Ertblog

My friend the deacon: Anthony's special day

I've known my friend Anthony Beer for over 35 years. It's a friendship that flourishes even though we now live 150 miles apart, and meet only once a year. It also got off to an inauspicious start - the first time we met, in 1972, I ruined Anthony's toy snooker table!

We really become close friends in the years leading up to our A levels. We played football and put the world to rights during the hours we weren't revising during our A level month, June 1982. Later that summer, we went camping near Porthcawl and distinguished ourselves by thinking turps a suitable substitute for meths to fuel our camping stove! We also tramped across the coastline for a glimpse of the Gwely'r Misgl mussel beds - only to find them deep under water at high tide.

So I was thrilled to join the celebrations yesterday when Anthony was ordained as a deacon in the Church in Wales. I couldn't be there for the service in Llandaff Cathedral - just a stone's throw from my old house in the city within a city - but went to Anthony's celebration lunch in Canolfan Beulah in Rhiwbina. Anthony gave a lovely speech, describing how everyone present had left "fingerprints on my life".

Anthony will make a wonderful deacon. He's a deeply caring person, who has found his true vocation. I'm privileged to have known him all these years.

PS: by coincidence, I remember explaining to Anthony in the early 1980s that the Anglican body in Wales was called the Church in Wales, not the Church of Wales, because it had been disestablished in 1920!

The joy of Wessex: an unforgettable holiday in Thomas Hardy country

Above: Thomas Hardy's cottage, Lower Bockhampton, Dorset

When Owen arrived last year, we quickly decided we'd spend our holidays in Britain in his early years. The thought of struggling with airports and aircraft with a baby was too much. Over the past fortnight, we discovered just how rewarding holidaying at home can be.

We stayed at Greenwood Grange holiday cottages in the Dorset hamlet of Lower Bockhampton, just outside Dorchester, following an inspired recommendation by Karen's brother. The name of the village rang a bell, and I remembered that the novelist and poet Thomas Hardy was born there. It was quite a thrill to discover that Hardy's birthplace cottage (above) was just up the lane from our cottage. (Hardy was born here in 1840 and wrote several of his novels in the modest house.)

This was no literary pilgrimage, but I was fascinated to compare today's Dorchester with Hardy's Casterbridge. (I grew to love Hardy's work after studying The Mayor of Casterbridge for my A levels.) Dorchester has changed far less than most British towns since Hardy's day. A traveller entering the town from Bockhampton is in the heart of the town almost immediately - no urban sprawl here. Ironically, the biggest expansion has come to the west, where Prince Charles's new village of Poundbury is growing rapidly. Poundbury is a curious mix: in parts, it's an appealing out of the box old-style village, but the frankly bizarre new Poundbury fire station is utterly out of place. We were also rather unsettled to see almost no evidence of human life in Poundbury: the streets were deserted. It was nice to discover the headquarters of Dorset Cereals, though!

 

The great discovery of the holiday was Weymouth. We had three wonderful days on the beach there. I knew a little about Weymouth's history, as one of Britain's original seaside resorts. But we found it a great place to spend a sunny day, with shops and cafes within a pebble's throw of the sandy beach. I took the photo above just before we took a day trip from Weymouth to Guernsey.

 

Finally, a glimpse of the wonderful swannery at Abbotsbury on the lagoon at Chesil Beach. It's extraordinary to think the swannery has been owned by the same family for 500 years. But we'll remember the kindness of the man who drove the tractor that pulled the trailer taking less mobile visitors from the car park to the Swannery. Knowing how much small boys love tractors, he let 11 month old Owen take the wheel of the tractor (below)!

Magical mystery trips

I loved the story last week about the travel company charging holidaymakers £2,000 for a vacation at a mystery destination. Travellers would only find out where they were going when they arrived at the airport on Saturday.

I can't say I'd sign up for such a deal. But the story brought back memories of the old 'mystery trips' run by British Railways. When I was ten, we went on a mystery trip from Cardiff and had a very pleasant day in Cambridge. I remember making an Airfix kit on the way home. My parents recounted a marvellous story about neighbours in Caerphilly in the 1950s. They were on holiday on England's south coast and decided to go on a mystery trip, which took them back to ... Caerphilly. They popped home for a cuppa.

