April Fools Day and Happy Easter everybody

 April Fools Day and Happy Easter everybody.

Now where have we heard about today and its amusing narrative? We celebrate the day with a huge outburst of frivolity, laughter, mockery and ludicrous pranks. We try to catch out our friends and families with hilarious jokes, utter foolhardiness and harmless, inoffensive fun. We watch them squirming with embarrassment because we rightly believe that none of us should take life that seriously. In fact today is a Bank Holiday, Easter Monday so in many ways it should be a day devoted to noshing our way through boxes of chocolate Easter eggs.

But the other day of significance is April Fools Day, a day when many of us are taken by complete surprise by a news bulletin announcing quite categorically that something incredible or amazing has just taken place. So we suspend our belief convinced that it is indeed snowing quite heavily, somebody has just noticed that Father Christmas is still doing his rounds and aliens have just parked their spacecraft in your garden. But it is vitally important to look out of the windows and you'll see all of the above.

Then you're told that pizzas, curries as well as fish and chips are extremely healthy and good for you. Oh exercise is bad for you and excessive indulgence is good for you. So just keep eating and drinking to your heart's delight and your stomach will resemble an ironing board. You'll be fitter than ever before, stronger, more alert and even more energetic than you've ever felt. April Fools Day is a day of giggling at the incredulous, genuinely convincing our fellow man or woman that Stevie Wonder or Paul McCartney is ringing your doorbell and you should answer because they want you to join them on a charity record.

But hold on this is April Fools Day and we ought to be fully prepared for tomfoolery, joviality, good, old fashioned comedy and duping people into thinking that the highly unlikely or improbable has taken place. One of these days somebody will tell you that your claret and blue football team West Ham United have just won the Premier League because the rest of the teams have been penalised with colossal points deductions and your team was the only one not to break Financial Fair Play rules. If only that could be the truth.

For decades and centuries we have always observed April Fools Day with the same light hearted approach and even the naturally sceptical have just fallen for the ultimate laugh out loud moment. So you look out of the window and there are no creatures from outer space wearing bronze shell suits or strange figures with green faces and horns sticking out from their heads. You're not about to be transported to another planet and the Muppets will not be hosting a prime time chat show on the TV. But for a while we're gullible and sensitive because it can't be April Fools Day but quite clearly it is. Look at your calendar or the date on your phone. We think you'll find it is and April Fool it most certainly is.

In 1957, BBC's Panorama, a current affairs programme and investigative journalism at its finest, proudly reminded its viewers that in a small corner of Italy the daily produce of spaghetti growing on trees was flourishing and showing every sign of prosperity. The programme showed people quite enthusiastically picking long strings of spaghetti from tree branches without any hint of self consciousness. It was only after that night's edition of Panorama that the penny dropped and there was a stark realisation that the BBC had just been pulling our leg and what an April Fools Day that had been.

So we'll settle down with our Easter eggs, lunchtime lamb and bunny rabbit costumes and then engage in a jolly spirit of banter and rib tickling bonhomie. It's the first Bank Holiday of the year so a vast majority of men will be required to the odd jobs at home that could never be completed because they were too busy at work or tending to their children. April Fools Day normally takes us unawares because most of us are too busy doing a hundred other activities that take precedence to this day.

Maybe we haven't got time to find out whether herds of elephant have just been spotted in our local park or leopards are prowling through the undergrowth of our recreation areas. Then the kids, at their most impressionable, are told with some conviction that peas and baked beans are falling out of spring skies. Mum and dad, with straight faces, sit down with their offspring and explain that this has always been the case so they're not to argue. So the children giggle and chuckle and plead with their parents not to be so silly.

But dad will probably still start rummaging around the garden shed for the lawn mower or perhaps he'll turn his thoughts to some leisurely DIY. It's time then to dig out the stepladder, the pots of paint which have been gathering dust since at least last Easter and decorate the living room in a lighter shade of magnolia or stick up some ornate, floral wallpaper onto the wall. If you're lucky kids, once he's fixed the shelves and put up some more family photos, he might just buy you a huge Easter egg with small packets of Rolo chocolates. The likelihood is he could reward you for your sterling endeavours at school.

And then, once he's taken you and mum out on the yearly Easter egg hunt and then stashed away the hammers, drills, paintbrushes, saws and nails, he'll fall into his comfortable arm chair and then drop off to sleep until Easter is over for another year and he can just relax. Chance will be a fine thing. We normally rest on this day of days hoping that at some point that the domestic duties will have been completed to everybody's satisfaction.

