The Beard Emporium

My wife struggles to buy me presents. If I'm honest I'm fairly boring so gifts tend to centre round alcohol (beer sets), film (DVD and Blueys - that's BluRays, not porn. Although I do like it. But she doesn't know about that) and reading (books, not the town). So pretty run of the mill stuff, although I'm not at all ungrateful.

This year on my birthday, to avoid the mundane, she decided to think outside the box in order to get me the perfect gift. She said to herself "What does he really love?"

"The Kids" - true enough, we achieved what Henry VIII couldn't by 200% and have two cracking healthy sons. And she couldn't get me another. Well, she could but it would take 9 months and wouldn't really be a present. Just a fucking chore.

"Me!" (Her) - again true enough, I do love her (in a way). Particularly in a few compromising positions picked up via blueys (that's porn, not BluRays).

"His beard!" - yes! Although it's only a few months old I've become to cherish my manly facial hair. Good call. So after a bit of googling she found the Beard Emporium and promptly picked up a gift card as my gift.

 Established this year the Emporium provides all the goodies needed to keep your beard fresh and healthy, with a scoop of wax and a few drops of woody smelling manliness combed through.

After a good deal of pondering about what was right for me, I opted for The Bowler Hat gift set. A smashing box of tricks for the beginner with a box cut. Contains beard balm conditioner to make your bush as soft as a cats belly, some moustache wax aimed to keep your RAF tasche stiff upper lipped, and a lovely little Kent comb that combs it all in. And lice out. My favourite item though is the rather alluring beard oil - makes it smell like you're wandering round a Scandinavian forest all in the comfort of your own bathroom.

So the Beard Emporium is the one stop online shop for artisan bits and pieces for splendid beards. It won't come cheap though, but then I'm a great man, with a great beard.

And I'm worth it.

Faconnable

I'm a bit Facc'd up me...

adidas Ardwick

With its sunkissed railway arches, blissfully unhappy inhabitants and laid back approach to everything, Ardwick is the new California . Limited to 500, available from Oi Polloi at the end of the month.

Hooligan Weekly

In the days before mobile phones and internet forums how was the young, upwardly mobile dressers able to keep up with their firms' meets? What train was the designated? What clobber was in, and, more importantly, out? The answer is simple. A hastily drawn up and crude handwritten newsletter, complete with a small charge to cover the effort, and expense of photocopying at the local newsagents.

These are both examples from Motherwell's SS firms heyday, taken from Callum Bell's excellent book Saturday is Service Day - which was a bit of a wordy rather than picturey forerunner to the recent 'Dressers'.

Halloween Peanuts

West Auckland Town vs. Hartlepool United

West Auckland. The home of the first World Cup winners. Twice. And they love to go on about it - the road sign as you arrive at the town proudly tells you. For any of you who don't know the tale, Thomas Lipton's dream was to create a international trophy and he did so in 1909 - inviting the best from Italy (Torino), Switzerland (Winterthur) Germany (Stuttgart) and, inventors of the sport, England - a club version forerunner of what would eventually become the World Cup. When it come to the choice of the finest team in England, legend has it, he couldn't remember the name of the best club but knew their initials were 'W' 'A' - thus a band of coal mining part timers from County Durham were invited along... First Division Woolwich Arsenal would have to wait a bit longer for European competition.

If that sounds ridiculous, what happened next sounds like myth. West Auckland turned up at the competition, having borrowed, begged and pawned to raise funds, and promptly won it - 2-0 in semis to Stuttgart and by the same scoreline in the final to Winterthur. They returned home heroes.

The myth then turns fairytale when the club were invited back in 1911 to defend their crown. And did so with aplomb. Winning the semis by a now familiar 2-0 score (vs FC Zurich), they then trounced Juventus 6-1 in the final. Mr Lipton said they could keep the trophy, but a few years later the financial implications of the traveling abroad hit home and the club sold anything it could to keep afloat - including the trophy. The eventually got it back in the 70s, only for it for be stolen in a burglary on the clubhouse in 1994. It's never been found.

The Town, and indeed the the club, seems stuck in a timezone well before 1994. A glorified pit village situated on the edge of the Pennines feels like the edge of humanity - if you go beyond it you've drop off the the world. Saying that I use the term 'humanity' quite loosely - my Durham City supporting pal was recounting tales of chew on with the West locals when visiting with the Citizens. And as we took up our place on the terrace with the West hardcore we noticed a few curious stares as kick off approached.

I always enjoy Durham Cup games (despite the fact it's usually youth/reserve level for Pools) as it's cheap, ensures a visit to a ramshackle Northern League ground and it's always under the lights. This time though excitement was at fever pitch as Marlon Harewood was starting (plus a few other first teamers) with a couple of trialists.

The game was fairly even, worryingly as this was supposedly a strong Pools line up, with United probably edging it on chances created. Dutch left winger trialist Sidney Schmeltz, formerly of Oldham, showed some good pace and low crossing, but big striker Harewood fluffed a handful of decent chances that he really should have put away. West broke away late in the half after a poor back pass and former Durham striker Stephen 'Speedie' Richardson coolly slotted home.

Half time and we walked behind the other goal, proving what a lonely existence being a Pools fan can be at these ties - we were the only ones at that end. Our blind loyalty (or stupidity) was rewarded three minutes after the restart when Harewood sprung the offside trap and converted a one on one right in front of us. A congratulatory message of 'Get the fuck in lad' was returned with a 'cheers mate' from the big man, which delighted me even further.

The game descended into a end to end type affair, but by end I mean the edge of the 18 yard area, with neither side really looking like taking the initiative. The pitch certainly didn't help, with upwardly rising slopes at either end - the only time I've seen a match played in a semi circle. As extra time approached a Pools defender was penalized for handball, Alex Francis stepped up from 30 yards and scored one of those free kicks that your side never seems to score -  a pile drived curler right into the upright. Unstoppable. It may have been only for the next round of the Durham Cup, but that free kick would have been worthy of winning the World Cup. Unfortunately for West Auckland, it's unlikely they'll get invited along again...

One True Grail

Finally, after many years of searching, I've sourced one of my holy grails. And the daft thing is that only a decade ago I already owned it...

The grail in question is the One True Saxon Supply parka. A black medium weight parka with more pockets than a poachers pub. And I had it. Unfortunately that was back in a time when if the jacket on my back wasn't Stone Island then it wasn't worth shit to me. So I unappreciated and neglected this coat. And thus I promptly sold it...

And regretted it about a year later (no doubt when I realised the replacement SPW jacketry didn't live up to the OTS' charm and personality). I then swore that if I ever saw said supply parka on ebay and/or internet forums I would snap it up, no quibbles on price or condition.

Some ten years of hurt later, I've eventually found one via ebay and all mine for a paltry 15 quid. Demand. Supplied.