Digital Britain: the massacre that showed the failure of BBC regional news

The Government's proposals for a digital Britain hit the headlines this week. Supporters of the BBC were appalled by plans to share television licence funds with other broadcasters as well as the BBC, which has been the exclusive beneficiary of the fee for 80 years.

Supporters of the idea of sharing the licence fee argue it would avoid the BBC regaining the monopoly of public service news it enjoyed until ITV was created in 1955. ITV is now an almost entirely commercial broadcaster, while Channel 4's disastrous ventures in recent years have left it in a parlous financial state. Sharing the licence fee would subsidise competitive regional news services on ITV and Channel 4.

I'm sceptical about this. The licence fee, while unpopular with many, is easily understood. It's the way we fund the BBC, one of Britain's greatest cultural assets, and a world media leader. Who would decide how much of the fee should go to other media companies? What would be the criteria for deciding who gets what?

That said, the BBC is far from perfect, even in regional news. During our holiday in Dorset in early June, we watched the corporation's Spotlight south west news bulletins on BBC Breakfast. I was amazed that the same reports were played repeatedly during the programme. True, few will watch Breakfast from start to finish. But many will watch for an hour or so as they get the family ready for their day. And how could Spotlight on Breakfast have missed this terrific story: the discovery of the bodies of 50 iron age warriors on the site of Weymouth's controversial relief road? A road rushed through approvals so it could speed visitors to the 2012 Olympics sailing events at Portland. The warriors appear to have been massacred by the Romans as they seized Maiden Castle. Sky News covered it. But not, it appears, the public service BBC.   

Virgin's V Stuff: great idea, awful execution

I had an email from Richard Branson today. No, really. Well, not quite. It was a marketing email from Virgin Media telling me all about the company's new online storage and back up service, V Stuff.

I was impressed. It offers 5GB of storage and backup and a number of free photo prints. As I recently decided to get more organised in backing up our huge number of photos of Owen, V Stuff seemed ideal -and so much cheaper than Apple's MobileMe.

But I had a shock when I went to register. It insisted on an email address. Simple, I thought, I'll use my normal Virgin one. Oops: the website said that as I had already registered this email address with the photo service Snapfish, I couldn't use it for V Stuff, which uses Snapfish for its prints. How stupid is that?

A rubbish campaign: the Daily Mail rages against the humble wheelie bin

You can always rely on the Daily Mail to find something to rage against. Today, the paper's front page was devoted to condemning the humble wheelie bin. A large photo showed a street with a few bins on display. Hardly an outrage to prompt millions taking to the streets to protest in the fashion of the Iranian election.

I remember the days when pavements were strewn with black sacks on rubbish day, many of which had been torn open by the local cats. I can't help thinking the Daily Mail are going round stirring up apathy, in the immortal words of the Tory grandee Willie Whitelaw.

Time for change: the counterpoint to Labour’s euphoria of May Day 1997

Yesterday marked the counterpoint of Labour’s landslide euphoria of May 1997. The resignations of home secretary Jacqui Smith, along with other ministers and MPs, sealed the end of Gordon Brown’s hope to recover from the chaos of recent weeks. The prime minister’s authority, already dangerously low, was shot to pieces.

Almost everything about Gordon Brown underlines his unsuitability for his high office. We’re told that he persuaded Smith two months ago to delay her departure. Yet that delay has damaged his reputation as much as Smith’s.

You’d have expected a serious political thinker and son of the manse like Brown to have anticipated the public’s reaction to the long awaited publication of MPs’ expenses and planned a convincing response. Yet Brown has given every impression of being taken by surprise. Three weeks into the saga, the prime minister could only suggest a slow moving constitutional conference. (Shades of the old joke: do nothing, not even a royal commission.)

Brown has certainly been an unlucky leader. The credit crunch and MPs’ expenses scandal would have challenged a far more adept and persuasive prime minister. He inherited the running sore of the Iraq war from Tony Blair. But wait: he was Blair’s near equal, and could have stopped Britain’s participation in that disastrous operation had he wanted to. He has no alibi for what happened in the 10 years before he moved next door.