So it's April Fools Day folks. It may be advisable to avoid Panorama on the BBC since you never know what they've got up their sleeve. Or you could tell the children that Santa is on his way from Lapland. Or that the milkman has just delivered a huge tin of biscuits. Perhaps your loving parents will tell their offspring that there was a full moon at midday. But Happy Easter everybody and be sure to watch the famous Easter Parade film with Judy Garland. It's fabulously appropriate and topical. 

The Boat Race

 The Boat Race.

There are few more compelling spectacles in sport than the yearly Boat Race between Oxford and Cambridge university. We know this to be the case because it happens at roughly this time of the year every year. Outside, the cherry blossom is beginning to make its presence felt, spring is officially here and, tomorrow, in the early morning hours, the clocks go forward. Suddenly the world is a much brighter and lighter place than it might have been over a month ago. Winter has now departed our shores, the skiing slopes are not as heavily populated as they used to be and spring is now back and here to stay for at least a while. The sun is out. Life is wonderful and precious. Quite definitely.

Meanwhile down by old Father Thames, or to be more geographically correct Putney, Mortlake and Hammersmith Bridge, fascinated tourists and intrigued passers by along the banks of the River Thames will gather in their droves to witness one of those quintessential British sporting rituals. They will hold up their phones, suddenly producing selfie sticks, still wearing their winter clothes and privately hoping that their choice of university will heave their way to the finishing line, arms akimbo and rowing oars flailing desperately if only because they're just exhausted and it was time to hug each other in unashamed celebration.

Since 1829 two of our most famous and highly distinguished of universities have converged on the Thames rather like old friends who have always kept in touch but only get round to catching up with each other on one Saturday at the end of March. Of course there are the post graduates, dons, undergraduates and potential captains of industry, professionals, scientists, lawyers, solicitors, engineers, accountants and, from time to time, politicians who may not to be our liking. But the Boat Race still panders to the whims of the middle classes, the dinner party set who have lengthy discussions about stocks, shares and the parlous state of the British economy.

The Boat Race will once again provide us with some of those time honoured rituals that England holds so dear. Every year we are subjected to one of those familiar sights by London's loveliest river. In the late 1970s, Cambridge, half the way through this gruelling confrontation between these fiercely competitive Oxford rivals, capsized, their boat slowly sinking but still in high spirits since thankfully nobody was hurt. It is hard to believe that this great and much treasured sporting event is still packing in the crowds almost 160 years later. And yet curiosity beckons them back every year in case the Boat Race finishes in a dead heat and nobody is declared an outright winner.

Comedians and satirists have always wondered why the same two universities are always involved in the Boat Race. Surely there are hundreds of other halls of learning and scholarship who could put forward their candidacy as contenders for this one event. What about Nottingham Trent university, Manchester university, Huddersfield, or the Open university? Surely consideration could be given on behalf of these equally as highly esteemed groves of academia, advanced education and those universities who never seem to get the recognition they deserve.

And so the Light Blues of Cambridge will face the Dark Blues in one of those invigorating displays of  a rowing excellence like none other. You are never quite sure which university will have the upper hand over the other although in certain years, form normally gives us the strongest indication of that year's likeliest winner. Both Oxford and Cambridge seem to go through purple patches where either could win it and then establish themselves as the dominant force. But it remains to see what will happen this year.

So they'll ease their way into the respective boats, slapping each other's hands by way of motivation and then depending heavily on the cox who acts as a kind of megaphone. The cox is the most vocal and vociferous of voices throughout the race. They'll holler and shout, blasting each other's ears with the most rousing of exhortations. The high pitched cries of encouragement seem to get louder as the Boat Race ploughs through the water and under London's most historic bridges. And then either Cambridge or Oxford will make their most emphatic statements of intent that can probably be heard in Kensington or Fiji. 

The truth is that the Boat Race is as synonymous with England as fish and chips, an essential part of its social fabric, etched onto the sporting calendar and always celebrated as one of those enthralling, head to head contests that never disappoint. Oars thrashing wearily into the river's placid waters, both head out confidently and then find that one or the other will inevitably take advantage of their superior strength and  physical resources. Sport loves those with both endless reserves of energy and stamina, those who can make the obvious difference. Firstly it's Oxford to hit the front followed by Cambridge within the length of an oar before Oxford inch their way heroically beside them, just a hairs breadth between the two.

And then distances will increase, either university seizing the initiative by pulling clear. It'll be nip and tuck, oar for oar, straining faces, twisted, contorted faces, grins and grimaces, agonising yelps, cries of anguish, pain written on their foreheads and cheeks. Finally, at Putney and then Hammersmith Bridge they drive their oars deeper into the water for one last push. Oxford and Cambridge are the most familiar sounding of all universities and everybody knows about their proud and gilded history throughout the ages but the Boat Race keeps delivering every single year, its raw excitements almost guaranteed.

