F.A. Cup Semi-Final

Manchester City fan Craig Jones is still rejoicing after watching Saturday’s FA Cup Semi-Final at Wembley. Here he relives one of the best days of his life

As the beaming sun peered in between the gaps in my curtains and seven synchronised alarm clocks, looking a little like the opening scene from Back to The Future, made an almighty racket, I slowly opened my eyes at 7.30am on Saturday morning (a time I’m rarely awake on most weekdays let alone weekends) and realised it was Derby Day.

I leapt up quickly, showered and had a bit of breakfast before sauntering over to Eastlands to get a coach to Wembley to face city rivals Manchester United in the semi-final of the FA Cup.

I was met by a sea of blue shirts, scarves, flags and any other memorabilia that Manchester City’s supporters had been able to lay their hands on. There was an army of coaches, many looking like chariots with an abundance of mod-cons. Mine and my father’s, however, looked more donkey and cart.

We set off and straight away my iPhone sprung into life with ‘hilarious’ texts from United-supporting friends who would be watching the evening’s events in the company of Adrian Chiles and co from ITV.

“You do know Wembley is south of Manchester don’t you?” said one. “If you get lost give Fergie a call he’s been there a few times before,” said another. “Make sure you take a sat nav.” I didn’t rise to the bait because I’ve never been one for playground football banter. I was going down to support my team and couldn’t have cared less about the opposition.

To be honest I wasn’t looking forward to the match, given that United beat us a few weeks previously with a wonder strike from Britain’s most charismatic man, Wayne Rooney, and our recent record against the Reds wasn’t great. Also, we’d just got schooled in a 3-0 defeat at Liverpool. On top of that, despite being one of the world’s richest clubs, there was still the feeling that we were destined to lose any match away from Eastlands.

But the mood soon changed when the party and the chanting started. One fan on the bus noticed my slight resemblance to our suave Italian manager Roberto Mancini and a chorus of “Bobby’s son is a City fan” broke out with lots of pointing at yours truly.

We arrived at Wembley to a great reception from City fans. I felt part of the Royal Wedding entourage. But Blue heaven turned to Red hell when we passed a sea of United fans. That’s when the ‘healthy banter’ stopped and the coach was pelted with missiles with a bottle smashing against the rear window. Love thy neighbour was quite literally out of the window.

The coach parked up in the shadow of the imposing figure of Wembley’s arch. Unwittingly, our coach driver parked at United’s end of the stadium and we were herded into the lion’s den like helpless zebras. At this point my dad, Michael, began to flap a bit having seen the bad old days of football back in the Eighties which, thankfully, I’m too young to remember (although the first match I ever went to at Maine Road I did get chairs thrown at me from opposing fans). Thankfully nothing untoward happened.

Quite the reverse, in fact. We headed to the other side of the stadium to congregate with the other City fans. I was dressed in a white cardigan over my blue shirt and black jeans with the sun glistening on my Ray Bans and a light breeze blowing back my wavy hair, which prompted a backhanded compliment from a United fan with a Cockney accent. “Oh Russell Brand’s arrived!”

We crossed Wembley Way where red became blue and I was getting anxious as kick-off was imminent. Oddly, just before entering the stadium, we saw Fulham defender Brede Hangeland walking into the VIP section and I wondered what interest the big Norwegian had in a meeting between Manchester’s finest. I guess I’ll never know.

As we found our seats, choruses of ‘Blue Moon’ rang around the stadium as the two teams took to Wembley’s field which looked like a freshly laid carpet. Roars met the reading of every City player’s name before a pre-match Poznan was unleashed as the stadium announcer read the Reds’ starting line-up. For those that don’t know, the Poznan is a ritual City have adopted this season after meeting Polish side Lech Poznan in the Europa League where after a goal is scored, inspired by the Polish fans, City’s supporters turn away from the field, put their arms over the people next to them and jump up and down.

The gentle probing from both sides didn’t draw too much blood in the first 10 minutes but I felt United were turning up the heat. My suspicions were confirmed when Berbatov was one-on-one only for Joe Hart to pull off a fantastic save. But the danger didn’t end there as the ball immediately returned to the Bulgarian only for him to fluff another gilt-edged chance. My heart began to pound quite hard. I was certain a goal was imminent.

City started to push against the Red current, making a few good opportunities and for a moment, after seeing Joleon Lescott connect with the ball from a corner, I stood expectantly awaiting the net to rumble, but it didn’t. How the hell did he miss? That was bound to be our last chance, I thought.

