure that ill locals will decide to sweat it out at home rather than face lying in a corridor in the hope of seeing a doctor.
Who needs to pay consultants to sort out the bed blocking crisis? Rubbish food and a Third World image of patients in corridors will do the trick. I'm off to renew my Bupa membership. Should you wish to read more go to The Sentinel...

Day trip to Blackburn from Stoke-on-Trent

Stoke City, lauded throughout the Premier League for their free-flowing Brazilian-style of play, have once again pulled a rabbit out of the proverbial hat.
Desperate to thank fans for their loyalty, the club has agreed to pay for supporters to go to... Blackburn. A top Christmas gift?!
While this is a fine gesture will be greeted with glee, you've got to think that going from Stoke-on-Trent to Blackburn is a bit of a step down?
Now if it had been Barcelona or Roma, East Stirling (east where?), or even Boston, Lincolnshire, the flattest place on earth...but Blackburn.
It's a bit like the Christmas present from your auntie, you know, the present you don't want, the hand-knitted pullover...
So what has Blackburn got to offer those who make the trip from Stoke-on-Trent. Well it's home to Thwaites beer and "famous" sons include broadcaster Russell Harty, rugby player Will Greenwood and antiques TV show legend Ian McShane.
And, of course, a famous lyric in the Beatles' song 'A day in the Life'..."four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire"...
So, is it really worth the free rider on a smelly coach to the land of whippets, black pudding and flat caps...? You decide. Should you wish to read more about the footballing legends of Stoke City, go to The Sentinel...