Today though either one will emerge as victors if only because there are no replays, no VAR checks that seem to last for ever and no aggressive tackles that lead to the red card. My late and lovely dad always had a passing interest in Cambridge for reasons that never became abundantly clear. Some of us still think of Cambridge as one of the most stunningly beautiful cities in Britain and would like to follow in my dad's footsteps with the same prediction. Still, here's to you Oxford and Cambridge, the River Thames is yours.

England held to a 2-2 draw against Belgium in friendly

 England held to a 2-2 draw against Belgium in friendly.

After two of the most taxing assignments England will face in the foreseeable future, last night's friendly against Belgium almost left most England fans questioning and doubting England's prospects in the forthcoming Euros in Germany during the summer. Of course all international sides go through sticky periods when things never go according to plan. But for England familiarity seemed on the point of breeding contempt. In the end it all ended up happily ever after for Gareth Southgate's men but the atmosphere on the referee's final whistle was somewhat muted and reflective. It could have gone better for England on the night against Belgium but at the end England had to be grateful for small mercies.

On Saturday evening Brazil, surely football's most attractive of all practitioners in the world game, just did what always seems to come naturally to them, passing and passing over and again, in small, tightly knit clusters, triangles, rectangles and neat little cameos that left England chasing not only shadows but silhouettes. At times England found themselves imitating the South Americans but then found this to be a totally futile exercise since they weren't really achieving anything with the abundance of possession they had.

Last night England faced a difficult and technically comfortable Belgium side who occasionally resemble their neighbours Holland but can never quite replicate their style of play. For much of last night's fair and honourable 2-2 friendly draw, Belgium were nimbler, quicker and by far the more skilful team and, deep into injury time, were still ahead in the game. But then they saw the eyes of Jude Bellingham and almost rolled out the red carpet for the Real Madrid midfield maestro. Bellingham sized up the opportunity and fired home England's last gasp equaliser with an unstoppable shot.

In the bigger picture this was hardly the most disappointing result for England. Recent games for Gareth Southgate's men have been slippery banana skins but a mini crisis has been safely avoided. For a while England were staring down the barrel of two consecutive defeats within a couple of days. Brazil were always likely to provide England with stern and troublesome opposition but last night they redressed the balance. But Belgium almost poured salt onto slightly painful wounds although no collateral damage had been inflicted.

Most of us will regard a famous World Cup group stage match against Belgium as one of England's finest of hours. In 1990 Sir Bobby Robson's England left us desperately yearning for any kind of victory against their Belgian opponents. With the match in its final minute or so, a beautifully floated free kick fell perfectly for David Platt at the far post who swivelled balletically, wrapping his foot around the ball and volleying the winner for Robson's England. It was night in Italy that was almost as operatic as a Pavarotti masterclass.

So last night the circumstances may have been completely different but there were similarities. Had it not been for Bellingham's late, late equaliser, the inquests and heated discussions would have been quite toxic. Sometimes England can never seem to strike a happy medium with their critics and kind hearts. When you qualify for either a Euro or World Cup competition, you're immediately fancied as overwhelming favourites to win either. But then the lines become blurred and form just abandons England unforgivably. It's the end of the world and the harbingers of doom and gloom always seem to despair.

England once again began slowly and lethargically. Their football, though, was both uplifting and easy on the eye but although admirably constructive, never really threatened to go any further than the edge of their opposition's 18-yard box. For the first ten minutes or so, England established an impressive stranglehold on the game with passing both short and long of the highest quality. But then we noticed leaky holes in England's otherwise watertight defence. Before long, we were lamenting the half chances they'd created and then watched them wiping the egg off their collective faces. 

Jordan Pickford, Everton's goalkeeper, has generally looked reliable and capable in recent times. But then disaster struck and the embarrassing flaws that have always haunted England keepers over the years became self fulfilling prophecies. Rushing out to clear the ball from a regulation goal kick, Pickford completely lost his bearings and only succeeded in finding a Belgium player. A short ball found Aston Villa's Youri Tielemans who simply drilled the ball into an unguarded net for Belgium's opening goal.

For a while England looked slightly shell shocked and unnerved by a moment of defensive madness. Maybe Pickford shouldn't have been quite as hasty in retrospect but this simply sparked England back into life. The delightful dribbling at speed of Manchester City's Phil Foden was sweet as nectar and when the young Manchester United Kobbie Mainoo began to dart and weave his way between tangled Belgian legs, England looked the finished article. Then Jude Bellingham displayed the stunning playmaking gifts that can only prove of long lasting, beneficial value to England's future.