After half-time, City continued as they had finished, on the front foot and pressurising the United backline until they made a mistake. Midfielder Michael Carrick gave a stray pass to City’s Yaya Toure who burst forward into the box and placed a shot in between Edwin Van Der Sar’s legs. It was beautiful.

I jumped and screamed in pure ecstasy along with another 40,000 City fans who dared to dream that we could be on course to the final.

After being in control and failing to grab the second goal a sense of nervousness crept in which was momentarily relieved when Paul Scholes was shown a red card for a bizarre and stupid challenge on Pablo Zabaleta. I celebrated like we’d extended the lead hoping it would prevent a United comeback. But I was all too aware of United’s never say die attitude. I was still on edge until the final whistle was blown after the traditional Fergie time.

We all rejoiced as City took one step closer to ending their three-decade trophy drought. The scuffle between Ferdinand and Mancini, which for the most part went unnoticed during the celebrations, emphasised the match’s importance not just to the blue half of Manchester but also to the red.

After the joy of seeing the Poznan performed by City’s players and staff on the pitch we headed back to the coaches. It was only a short walk to the car park and I greeted every insult and expletive with a smile before we climbed back on the coach and headed North.

I did ponder sending a boastful text to my Manchester U friends but decided against it as beating United was only half the battle. It will all be meaningless if we don’t return victorious after playing Stoke City next month.

One thing is for certain, I’ll be sure to ask for directions from Manchester United fans when we return to Wembley in May as all their helpful advice sorted City out a real treat on Saturday.

Posted on www.thenatter.co.uk

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TGI'S

Craig Jones helps TGI Friday’s celebrate its 25th birthday and ends up ever so slightly inebriated

Readers of The Natter may recall late last year our reporter Tamsin Eames received a crash course in ‘flair bartending’ at TGI Friday’s, creating her own concoction, The Lady Pint.

Recently I returned to TGI’s Trafford Centre restaurant to see if it had become a hit during the chain’s 25th birthday celebrations.

Unsurprisingly, The Lady Pint – which consisted of every ingredient on the bar lovingly chucked into a pint glass – hadn’t made its way onto TGI’s never-ending menu of cocktails (although the Passion Punch did look like it had ripped it off slightly). But they have debuted a new beverage created by Trafford Centre bartender Warren Parsonage.

The elegant drink known as The Skyy High Elderberry beat 57 other cocktails in a battle to be added to the chain’s nationwide drinks menu. Each of TGI’s UK stores nominated one new cocktail made by a member of their staff as an entry in their mixology competition.

Winner Warren said: “I’m buzzing that my cocktail has been chosen to become part of Friday’s famous cocktail menu. Friday’s is known for its cocktail innovation and now I can proudly say that one of my own creations will be on the menu next to some all-time classics.”


Craig and Tamsin sample the now legendary,
but sadly no longer available, ‘Lady Pint’

The Skyy High Elderberry is a refreshing blend of Skyy vodka, crème de Mure, apple juice, and elderflower cordial. Warren was more than happy to demonstrate making it with the aid of a few tricks and flicks in front of some adoring punters during the restaurant’s birthday party.

Every hour Friday’s’ highly skilled flair team put on a spectacle of showmanship and audaciousness that even cocktail Casanova Tom Cruise couldn’t have matched in his Eighties pomp.

The Trafford Centre bar team was led by Adi Astley, main picture, above, who is TGI Friday’s 2010 UK Flairing Champion. Adi had the honour of choreographing a world record breaking routine to kick-off TGI’s 25th birthday celebrations earlier this year.

It saw 101 bartenders performing for over two minutes without dropping a bottle or falling out of sync. This set a new Guinness World Record title for the ‘Most People in a Simultaneous Cocktail Flair’.

Adi said: “That was a really great day and we had so much fun. I’m so proud of everyone. Flair is about creating theatre and fun around the bar experience.”

On our previous visit me and Tamsin were guided by the capable flairing hands of barman Ian Brooke, who taught us how to make (and sample) various cocktails. This time I briefly made a cameo behind the bar with my tutor. It’s fair to say the apprentice hasn’t yet outgrown the master as I wasn’t an unprecedented success.

Ian tried to teach me to flick a bottle and land it standing back on the palm of my hand. At the best of times my hand-eye coordination isn’t great and after supping a fair few cocktails it wasn’t at its most impressive. I attempted the trick only to inadvertently hit the bottle back towards Ian striking him in an area of his body where it’s always bound to hurt. Thankfully everyone – including Ian – saw the funny side of it.