Above all, Brown shows the wisdom of the expression ‘be careful what you wish for’. He was convinced he had a  divine right to be Britain’s prime minister. He was crowned Labour’s leader – and PM – without a vote. That may be constitutionally correct, but it left the people resentful that Labour had foisted this deeply flawed leader on the country. As we debate a new politics, we should decide whether a general election should be called when a governing party changes leaders between elections.

Labour must ditch Brown now. It cannot allow another 12 months of lame duck government. It’s time to elect a new leader, and give him or her the chance to persuade Britain that Labour deserves another chance. My choice would be Alan Johnson, the popular cabinet minister who is surely the most authentic ‘self made man’ in British politics today. It would be good to see a former postman enter Britain’s most famous address. Let Johnson secure the top job, and declare his intention to hold a general election within three months, along with a comprehensive programme of constitutional reform. (Including the end of the PM’s ability to decide the timing of elections.) He may lose. But change is Labour’s only hope.

Forget MPs expenses: we need a new politics

MPs are still under huge pressure. The Tory MP Julie Kirkbride looks likely to follow her husband and fellow Tory MP Andrew MacKay into political oblivion as a result of her very dodgy expenses claims. Yet another Conservative, John Butterfill, is trying to defend getting the taxpayer to pay for rebuilding his servants' quarters. How very 19th century.

We must pursue these odious characters and make sure they never play any part in public life again. But the Guardian is right to seize the moment to debate a new politics. It's a heady moment: the chance to change Britain's constitution and the way we're run.

Here's my own manifesto:

We must introduce fair voting. None of the candidates I've voted for in parliamentary elections since I came of age in 1981 have won. My votes have been utterly disregarded. How can we criticise Zimbabwe's voterigging when our democracy is so discredited?

We must remove the prime minister's right to call a general election, as I argued after Gordon Brown's election that wasn't in autumn 2007. I don't believe totally fixed term parliaments are the answer as there must be some safety valve to allow an empowered House of Commons to force out failing governments.

We must end the farce of an unelected House of Lords. This is unfinished business that reflected badly on Labour's muddled programme of constitutional reform.

We must honour the idea that power should sit as close to the people as possible: the parish and community councils, followed by districts and then counties and so on. I'm deeply cynical about people like David Cameron demanding power to the people when all the experience of the last 30 years is that his party and Labour constantly centralises control in Westminster and Whitehall. We need a rebirth of civic pride and power.

Westminster parties and voters alike must accept that politicians - especially those in London - don't have all the answers. We have to accept the 'something must be done' craze is deeply damaging. A greater honesty is essential from all of us.

We may need to pay our MPs more - but let them win our trust back first. MPs' salaries shoudn't cover the cost of providing parliamentary services. We must accept that MPs who represent constituencies away from London and the home counties will rightly incur greater costs.

MPs are not social workers and we must make sure they do not become case workers at the expense of holding the executive to account. I'd rather they spend their time on stopping the Iraq war, the poll tax, ID cards and Heathrow's third runway, though I recognise they do help vulnerable constituents.

Having said all that, we must make sure MPs have the resources to handle constituent enquiries, but within a House of Commons structure - there's no excuse for MPs to indulge in nepotism by employing their own families at taxpayers' expense.

Labour deserves great credit for devolution and freedom of information. (Take a bow Labour's Kerry McCarthy, MP for Bristol East, who understandably and humanly expressed her frustration that voters didn't give Labour credit for FoI.) But we need to create a written constitution for our country. The days of slippery informality and convention must be consigned to history.

We must consign the House of Commons' Victorian working hours to the history books. No sensible institution should rely on late night working for part of the year and then spend months on holiday. The idea that MPs should employ their spouses because their working hours are a recipe for divorce is just unbelievable.

All we need now is to make change inevitable.

Why I'm delighted Newcastle United have been relegated

I sent a tweet (a short post on the microblogging site www.twitter.com for the uninitiated) on Sunday saying I was delighted Newcastle United had been relegated from the English Premier League. I should have known it would cause a mild stir so I've decided to follow up with a more detailed post here.