As Ben Chilwell and Joe Gomez began to find wide open spaces on the wings for England, an equaliser seemed an odds on certainty. Debutant striker Ivan Toney of Brentford became something of a handful for the Belgium defence while Jarrod Bowen, West Ham's free scoring striker, once again looked the part, running purposefully at the Belgians and finding his appropriate range.

Then England re-discovered the creative one and two touch football that almost left  Brazil uncharacteristically out of sorts at the back. From a superb sequence of quickfire passes between Bellingham and Mainoo, Belgium creaked open. Mainoo's pass was shrewdly judged, slipping past the last Belgium defender for Ivan Toney. Toney raced thrillingly into the penalty area before being blatantly upended. Toney's accurately taken penalties have been a feature of Brentford's season and once again he planted the ball  high into the net. No problem, never in doubt.

But this proved to be of no deterrent to Belgium. Leandro Trossard and Youri Tielemans looked both smooth and streamlined in midfield. They simply regained control of the ball and looked as measured and dangerous as the rest of their team. Shortly before half time, Belgium were back in front courtesy of another England defensive blunder. Lewis Dunk, the Brighton defender and captain, had dealt quite adequately with everything Belgium could throw at him. 

Then Belgium lofted a long, high ball towards the edge of England's penalty area. Dunk, completely flat footed for a fatal second or two, lunged out for a tackle that was never likely to be successful. Former Chelsea striker Romelu Lukaku bent a lovely cross with the outside of his boot and Tielemans, seizing his chance, headed smartly past Pickford. This was not on the menu for England's always enthusiastic supporters and what we had to be content with were scraps and agonising near misses.

And for the rest of the game, England continued to surge forward in unison, a cohesive unit full of imaginative touches in attack but somehow lacking the cutting edge up front. Then frustration began to eat away at Gareth Southgate's determined, doughty men. It all began to look lopsided at times and pedestrian for the home side. Wembley looked downcast and forlorn. Chances were snatched and there was a haphazard air about England's football.

Then, with the game ebbing away from England, the Three Lions roared vociferously one more time. After a series of wildly hopeful attacks, there was one more chance. Deep into injury time, which will certainly take us up until midnight at some point, James Maddison, Spurs excellent midfield player, picked up the ball from a flurry of short passes between England's brightest players.

Maddison laid the ball back to Jude Bellingham who hopped and skipped past his opponents as if they simply weren't there. Bellingham then drove firmly and accurately past Belgium goalkeeper Matz Sels. And that was that. A 2-2 draw may have saved England's blushes but this wasn't quite the performance their fans may have been hoping for.

At the end a noisy and cheerful contingent of Belgium fans thought they'd accomplished a moral victory. The amber colours were in full evidence and you suspected they may have been heading straight to the local pubs for just a drop of their famous beer. But still they remain unrewarded for their visits to Wembley. England boss Gareth Southgate puffed out his cheeks with relief but has to be concerned with a defence that seemed to desert him on the night. Still, onwards and upwards England.

The boys from Brazil beat England in friendly at Wembley

 The boys from Brazil beat England in friendly at Wembley.

Many of us have followed the Brazilian football team for as long as we can remember. We do so because it is both an enormous privilege and honour, an experience that transcends anything else you'd care to think of. Brazil, as we all know, are the most stunning, satisfying, magical and beautiful side in the world, an international assembly of the sublime, football at its dazzling and dizzying best, a force of nature, supernatural at times, almost too good to be true. There can be none like them on their day, a peerless sporting spectacle who almost defy superlatives, pronouns, verbs and metaphors.

Last night at Wembley, Brazil arrived at Wembley rather like learned university lecturers who always seem to derive great delight on passing on vast sums of knowledge to their attentive students. For Brazil, football is much more than an art form, more of a science, an intriguing exposition of the very best techniques and styles that the game has to offer. Once again we saw a Brazilian team at their most exquisite, expressive, natural and spontaneous, a dreamlike sequence of the easy going and free flowing.

For the first time in 20 matches England were finally beaten by opponents for whom the daunting prospect of playing at Wembley might have proved too much. Admittedly, the quality of the opposition has hardly been intimidating in recent years. The relatively simple act of qualifying for this summer's European Championships in Germany must surely come under the closest scrutiny since, apart from Italy, the rest of England's group bore an uncanny resemblance to a class of infant school children about to be faced with a multiplication table or the alphabet.

When Gareth Southgate leads out his England side to face Serbia in their opening group game we will begin to recognise the outline of a team who may be fancied as one of the favourites to win Euro 2024. Then England are matched up with Denmark, who once beat Sir Bobby Robson's England in Robson's first ever game where the Danes shocked Wembley with a 1-0 win. Then there was a hugely convincing 3-0 victory in a World Cup group stage victory in 2002 where Japan and South Korea were genial hosts. But the Danes have always been a tough nut to crack for England teams over the years and this is no different.