I rather sheepishly returned to the other side of the bar after experiencing the kind of embarrassment Del Boy once suffered in a cocktail bar.

Luckily, I was saved from further suffering after I foolishly agreed to try a Flaming Lamborghini cocktail, which explodes if you make the slightest wrong move. In my increasing drunken state I couldn’t hide my fear and thankfully I lived to fight another day when my ‘flair bartending’ friends said we’d sadly not have enough time to set it up (what a relief! I dodged a bullet there).


Record breakers: TGI bartenders set a Guinness World Record for simultaneous flairing

TGI’s used the party as a fitting opportunity to present a cheque for £30,000 to their charity partner, the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

New York’s finest is now halfway to the Big Five-O but there’s one thing for certain, they won’t grow old quietly – there’s sure to be lots of excitement upon the way. Bring on another 25 years and Happy Birthday TGI Friday’s.

To see TGI Friday’s record breaking flair bartenders in action follow this link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRqwe5KR1tg

The night I played for City

It’s every football fan’s dream to get close to the players of the club they support. CRAIG JONES got to make this a reality when he was the ‘DJ’ at the launch of Manchester City’s new club shop. . .

I’M sitting in the office on a drizzly Thursday morning with a million and one things to do.

It’s fair to say I’m in need of a pick-me-up. So, I do what anyone in my position would do – waste away the hours on Facebook. Flicking through the endless cringeworthy statuses (that I am all too guilty of writing myself) which included the usual ‘I can’t wait to finish work’, ‘I love my boyfriend sooooooo much’ and ‘I’m just off out for a loaf of bread’, all very intriguing stuff, I stumble across something of potential interest.

The official Manchester City page beckons me. It says: “Budding DJs wanted to cover the launch of our new club shop tonight.”

This is a calling. Being a City fan, I’m wobbling with excitement and, given the fact I consider myself something of a music buff, I decide to give it a go.

The rules are quite simple. All I have to do is submit three songs that I’d like to play. After much deliberation my choices are made – New Order’s Blue Monday, Julian Casablanca’s 11th Dimension and Editors’ Papillon. I’m convinced that a blend of a synthy Eighties alternative sound will be ideal for a shindig with Roberto Mancini and his boys.

A phone call comes and incredibly I’ve been selected to DJ the launch, I’m brimming with a smile that even the Cheshire Cat would be envious of. I then walk from desk to desk bragging to anyone who’ll listen what I’ll be doing this evening.

My friend Alexandra asks if she could accompany me to this glamorous event in the hope that she could snag herself a footballer husband.

She asks: “So Craig, who are the hottest players?”

Given my love for Carlos Tevez, I instantly blurt out the little Argentine bulldog’s name. Alex gives me a stern headshake of disapproval, of which Simon Cowell would be proud, and says: “Oh no Craig! Isn’t he the one with the massive scar?”


Obviously we look for different things in a man – I look for a goal scorer, and I dread to think what she looks for.

We arrive at the new CityStore on Market St, in the old HMV site across from Boots, startled by the view of a large blue moon rising.

We’re ushered to the entrance while having our snaps taken by photographers, who I hope believe me to be a footballer at the club. Given my ever-growing beer belly and the club’s alleged booze culture, maybe I could fit the bill perfectly.

Entering the store, there’s a space age parting of the ways when the moon splits in two allowing us to enter. I feel like we’re being taken on David Bowie’s space oddity and I begin to wonder if we’ll bump into Major Tom.


As we walk into the unknown, our entrance is greeted by rousing cheers from the Tannoy. I have to admit being cheered walking through a door is a fair old ego-boost and it eased my growing nerves before the impending DJ set.

The shop looks great – a bit like something from the film Tron. Lit in dark blue and full of mod-cons, we’re greeted by the event organiser who drags me from pillar to post.

Revealing that I’ll only be playing the three songs which I submitted (to be honest, I don’t mind as it gives me more time to schmooze with the City bigwigs), there then comes a trio of shocking bombshells.

The first is quite nice – all the drinks are complementary (not a bad start), secondly, the scarfed one, Roberto Mancini, will not be in attendance as he’s coming down tomorrow to officially open the store instead.

My heart is slightly broken at this point as I will admit I have a slight man-crush on the Italian stallion, who has an eye for knitwear.

But my spirits are raised by the fact Shaun Wright-Phillips and Micah Richards will be coming down later on.