Alison chided me on Facebook for my scant regard for the many loyal and disappointed fans in Newcastle. I can imagine how they feel - I remember my anguish as an 11 year old when Cardiff City were relegated to the third tier of English football for the first time since 1947. And I have a soft spot for Newcastle: I was thrilled when Kevin Keegan took them to the brink of the Premier League title in 1996. But there comes a time when the fans' loyalty becomes a curse rather than a spur to success: appalling owners like Mike Ashley can mismanage the club to their hearts' content without fear of plummeting gate receipts.

The 2008/09 season was a classic example of how not to run a football club. After Kevin Keegan was forced out of his second spell as manager, three other managers led the Magpies to relegation. It's hard to blame Alan Shearer, who only took over at the beginning of April, for the club's fate. But Ashley has no excuses. Just weeks after appointed Keegan as manager in January 2008, Ashley destroyed the so-called messiah'sauthority by appointing Dennis Wise as director of football. Keegan's departure after eight months was marked by fans' protests, but Ashley's bizarre performance continued with the hiring of Joe Kinnear. 

Can Shearer follow Keegan's original success with Newcastle in the years after 1992? We simply don't know if he has what it takes to be a great manager. But one thing is certain: change is desperately needed in the boardroom at St James' Park. I'd love to see the club owned by the fans. That way, all that passion could be directed at bringing the club its first trophy for 40 years.

PS: why do football managers keep referring to 'the football club' in interviews? (As in 'it's a massive blow to the football club' after they've led their team to relegation.) It sounds as if they're disassociating themselves from their team and club. 

MPs' expenses: the excuses don't hold water

Heads rolled today for the first time in the MPs expenses scandal.

Former Labour minister Elliot Morley was suspended from the parliamentary Labour party after claiming £16,000 for a mortgage he'd already repaid. And Tory MP resigned as an aide to David Cameron after an equally suspiciously fraudulent claim.

All too many of the MPs caught with their fingers in the till have claimed what they did were within the rules. And many have added that 'the parliamentary staff said it was okay'.

This is all nonsense. I've just taken a look at what the rules actually say. I quote from the Green Book:

“Claims should be above reproach and must reflect actual usage of the resources being claimed.

“Claims must only be made for expenditure that it was necessary for a Member to incur to ensure that he or she could properly perform his or her parliamentary duties.

“It is not permissible for a Member to claim under any parliamentary allowance for anything that the Member is claiming from any other source.

“Members must ensure that claims do not give rise to, or give the appearance of giving rise to, an improper personal financial benefit to themselves or anyone else.

“Individual Members take personal responsibility for all expenses incurred, for making claims and for keeping records, even if the administration of claims is delegated by them to others.

“The requirement of ensuring value for money is central in claiming for accommodation, goods or services – Members should avoid purchases which could be seen as extravagant or luxurious.”

I’d say that has them bang to rights. No excuses for cleaning out moats, claiming for mortgages that have been paid off or blaming the Fees Office staff. Time to call in the boys in blue.

MPs should give generously to support injured soldier's London Marathon charity

What a contrast. In the week MPs were exposed as self serving and money grabbing, injured soldier Major Phil Packer completed the London Marathon on crutches in 13 days. Major Packer lost the use of his legs in a rocket attack in Iraq. He hopes to raise £1 million for the charity Help for Heroes. You can donate to Major Packer's appeal here.

I just hope that all those disgraced MPs have an attack of conscience and give generously to Major Packer's appeal. It's a far better use of money than a chandelier. And it seems hugely appropriate because this brave soldier would not have been in harm's way had parliament not voted in favour of Britain taking part in the Iraq war in 2003.  

We first heard about Help for Heroes when our friend Belinda raised money for the charity through a bike rider from London to France. A very worthy cause.

Sorry, these apologies won't kid anyone: MPs and media under the spotlight

Suddenly, sorry seems to be the easiest word to say. Britain's party political leaders have been falling over themselves to apologise for the parliamentary expenses scandal. David Cameron has said he may suspend MPs from the party for abusing the scandalously lax expenses system. And in the media, the new Russian owners of the London Evening Standard have launched an expensive advertising campaign saying sorry for the paper's activities under its old owners.

I can't help feeling other voters will share my deep scepticism about this rush of humility. (I've written before on Ertblog about the dubious nature of political apologies.) 