Finally England will meet Slovenia and by then we should know whether the Three Lions have made either comfortable or awkward progress into the last 16 of another Euros. The chances are that most of us will be biting our nails, clenching our teeth and just hiding behind the sofa. We are talking about the England football team here and nerves are bound to be frazzled, mountains will be made out of molehills and blood pressures will be at their highest. This is not going to be straightforward because it never is and besides England love to be challenging and laborious when it should be just simple and logical.

On the first spring evening at Wembley, Gareth Southgate returned to the business of complicating matters although it was Brazil and this was no leisurely picnic. This may have been a friendly but you often get the impression that England just like to present themselves with insuperable obstacles. Brazil of course are still one of the purest and most aesthetically pleasing to the eye team in the world. They caress a football, treating it with all the affectionate tenderness of a parent telling their child a comforting bedtime story. The ball is a pleasant object of idolatry, something to be passed around so many times that it almost feels like some communal or spiritual act. It is something to be admired.

Not for nothing are Brazil are five times winners of the Jules Rimet Cup and, although not at their most unbeatable in 1974, 1978 or quite possibly 1982 and then 1986, there were moments when you sighed with stunned admiration at some of the football that is still hard wired into them from birth. The 1970 World Cup class of joy and magnificence will probably never be seen or matched ever again. Pele was at his most incomparable and the likes of Gerson, Tostao, Rivelino and Carlos Alberto sound like the sweetest musical you're ever likely to hear in a West End theatre, a side perfectly proportioned, impeccably well mannered, balanced as a pair of scales, gorgeously imaginative with passing patterns from heaven.  

As for England the defence that will have to be at their most vigilant and ultra cautious during Euro 2024 did look reasonably secure and sturdy. Harry Maguire still has rushes of blood to his head when he thinks an attacker couldn't possibly threaten his equilibrium. Maguire is one of those compact and commanding central defenders who occasionally reminds you of former Manchester City and Sunderland centre half Dave Watson. John Stones, the Manchester City central pivot, still looks very worldly and enlightened as a ball carrying defender doing the right things at the right time. Ben Chilwell joined the England attack commendably and consistently but even he seemed to be star struck by the Brazilians.

And then there was that hard core of England's attacking line up that Gareth Southgate will be trusting enough to begin the first Euro 2024 opening group stage against Serbia. The new boy Anthony Gordon,  Newcastle's quick footed winger, grasped his England debut with some relish, gingerly breezing past defenders, dropping his shoulders audaciously every so often before losing possession in vital areas. Gordon is one of those willowy and sinewy footballers, cunning and deception on his mind but still learning the ropes of international football.

It was heartening and uplifting to see Phil Foden, one of Pep Guardiola's reliable men, flicking the ball impudently past opponents and then cleverly moving into space for the sumptuous pass for either Gordon or Jude Bellingham to run into. Foden is clearly besotted with the game's finer points and technicalities and when both he, Gordon, Bellingham and Ollie Watkins tried to open up Brazilian's watertight defence with subtle intricacies outside their opponents penalty area it reminded you of a group of men desperately trying to find the right code for a bank vault.

With England captain Harry Kane out injured for both the game against Brazil and Tuesday's evening friendly against Belgium, England looked leg weary, too over elaborate at times and counting down the days to Germany during the summer. Jude Bellingham is of course one of England's most remarkable talents and the one Southgate must be hoping will have the same dramatic impact that Paul Gascoigne had during Euro 96 in England. Bellingham is stylish, debonair, effortlessly instinctive and Real Madrid can hardly believe what a priceless commodity they may have in their ranks.

The Chelsea playmaker Conor Gallagher looks as though he may have the necessary qualities to act as a buffer to the once again authoritative Declan Rice. But there were times when Gallagher, although always progressive and proactive, didn't quite have the wherewithal to pick out a white shirt in the right position. Gallagher may start England's first group stage match against Serbia but then you're reminded that there is still competition for his place in the side.

As for Brazil, this was more or less an exhibition match for the team who once took the game to an altogether more exotic dimension when Pele scored one of those astonishing goals that propelled him as a 17 year old to Olympian heights. The South Americans of course blew away Sweden contemptuously in the 1958 World Cup Final. Admittedly there aren't any more Garrinchas, Va Vas or Didis, Socrates, Zico or more latterly Ronaldos and Ronaldinos in the composition of a Brazilian side but that would have been asking for too much.