The final revelation leaves me flabbergasted just as I’m told to jump behind the decks and get on with it.

The organiser says: “Just have a fiddle with the buttons – we are playing all the songs out of the main speakers anyway, so you don’t have to do anything, all you have to do is look convincing.”

It’s claimed, rather understandably, that the club couldn’t take a risk on whether I could DJ or not. Externally I’m nodding in agreement, but on the inside I’m having a diva-like strop.

Do they not know who I am? Do they not know of the ‘acclaimed’ radio show I did at uni or the many sets I’ve done in some of Manchester’s finest indie nightclubs?

My reputation didn’t precede me. In my head this is the biggest musical scandal since Milli Vanilli lip-synched or Cheryl’s latest mime on X Factor.

I jump behind the decks to begin a wooden acting master class that even Arnold Schwarzenegger would be embarrassed by. But as the sound of Bernard Sumner asking ‘How does it feel?’ rumbles around the shop’s basement floor I revel in my surroundings.

To my left I see the rather sophisticated shirt printing area that wouldn’t look out of place at a Kraftwerk gig and then directly in front of me I spy City’s Ambassador, the legendary Mike Summerbee, having a little dance to New Order.


At this point I start to amuse myself by switching the decks on and off wondering if anything will happen. Nothing does.

At the end of my set, Alex and I go grab a quick word with secret New Order fan Mike Summerbee. He speaks with great pride about the shop and says: “The store looks fresh, smart and modern; I think it epitomises the direction that the club is going.
“It just shows how Manchester City are growing as a force.”

We then get chatting about City’s current form and as an armchair fan I question the need of playing three holding midfielders at home. Summerbee, ever the gentleman, listens to my ramblings, which he’s probably heard a million times before. It becomes evident he’s keen to change the subject and he introduces us to the club’s CEO Gary Cook.

As we chat I’m desperate to ask about the infamous ‘bottler’ remark he aimed at Kaka when City expressed an interest in signing the Brazilian playmaker a few years back but don’t want to risk being frogmarched out of the joint.

The celebs keep rolling in and as we spot Micah Richards alone in the corner, we quickly hatch a plan, which is basically to use the girl as bait – Alex will ask for a photo and I’ll grab a few quotes about the football.

The plan goes perfectly. Alex gets a snapshot with a potential suitor and I have a chit chat with a man who I spent a few boozy nights with in Portland this summer when I inadvertently bumped into the squad during the club’s pre-season tour of America.

Richards recognises me, so there was actually no need for our convert 007-style plan. We chat about the good old days for a while before we get his thoughts on the new shop.

He raves: “It’s great, I’ve been to the old store in the Arndale Centre and this is a big improvement, I can’t believe how big it is. I think the fans will love it, they deserve the best on and off the field.”

I’m happy to get the quotes but as a fan I’m eager to get some juicy gossip about the club, I gently probe about the reported bust-ups between Mancini and the players but Richards leaps to the Italian’s defence. He explains: “I know a lot has been made about the recent results and our style of play, but I think people need to take a reality check and see that we are actually still fourth in the table.

“Everybody is saying we’re in decline and much has been said about the manager but he’s genuinely doing a good job and it is obvious the club is going in the right direction.”

The free alcohol must be running low as we’re now only being given halves of lager. Richards is called to the decks to join team-mate Shaun Wright-Phillips in providing the music. I jealously notice they get to actually DJ, no miming for millionaires, but at this point my attention has turned to other things.

After supping a fair bit, conversation between myself and Alex becomes very disjointed (I have the dictaphone recordings to prove it). She’s insistent on finding a waitress so she can grab another glass of wine while I realise that I don’t have this year’s kit and consider sneaking out with one of the jerseys displayed on the racks. I try to justify my intended actions by thinking, ‘The guys who own us are billionaires, they aren’t going to miss a shirt’.

At this point, I’d like to clarify I didn’t steal anything, what a horrible faux pas that would have been, but we consider this a good point to head towards the exits for the after show-party at The Living Room where City fans, Doves, would be performing. Before leaving I get a quick photo on the stage with Shauny, he has no option in the matter, as the little man is basically propping me up I’m in such an inebriated state. Although from the picture Shaun looks a little worse for wear, too.


We leave, the night has been amazing and I just can’t believe my luck that I got to be part of such a big event with the club I love. I have the sound of Andy Gray in my ears rumbling out the old footballing cliché: ‘you can’t win a raffle if you don’t buy a ticket’. Too true Andy, take a bow son.