Going to the chapel....

Weddings, eh? A whole load of organising, blood, sweat, tears, table decorations, making sure the bridesmaid outfits are the right shade on the correct Pantone scale. And all for one day. But boy, what a day.

Growing up, my lil' sister Lauren and I endured something of a hate-hate relationship. A 5-year age gap ensured she used to constantly "irritate me", while of course being the older sibling I was supposed to rise above it. Yeah, right. She went from having tantrums every morning ("Now you've made my knickers fall down!" - you could judge her mood by how high she yanked the pants up under her arms) through the rebellious teenage years and, a couple of slips aside (being called at a hotel in Arundel at 3am to have to drive home to let her in to the house...), maturing into a fine lady.

A lot of the credit for this must surely go to the chap who I am now delighted to call "bro". While she wouldn't admit it at first, it was clear she was utterly smitten with this Duncan fella at Uni. She'd come home for the holidays, and there would be one topic of conversation. Finally she realised what I had sensed for ages, and she and this behemoth became an item.

Fast-forward around 9 years to yesterday. I know, 9 years. Flippin' heck Dunc, you really dragged it out. Anyway, here was the day from the perspective of the brother of the bride...

Having barely slept on account of Madam choosing the day before the wedding to come down a bit ill, I had an early start, rushing around picking up the flowers for the register table and ensuring the Go Kart had enough petrol to get us around. I then had to tackle the kilt ensemble. Somehow between the previous day when trying it on and yesterday, I had presumably lost 3 pounds as it seemed a little loose, but I successfully negotiated it with seconds to spare before we had to head to the Lensbury.

There we went up to Mum's suite, where I tentatively stepped into the lion's den of several bridesmaids in various states of (unfortunately all decent) undress. Wisely escaping, I met up with Dad and his brother Dougal in the hotel's bar for coffee (and then a cheeky half), before Dougal, Katy and I headed to Osterley House, where Duncan and his ushers all looked magnificent in their kilts. I checked the music worked, then assisted with meetin' and greetin'.

Having planned the timings of the day to the nth detail, it was therefore something of a surprise to see 2:00 come and go with no bride. It turns out this was not the bride's fault, rather the Bridesmaidmobile (aka Mum and Stephen's campervan) which had run out of electricity back at the Lensbury and needed a jump start.

Anyway, they got down to business. Duncan, always someone who can work an audience, threw a spanner in the works by blubbing. Being surrounded by ladies, I found my shoulders getting very damp as a result.

Bride and Groom seal the deal with a kiss. Ball and chain not pictured.

Then came the pictures, and a little bit of rigmarole. First up we had the spectre of two missing participants, then a slight re-jigging of the shots to account for Duncan's Dad being stuck at the top of the steps, then my little Diva decided she wouldn't play ball, refusing to pose for photos. Finally we piled into cars and headed back to the Lensbury.

Fizzy stuff and canapés abound, then my first job as MC for the night, to get the rabble to enter the room via a welcoming committee comprising B&G. We sat down for "breakfast" (I know, I have no idea either), and wow. Best. Wedding. Meal. Ever. The asparagus, bacon, poached egg and herb dressing starter was delicious. But then there was the steak. Oh yes, there was the steak. I'm not sure how a slab of meat can taste quite as good as that. But it did - I announced to all and sundry that the steak and I would shortly be getting a room. Katy couldn't quite finish hers, so that went down the hatch. I headed for the top table and Mum had left most of hers. Down the hatch.

My pud was cheese 'n' biscuits. 3 huge lumps of cheese, 3 biscuits. Go figure. I bl**dy love cheese, me.

Then came the speeches. I introduced things:

I know. Babe magnet.

I handed on to Dad, who gave a very moving speech, and then Duncan, who again through the simple act of being a cry-baby wuss managed to cause a near flood. Finally it was turn of Best Man Mike to finish things off with a load of laughs.