But we did have Vinicius Junior, Lucas Paqueta, West Ham's voluptuous midfield playmaker, a player of refinement and breeding, floating and flitting with menacing authority in the middle of the pitch. Then there was Bruno Guimaraes, shrewd, elegant and always visionary, probing and prompting Brazil with perception and foresight. Both Wendell, Rodrygo, Bremer and the brilliantly intelligent wing play of Raphinha who once graced a Leeds United shirt, all shifted around the white shirts of England with a smoothness and dainty dexterity that we've come to expect from a Brazil team.

The only goal of the game came almost unexpectedly for Brazil. The game itself seemed to be drifting aimlessly towards a goal-less draw. But then a series of quickfire passes on the half way line ended up  with a nicely judged through ball from Vinicius Junior. Brazil had already made a substitution and how inspired that was. Another precocious 17 year old Endrick latched onto the ball and the ball took a sharp rebound. Somewhat fortuitously, Endrick, barely out of football's baby teething age, slotted the ball into an empty net although a brief interlude for VAR and offside showed that legality was on Endrick's side.

And so it is that we proceed to Belgium on Tuesday evening for another England dress rehearsal. Here we have world football's classic underachievers. Belgium have always been dark horses rather than victorious thoroughbreds. They still have Kevin De Bruyne and some of football's greatest technicians but Belgian flair and fantasy never seem to flourish on the biggest stage. Of course they'll be in Germany during the summer for Euro 2024 but the chances are that some of football's more superior powerhouses will inevitably be doing their utmost to steal Belgium's thunder.

Brazil, for their part, will be enjoying their first victory over England for quite a while. A small knot of yellow and green flags were fluttering joyously in one corner of Wembley's vast open spaces. It was a night for samba, flamenco if the mood took them. The man in a long, dark coat stood impassively by his technical dug out. Gareth Southgate, England's modest and self deprecating manager, just took it on the chin. World Cups and Euros have almost given way to memorable nights but yesterday evening perhaps he might have been thinking about what might have been. A penny for your thoughts Gareth.

My books

 My books

Yes folks it's that time of the year again. It's time for a spot of book plugging, a  shameless promotion of a couple of books that were written by yours truly. You may have read about my ventures into the fiercely competitive world of publishing and here we go again. It could be described as literary spring cleaning because those delightful daffodils are out on show yet again and that really is a reason to be celebrating life in all its richness and splendour. 

Next week the clocks go forward and there is a lovely perfume of spring in the air. The birds can still be heard serenading the world population at roughly tea time and from next Sunday morning you'll all be able to enjoy those splendidly uplifting longer days of light without worrying about what might be considered those long, dark wintry nights. In fact they're just  a logical extension of late autumn. It's time to look forward rather than back. So open up those curtains and blinds and let spring wrap a crocus designed blanket around you.

Before that though let me give you another reminder of my books. My book of football poetry Football's Poetic Licence is now available at Amazon, e-bay, Waterstones online and Waterstones bookshops, Foyles online, Hatchards and Barnes and Noble online in the USA. To all book enthusiasts across the Atlantic I wax lyrical about the FA Cup, Premier League, Champions League, my late and wonderful mum and dad, there's a warm eulogy to my lovely dad, grandpa Jack, the World Cup, England, USA, Euro 2020, Europa League, the Carabao Cup, football or soccer grounds and Ilford FC, my local football or soccer team growing up. 

On the other hand you may also like to indulge in a little nostalgia which most of us like to do from time to time. Now you could be accused of dwelling on the past or living in decades long since past. But my life story No Joe Bloggs might change your mind. Some of us believe that you have to think back to your childhood because that was your foundation, your starting point in life, the moment you awoke to the realisation that life is indeed beautiful and the gradual discovery of nature, your environment, your maturity and the personality that shaped the person you are now. 

No Joe Bloggs is available at Amazon, Waterstones online, Foyles online, Hatchards online and Barnes and Noble online. In my life story No Joe Bloggs I once again wax lyrical about my childhood, my parents and grandparents and the rich tapestry of life. I'm a grandson of a Holocaust survivor so my book is my effusive homage to the people who loved and nurtured me through to the adult that I am. I feel blessed to have a wonderfully loving and supportive wife Bev, two wonderful children Sam and Rachel and all of my brilliant family are my rock.

In No Joe Bloggs I describe my childhood home Ilford, Essex and growing up in that salubrious suburb of Essex, there are loving descriptions of the West End of London, the East End of London, my wonderful mum and dad, my favourite music, bands, singers, artists from the 1970s, my favourite TV celebrities from that era, topical news events from the Seventies, football or soccer pen portraits of the leading lights of the old First Division of the time such as Arsenal, Liverpool, Chelsea, Aston Villa, Manchester United and Manchester City, Everton, Spurs, Wolves, Ipswich Town and Leeds United.

So there you are. If you feel like a read about this humble blogger from London then here are all the details and if you feel like treating yourself to both an Easter egg and a book may I heartily recommend my books. Whatever your choice of book, happy reading everybody.