Take the politicians first. Brown, Cameron and Clegg only expressed the S word because their cronies were exposed as corrupt. The first instinct of all those dishonourable members was to say they hadn't broken the rules, ignoring the fact they designed the rules that lined their own pockets. Take Hazel Blears: the communities secretary has said she will pay £13,000 capital gains tax due on the property she designated as her second home. I didn't realised she had a choice: the rest of us can't choose whether to pay tax, it's imposed on us. I expect Blears to resign while a criminal investigation is opened into her tax evasion. And every other crooked MP of all parties. 'Sorry' doesn't cover it. 

Do MPs really understand why we're all so angry about this fundamental breach of trust between the elected and the electorate? Do they see why their behaviour is totally unacceptable? My feeling is that this generation of professional politicians is so tainted that only a complete clear out will start to rebuild trust. That's not to say that all politicians are corrupt: Kerry McCarthy, Labour MP for Bristol East, offered an excellent and candid reflection on the complexities of the issue on her blog last weekend. And I'm even willing to give our local MP, Cheryl Gillan, the benefit of the doubt for claiming for dog food. But voters won't offer credit to good MPs given that parliament's closed shop allowed the scandalous abuse of taxpayers' money to develop. The last straw was the appalling speaker Michael Martin's tirade against the press for exposing the story. And the parliamentary authorities instinct to call in the police not to investigate corruption and tax evasion - but to hound the media for exposing the scandal.

I am uneasy that the Daily Telegraph paid for the leaked document detailing MPs' expenses - and the way the paper attacked Labour ministers and MPs for days before turning its attention to other parties' MPs. That was deeply partisan. But I suspect all the major parties will suffer badly from voters' backlash. Let's just hope parties like the BNP don't benefit at the polls.

Standard's sorry: masterstroke or blunder?

Finally, a media apology. London's Evening Standard has been saying sorry: for being out of touch, predictable and negative. A bold move, you might think. But wait: the Standard's owners are saying sorry for the activities of its predecessors, Associated Newspapers. That's easy - like Tony Blair apologising for the slave trade (but not Iraq). I was critical of the 'old' Evening Standard's blatant propaganda for Boris Johnson, and welcome its more open approach. But no one should forget that this is simply an old style marketing campaign for a 'new and improved product'. Not an apology.

Wheels of joy: my favourite bikes

I wrote a post last week about adding a child seat to my Raleigh Randonneur touring bike. It prompted me to reflect on other bikes I have owned over the years. What follows isn't strictly a list of favourites: all the bikes I've owned have given pleasure, even the exercise bike that was banished from the kitchen when Owen arrived! But these are the most significant. I've written about them in the date I got the bikes.

Don't drive for me, Argentina: British taxi drivers are honest too!

I loved the story about the Argentinian taxi driver Santiago Gori who found a bag of cash worth over £20,000 in his cab and returned it to its owners. 

People in Argentina have been so delighted by Santiago Gori's honesty that they've donated thousands of dollars to him through a website honouring him.

Taxi drivers are obviously an honest breed, as I had a similar - but less dramatic - experience last year. I arranged a cab home from a local railway station through Rely-On Car Hire in Gerrards Cross, Buckinghamshire. The next evening, I was surprised to find the cab driver at my front door. "You overpaid me last night - here's the extra £10 change!" I was amazed and delighted. Needless to say, they've got a customer for life now! 

It's just not cricket: a test match in May

Confirmation that the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) has lost its grip on reality came this week as England started a test match against Pakistan on 6 May - the earliest ever played in England.

What possessed them? The season is just weeks old, placing the home side at a distinct disadvantage. It's hard to avoid the conclusion that ECB is more concerned about the scheduling demands of satellite broadcaster Sky than the interests of the game. We shouldn't be surprised: ECB's decision to remove test cricket from terrestrial television after 2005 was similarly motivated by hard cash. Viewing figures for the 2009 Ashes series will take a tumble compared with those for England's triumphant win four years ago, broadcast by Channel 4 and graced by Richie Benaud's last commentary in England. 

Once upon a time, Australia had sole billing in an Ashes year, adding to the anticipation. This year, the Aussies share the stage with the West Indies and a tedious proliferation of one day internationals. Change is inevitable - once upon a time, test matches took a rest day on a Sunday - but it's a shame that the cricket authorities are such poor guardians of our summer game.