Well, things after this start to go a bit hazy. Not necessarily through alcohol consumption, rather this old man getting rather knackered. I did the sociable bit, had some funny photos with Madam, and then my final MC duty of the night was to announce the cutting of the cake before the excellent swing band commenced proceedings (after the first dance, Marvin Gaye). It wasn't long, though, before Madam - who had spent most of the night locking lips with page boy Jack - announced she was out for the count and needed taking to bed. Rather than this being a cue for a domestic with Katy, I was more than happy to accede and accompany the little lady - not before I procured a pork bap with apple sauce and plenty of crackling. Yum.

Well, what a fantastic day. All the effort was well worth it. Lauren looked utterly amazing (and it was fortunate everyone had their back to me as she arrived at Osterley House, else they'd have seen the sight of me blubbing), the party was excellent, the food was unbelievable, the company wonderful. If one could have planned a "Picture Postcard" wedding, this would have been it. I wish Lauren and Duncan a lifetime of happiness together, starting with their first honeymoon to Loch Lomond tomorrow.

TW3, or how to survive the wettest drought on record

Hello peeps. We reach the end of another working week - a week of contrasts, of moral support, of joy and glory.

Those pesky blighters at ECFC managed to keep themselves in with the faintest possible hopes of pulling off the great escape in the League One relegation scrap. I reached the "acceptance" stage the previous week when we surrendered a 2-goal lead with 11 minutes to play up at Rochdale. We went into the Walsall match knowing that anything other than a win would confirm a relegation that has been calling ever since David Noble was sent off for jumping for a header at Brentford. Round at the Mother-in-Law's, I snuck a quick look and saw we were losing 2-1. Phew, that's all sorted then. Only we went and bleedin' well won 4-2. I have visions of us getting a result up at Carlisle tomorrow, which would mean the fight goes on to the last day - coincidentally the day I should be 100% focused on my sister Lauren's nuptials.

Sunday saw another Exeter victory. We waited all season for the Bauys to register a win, then we only went and did it, in front of a healthy selection of WAGs and a few kids, against deadly rivals Plym**th. I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but my MOM award was I'm sure richly deserved.

The Bauys after our first ever match in 2006. No, I didn't wear the flip flops during the game.

We celebrated with a small pint, then Katy, Madam and I stopped in at Starvin' Marvin's on the way home. Said establishment, located just off the A40 towards Northolt was an old favourite of ours when we lived that way, and fortunately it is still just as good. Yummy.

It's fair to say Katy didn't have the best of weeks at work, so I donned my best TLC hat. On the other hand, I had the great news yesterday of hearing that my "Acting" boss has been confirmed in post. Not only is this good news as she is an excellent boss and great fun, but with a new boss would come upheaval and the possibility of a "new broom". Who knows if a new boss would want someone to churn out data and provide witty repartée in the office?

Oh, and it was effing bleedin' wet. Wednesday can FRO as a result. An open day on campus meant no parking so the car was miles away. Oh, and I had to pop out to a local school to carry out a Risk Assessment with a colleague. It wasn't raining that hard when I set off, so instead of walking the 10 minutes left to the car I headed right for the 15-20 minute walk. Big mistake, I have yet to dry out even now, as just past the point of no return the rain got heavier. And heavier. And heavier. Some bleedin' drought this is.

Anyway, we head into a weekend that will see Madam's dance classes resume, before Katy and Lauren meet up for that all-important wedding task, the buying of Madam's shoes. Other than that - bliss! A blank-ish weekend where I put the kibosh on City's chances by listening to the match (if I listen we lose. I'm like that.).

TTFN, etc. and try not to develop webbed feet in this glorious weather.

Nice Bristol(s) - the abridged highlights

So, we survived. The stag weekend was excellent, a great bunch of people having a great time with the minimum of fuss. As for the city of my alma mater, well it has changed a great deal - albeit with all the attention seemingly on the area around the docks.

We arrived, checked in (eventually - having negotiated the world's slowest check-in process) and settled down to a few pints at the hotel bar. Then it was in a cab for about 20 minutes to head the 15 minute walk to the curry house, where it became apparent that our costumes were drawing attention. Full up with spicy food, we headed to Park Street which, contrary to other parts of Bristol hasn't changed a bit since 1999.