International Day of Happiness

 International Day of Happiness

As the sun sets on this beautiful spring day in London town and most of Southern England, you're tempted to think that on the day before the official spring equinox, life couldn't get any better or indeed sweeter. But it is undoubtedly sweet and always will be regardless of the sinister distractions around the rest of the world. We are still surrounded by war, discord, suffering, pain, hatred and those with a bitter resentment of the land they claim, nay less insist, is theirs by historical territorial right.

For Ukraine and Russia read Hamas and Israel. It is time to lay down the law to Hamas. Your evil and nefarious misdeeds and brutal atrocities have to be eliminated at all costs immediately. Withdraw your arms and ammunition and leave the rest of the world alone. For Russia and Vladimir Putin cut it out. The ugly soundtrack of incessant gun fire and wholesale destruction has to stop pronto before civilised voices have to shout out quite vehemently. Enough is enough. And this is where today makes its welcome presence felt across the world.

Ladies and Gentlemen today is the International Day of Happiness and it's time to remind us of the essential virtues of happiness, smiling, laughing, giggling, celebrating life, kindness and generosity. This may sound like one of the statements of the obvious from those who believe quite strongly that there's no charge for happiness, it's free and it's a natural function requiring no effort whatsoever. It's just a state of mind that should be uplifting, positive, cheerful and just being in the moment if you're having one of those days at work where everything seemed to go wrong as soon as the boss walked into the office.

So let's pretend that the company you're employed by has never been in a healthier financial state for years. Just look at those highly impressive sales figures, the massively encouraging profit margins compared to last year and the accounts department look as though they'd quite happily dance around their desks every day given half the chance. It's time to forget about the past and look to the future. Your family are the best in the world, your friends have never been less than amicable and there can be nothing to complain about.

And of course we should never forget about tomorrow because hope will spring eternal, the air of renewal and regeneration can almost be smelt, felt and touched. Spring means so much to so many people. On Sunday the clocks go forward once again indicating that now may be the time to acknowledge happiness as the simplest emotion of all. The days will become longer, the cuckoos are composing their most glorious melodies and the dulcet tones of spring will be heard in every neighbourhood throughout the world. What is there not to like about the International Day of Happiness?

Ideally every day should be devoted to unrelenting happiness, deliriously happy vibes, shaking each other's hand firmly, switching on the most unforgettable smile, laughing your head off unashamedly and just indulging in the kind of activities that just make you feel it's good to be alive. And yet we tend to take our everyday lives for granted, we expose ourselves to our vulnerabilities, dwell on the past for much longer than we should and then fall into a despondent slump because we haven't met our own impossibly lofty expectations.

So this is the point when perhaps we look out across the window on the world and wonder if we could achieve a permanent happiness if we set our minds to it. Of course everyday living is a gift and should always be appreciated and recognised as such. Undoubtedly, here in Britain, we live in  the most privileged and comfortable world. The world of work has always been problematic and challenging, pressures and deadlines almost excruciatingly unbearable. Bills have to be paid, children properly schooled, educated, clothed, fed and watered. But then you remember about the fundamental importance of happiness.

You suddenly recall those blissful moments of contentment when the world is about street festivals, colourful carnivals, those wonderful gospel singers who always make the world a special place in local Sunday churches. You remember the family parties from long ago when the fragrant smell of burgers at barbecues brought everybody together, the groaning tables of food and drink, the kids constantly running in and out of the kitchen before embarking on another expedition into the living room.

You look back to idyllic childhood when you were allowed to play out on the local back roads for the duration of your school summer holidays. You cast your minds back to that lovely old lime green bike with stabilisers, hurtling around at top speed before just dropping said bicycle onto the ground with a perfect sense of exhilaration. It was a time of your life which you must have thought would last forever because you were kid and everything was just fantastic. And so it was and always should be.

It's easy to assume that happiness is just a state of mind because we tend to forget about the simplicities of every day living, the fact that maybe we can detach ourselves from the depressing narratives we're always subjected to on the daily news agenda. We see bloodshed and murder, genocide and barbarism on every killing field and can't help but be deeply affected and moved by the lurid imagery, appalled by the sickening sensation in the pit of our stomach when it happens over and over again.

So today was International Day of Happiness because we should have sought light relief from such horrendous atrocities. There has to be a mental escape from a troubled world, an opportunity to just watch our favourite comedian, comedienne, our all time best TV comedy shows for hour upon hour and just become liberated from tragedy once and for all. Go on let yourself go. Just laugh because you know you should. It's the finest medicine of them all, the antidote that costs nothing. Be happy because your favourite music on the radio has just been launched for the rest of your life and that's just irresistible.