PS: ironically, the one reason not to hold a test match in early May is the weather. The fickle British climate can make a mockery of any schedule. Back in June 1975, cricket matches were abandoned because of snow - just weeks before the highest ever temperature recorded at a home test match, 34C...

Me and my iPhone, six months on

I like gadgets. So when I lost my iPod on a business trip to California, I decided to take the plunge and buy an iPhone.

It wasn't as easy a decision as some might expect. I had just taken a cracking photo of my new son, Owen, on my Sony Ericsson K800i, and had reservations about the iPhone's very basic camera. In the end, though, the frustration of trying to find a London address via Google Maps on the K800i and my BlackBerry swung the decision. I spent a chunk of my birthday signing up for the iPhone at O2's High Wycombe store in Buckinghamshire.

I wrote an early review of the iPhone here. Those comments have stood the test of time. The iPhone remains a delight to use, and the app store is terrific. (I've become an addict of Flight Control, an air traffic control game available through the app store.)

Curiously, apart from the poor camera, my main complaint about the iPhone is about its failings as a phone. I have found it far too easy to miss calls and voicemail messages. The volume switch is easy to hit by accident when you're handling the phone, and as a result I'm constantly turning down the ringer volume by accident. And as I don't look at my phone all the time, I find I miss voicemail messages, which are flagged on screen. (With my old Nokia and Sony Ericsson mobiles on Vodafone, I got a stream of calls and finally a text alert when a call had gone to voicemail.)

But despite all this, I love my iPhone and forgive it its foibles. A better camera would make it awesome. As my contract is up for renewal in a year, there's plenty of time for Apple to bring out the ultimate iPhone. And with luck, we'll have a choice of mobile companies by then!

I cycled from Land's End to John O'Groats on this bike. Now it's got a child seat!

 

Once upon a time, I cycled the length of Britain - from Land's End to John O'Groats (above) - on my wonderful Raleigh Randonneur touring bike. (I wrote about that experience on Ertblog two years ago in this post). I never imagined as I cycled those long miles that one day I would attach an enormous child seat to the bike!

But that day has arrived. Karen and I cycled from Chalfont St Giles to Chalfont St Peter today with Owen strapped into our new Co-Pilot Limo seat. I was impressed how little impact the seat and a 20lb child had on steering and cycling, though our route was almost entirely flat. We'll see how we get on climbing Silver Hill out of St Giles!

Here's Owen in his new seat.

Finally, a word about the Randonneur. I've neglected it in the last few years, taking my Cannondale Road Warrior fast hybrid on our bike holidays. But riding it this week was a revelation, reminding me how brilliantly it coped with Land's End to John O'Groats. It took me the length of Britain without so much as a puncture. It's a real shame that Raleigh abandoned the touring bike market not long after I bought the bike in 1997.

We love Enid Blyton: Five Go to Smuggler's Top makes laureates' list

The literati look down on Enid Blyton, accusing the late children's writer of churning out formula fiction and reinforcing outdated stereotypes. But millions of people like me owe their love of books to countless childhood hours spent reading the Famous Five and Secret Seven adventures. So I was delighted to see that Five Go to Smuggler's Top was featured in a list of the best books for children, chosen by Britain's children's laureates.

I was given an Enid Blyton book by my maternal grandmother when I was about seven. I can't remember the title now - the story involved a wooded island, which hardly narrows it down - but fell in love with Blyton's ability to tell spellbinding stories. I've long since forgotten the storylines of the books, but some of that excitement came back when I discovered the summary of Smuggler's Top on www.enidblyton.net (the first link in this post, above), and identified it as my favourite Blyton story. The vision of an island linked only by a causeway across the marshes was amazingly evocative as a child; growing up in Cardiff, in foggy weather I imagined the road up Caerphilly mountain from Thornhill as the road up Castaway Hill. I can't wait to rediscover those Blyton classics as Owen is growing up!

The Guardian stands by Erwin James, murderer turned crime commentator

I've long admired the writing of Erwin James, the Guardian's columnist and commentator on crime. He knows his subject: he served a life sentence for two murders in the early 1980s. He started writing his Guardian column A life inside in 2000, four years before his release. His writing career flourished after his release, a testimony to his ability to offer a rare insight into prison life.  