Then came the schoolboy error - we had decided to head to The Hatchet, a small 17th century pub specialising in music of the rock variety. Only we were 9 lads, bedecked in silly bald wigs, and the bouncers weren't having it. So instead, after a trip to a tiny little pub, we headed to the Bierkeller, reknowned in my day for being the venue du jour for all the metal bands and their followers. Ideal, then, and great value (vodka & Red Bull for £2.50? Yes please!).

The stag party. L-R: Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan, Duncan.

Now, bearing in mind the average patron of the Bierkeller is someone with bright green hair and 6 nose rings, the attention we got for basically being a "bunch of freaks" beggared belief. However, we lapped up the attention and found ourselves being photographed by many. Anyway, mucho booze, mucho "moshing" (so I believe is the correct term for dancing to this genre of music) and mucho attention from assorted weirdos later, we headed back ready to hit the hay in good time for Saturday's festivities. Well, just in time anyway.

It was with some trepidation that 8 hungover blokes and Tim (abstaining from the boozing as he's a finely tuned athlete and running 26 miles this coming weekend) piled into a minibus bound for Caerdydd at the ungodly hour of 9:45am on Saturday. It was with even more trepidation that we were introduced to Wyn, our sadistic instructor for the day. The trepidation reached fever pitch when attempting to negotiate the wetsuits. And guess whose upper body was so "ripped" that he managed to break the zip on his life jacket? Wyn was diplomatic in telling me "I bet you ain't seen your cock in a while!" Yeah, cheers boyo.

Anyway, this was the sight that greeted us:

Eek.

However, we took to it like ducks to very choppy water. And boy, what an experience it was too. I managed to fall in (Wyn later admitting he had deliberately done something to the raft guaranteed to make someone fall out - cheers again boyo), although Antonio's fall proved altogether more spectacular. Wyn was moved enough by our ability to reckon we should take it up competitively as we possessed excellent upper body strength. Yeah, right.

Anyway, 9 knackered blokes headed back to Bristol, where we sat down to an expensive but sumptuous Thai feast, before answering the call of stag heaven - the strip club. Oh yes. But, as I love my wife dearly, I kept my eyes closed throughout. Ahem.

Being the grandad of the group, I was bushed when we left so, rather than heading to The Hatchet I departed for the hotel.

So, a good time had by all. Duncan is blessed to have a great bunch of mates, and I was delighted to have tagged along. Best Man Mike did a great job organising the whole shebang, which will go down in the annals of history as one of the great send-offs.

Nice Bristol(s)

Well, another short week is over. Not that it seemed so short - I swear I was at work for 18 hours on Tuesday, it certainly felt as such!

We had a lovely long weekend over Easter - went to the cinema on Good Friday to see "The Pirates" - decent although not really up to the usual Aardman standard if you ask me. Saturday saw us head to my sister Lauren's for kilt measurements ready for her upcoming nuptials - accompanied by some dreamy steak baguettes and the opportunity for me to dish out a lesson in Pool. On Sunday the Easter Bunny dropped by for Madam, then we had a nice time with Katy's old work colleagues and their two kids in Osterley Park. Finally, on Easter Monday we headed to the Penty family pile for a sale of old toot, Katy and I bagging around £70, which was nice.

The week saw some excellent news - The Walkmen are in town in June. Yay!

Anyway, it is with some trepidation that tomorrow I head to Bristol, home of my alma mater, for my soon to be brother-in-law's stag do. Any trip to Bristol has me somewhat misty-eyed, given an excellent three years spent there '96-99. Although given my advancing years and waistline since then, I may need a coronary after attempting to walk up Park Street...

The glamorous sights of Bristol.

Should be a fun-filled weekend, involving white water rafting, beer, music, beer, curry, beer, boobies and beer. We're apparently dressing as Duncan - the bald wigs, thick glasses and Metallica t-shirts are all well and good, but unfortunately my efforts to grow to 9'3" have proved fruitless. Should I survive (it's enough to be out on the beer one night running, two might finish me off) I'm sure there will be some tales to tell - those that don't count as "What goes on tour, stays on tour" in any case.

TTFN, or something.