We can do happiness. We know we can because it  should come naturally to you. You were born with chuckle muscles to quote a famous old comedian from Liverpool called Ken Dodd. You were happy when you passed your driving test, ecstatic when your university exams were revealed and you could finally do the kind of job that would guarantee monied security indefinitely. You were just glad to be there on the day when the first crocuses, tulips and daffodils popped out of their winter hibernation and just loved those stunning blue skies and warm sunshine which were just around the corner.

International Day of Happiness has to be acknowledged because it is the best of all feelings, that outpouring of delight when a new baby is born or when somebody tells you that you have the most wonderful grandson and you're a grandpa for the first time. You are blessed by good health, a wonderfully loving and supportive family and wife who will always be your source of inspiration. So go on have a good, old fashioned belly laugh, seize every day, celebrate it with an event that leaves you with a warm glow of satisfaction and always remember that we all have that innate capacity to laugh.

The semi finals of the FA Cup.

 The semi finals of the FA Cup.

And then there were four. Football's oldest and most treasured of all Cup competitions the FA Cup now almost reaches its full flowering with the prospect of the same opponents as last year and the very real possibility of yet another identical FA Cup Final from years gone by.  Over the weekend we discovered the four remaining teams left in this year's competition and tried to imagine a time when history hadn't repeated itself because that would have been a blissful relief since repetition can be ever so slightly tiresome.

So it is that Manchester United, Manchester City, Coventry and Chelsea all lock horns to determine the identity of this year's FA Cup finalists. The logical and realistic choice would be either another Manchester derby hot on the heels of last year's contest or another stirring rendition of the 1994 FA Cup Final when Eric Cantona emerged as the most instrumental figure in United's convincing 4-0 victory over Chelsea. It now seems a lifetime ago but the cultural references remain just as relevant now as they were back then.

In those days Cantona was one of the most skilful forwards in football's top flight. Now the rebel with a cause has just diversified into the world of pop music and his new album is a crooner's delight. There was a brief flirtation with the world of arthouse films, but Cantona was just unplayable against Chelsea side simply counting down the minutes until the final whistle. The Cantona vinyl repertoire has to be a source of much intrigue but then we always knew the Frenchman was channelling his inner Charles Aznavour.

The truth is though that either we'll see vivid reflections of 1994 again or just a straightforward rerun of last year's FA Cup Final. Manchester United's fabulously pulsating 4-3 victory over Liverpool, Chelsea's equally as intoxicating 4-2 win over Championship side Leicester City at Stamford Bridge and Manchester City's almost regulation 2-0 triumph over Newcastle United were rather like several carnivals of attacking football rolled into one.

For some of us the once traditional venues for both FA Cup semi finals are almost historical artefacts. It used to be either Villa Park, Hillsborough, Stamford Bridge and not forgetting Highbury. Highbury of course was the setting for that famous bloodbath when Brian Talbot finished the FA Cup semi final for Ipswich Town with a blood soaked bandage on his forehead while poor West Bromwich Albion, Ipswich's opponents 46 years ago, could only lick their defeated wounds.

In 1964 West Ham, facing the most formidable  quartet of George Best, Bobby Charlton, Denis Law and Nobby Stiles trudged through the treacly mud of Hillsborough and then opened up a Manchester United defence that would become one of the most respected in the old First Division with a 3-1 victory. West Ham would go on to beat Preston in a five goal thriller in the FA Cup Final winner with a last minute header from Ronnie Boyce.

Without a hint of bias your team from East London also figured prominently in the 1980 FA Cup semi final against Everton. West Ham were temporary residents in the old Second Division at the time and nobody gave them the remotest chance against the Goodison Park side. The height and upper body strength of burly striker Bob Latchford equalised for Everton in the replay at Elland Road, almost overpowering West Ham. But then both an Alan Devonshire goal after a delightful one two and then Frank Lampard senior lunged heroically forward to direct a dramatic diving header high into the net, a goal that sent the Hammers to Wembley. Here they beat favourites Arsenal to win the FA Cup at the old Wembley. It may prove to be West Ham's last and only contribution to FA Cup history.

And so we return to this year's semi final where Wembley will once hold top billing. The traditionalists amongst us will yearn for the good, old days when an FA Cup semi final had to be played on a neutral ground. We were just conditioned to its springtime arrival rather like the cuckoo at the crack of dawn. But fear not the two Manchesters, Chelsea and Coventry are champing at the bit and anything could happen but probably won't because we know how football very rarely rewards giant killers and besides this is not 1987 and not Spurs. Coventry may think otherwise and we know everything there is to know about the unpredictability of FA Cup Final day. David and Goliath? You bet.