Last week, he and the Guardian were seriously embarrassed when James - real name Erwin James Monahan - admitted he had lied about his time in the French Foreigh Legion in a piece for the paper in 2006. The Guardian's reader's editor Siobhain Butterworth explained  in her Open Door column today why the paper would be giving him another chance. She says:

"It is never acceptable to lie to - or deliberately mislead - readers, but a sense or proportion about this incident is needed. Monahan is not a trained journalist who falsified news reports; he is a writer who, having pulled himself out of the most dreadful mire, went on to make the mistake of lying about his past to protect an identity he had been concealing for years. He has caused damage to the reputation of the Guardian and given some people reason to doubt his work. He will have to re-earn their trust. I wish him luck."

I think that's fair. The debate about crime and punishment in Britain rarely rises above the Daily Mail's simplistic 'lock them up and throw away the keys' approach. That's why we send more people to prison as a proportion of our population than most other western countries. I'd rather the government and the media focus on whether prison is the right punishment - and how to stop people reoffending after being released. No-one would condone the terrible crimes James committed a generation ago, but we should be pleased that he had the talent and motivation to become a writer and transform his life. Despite his serious lapse of judgement in 2006, I'm glad the Guardian is allowing him to continue to keep us all better informed about life inside.

Goodbye to Ninian Park

Cardiff City have played their last regular league game at Ninian Park, the club's home for almost a century.

Ninian Park is hardly the most impressive ground in British football - and was looking shabby even 26 years ago (above) when I watched Wales draw 1-1 against mighty Brazil in a friendly. But many like me will have a stack of memories of the old place.

I went to my first ever football game at Ninian Park at when I was 10, on 3 November 1973. Dad took me to see Cardiff City against West Bromwich Albion, standing on the Bob Bank. It was a dreadful game, and we went to leave just before the end as a 0-0 draw looked inevitable. Suddenly, as we passed under the Grange End, we heard a roar from the away fans as West Brom scored a winner.

That game was forgettable. But as I became a regular, I learned to love Ninian Park, especially at night games under the floodlights. But the greatest night of all for me, unlikely as it will sound, was a game in the old third division. City were relegated in 1975 from the second division for the first time since the second world war. I was horrified: how could such a fate befall a club that snatched the FA Cup from England and come within a whisker of winning the league in 1924? But glory was the last thing on our minds in 1975 as we welcomed the likes of Halifax and Bury. At first, City struggled, but as 1976 arrived we were strong promotion candidates. One warm April night, Cardiff beat eventual champions Hereford United in front of a crowd of 35,000. As Max Boyce would say, I was there! My mother later got the autographs of most of the City players at a special celebratory dinner held by the county council.

I've seen just two competitive international games at City's ground, The first was Wales's narrow defeat to England in the 1976 British home internationals. (I got Lawrie McMenemie's autograph after the game: he managed Southampton team to a shock victory against Manchester United in the FA Cup Final just weeks earlier.) Soon after, I was disappointed to see Wales lose on aggregate to Yugoslavia in the second leg of the quarter finals of the European championships, in a game marred by crowd violence.

Ninian Park has featured a few times in this blog. Last year, I wrote nostalgically in Ertblog about City's wonderful FA Cup victories at the ground in 1977. I also wrote about my experiences as a Ninian Park programme seller the night Jock Stein died just minutes after his Scotland team secured a place at the 1986 World Cup finals at Wales's expense. And finally, an early  post told how Wales nearly beat Brazil in that 1983 friendly.

I could talk about City's famous victory against Real Madrid, or the European Cup Winners Cup semi final against Hamburg - or even the Pope's visit to Ninian Park in 1982. (My friend Anthony was there!) But I couldn't claim to have been there on those special days!

Back in 1977, I took schoolboy pride in being able to name every Football League club's ground. Derby County? The Baseball Ground. Sunderland? Roker Park? Those grounds, like Ninian Park, were part of the furniture of the sport for half a century or more. Over 30 years on, dozens of clubs have moved home. Cardiff City are just the latest but it does feel more personal when your own club packs its bags.