My Musical Loves: The Walkmen

My first "My Musical Loves" post concerns my favourite band, US rockers The Walkmen. They are from various parts of the eastern US, and were formed in 2000 out of the ashes of a couple of bands...yadda yadda yadda... - the backstory doesn't really interest me, rather the music!

 The Walkmen (l-r): Peter Bauer (bass/organ), Walter Martin (piano/bass), Hamilton Leithauser (vocals, guitar), Paul Maroon (guitar/piano), Matt Barrick (drums).

They are a five-piece, fronted by Hamilton Leithauser and backed by some incredibly accomplished musicians, most notably the best drummer in christendom in Matt Barrick. If there is another drummer alive who matches Barrick for sheer timing and "Animal"-like skin-bashing, I've yet to find them.

I guess like most fans of the band, I found out about them through their incredible breakthrough single, "The Rat" in 2004. I was getting ready to head out shopping in Richmond with the Missus, and had MTV2 on. Suddenly, as we were about to leave, on comes this incredible song, backed by what looked like a very primitive video - just the band in black and white in a room, pounding out the vicious tone of the tune matched by the sheer venom of Leithauser yelling "Can't you hear me, I'm pounding at your door!"

The Walkmen perform "The Rat" on the David Letterman show.

I was hooked. All I could think of as we headed to Richmond was that I had to head to HMV and get this CD. Fortunately they weren't one-trick ponies, and "Bows and Arrows" turned out to be everything I hoped it would be, displaying an impressive array from the venom of "The Rat" to the majesty of "New Year's Eve". I eventually established as my favourite "Thinking of a Dream I Had" - another high-tempo affair backed by a driving beat from Barrick.

I'll admit that I was initially disappointed with the follow-up, "A Hundred Miles Off" - initially somewhat difficult to get into, with some of the tunes buried behind venomous openings - but several listens finally yielded an appreciation of the quality behind it. Oh, and in "Brandy Alexander" one of my favourite songs.

No such difficulty with "You & Me", which takes pride of place as my favourite album of all-time. A mellower effort, a masterpiece from start to finish. And then there's "Canadian Girl", dear gawd there's "Canadian Girl". As soon as Barrick announced the slight crescendo of the song by clattering his cymbals, I realised I was listening to something very special indeed. And now it is my favourite song, ever ever ever.

The Walkmen perform "Canadian Girl" at the legendary Sun Studios.

Finally, in August 2010 and again in January 2011, I was able to catch them live. By this time they were in the process of releasing "Lisbon", which served as proof that they remain so criminally under-rated, another masterpiece mixing the up-tempo ("Angela Surf City") and the downbeat ("Lisbon") to great effect. This year they release "Heaven" which, knowing them, it will be.

I guess what I like about them is that they clearly care so much about their music. Every note is honed to a thou of an inch, their songs have an inspiring quality whether jolting you out of your slumber or meandering quietly along, in short they are just so damn good.

An introduction

Well, hello there, dear reader. I always viewed this so-called "Blogosphere" with extreme caution - surely the only people who blogged were desperate egomaniacs keen to share their sordid existance with the world. So with that in mind, here I am...

Who the heck are you, then?

My name is Jason Harcourt. I'll be 35 next month, and to introduce those with me in the pic, I'm married to the lovely Katy and have a gorgeous daughter called Charlotte, who is 4 (going on 15 at times hence hitherto referred to as "Madam"). We'll have been married 10 years in June. Blimey...

So why "Statto" then?

I'm sure many of you will remember the excellent 90s Football TV programme "Fantasy Football League" - you know, Frank Skinner and David Baddiel in a mock-up of their flat, "Phoenix from the Flames", "Saint & Greavsie talk about the Endsleigh League as if it's important", etc. Their trusty companion was Statto (aka Angus Loughran), stood in the kitchen in his jim-jams. Whenever a boring stat needed wheeling out, he was your man, bringing about the chant "Statto! Statto!"

Get on with it...

Alright, alright. Anyway, at Uni my housemates immediately pounced on my penchant for similar boring stats and my incredible memory for useless information ("Seb Coe's winning time for the 1500m at the Los Angeles Olympics - 3 minutes 32.53 seconds" - that sort of thing). I was given the nickname "Statto", which stuck throughout my time in Brizzle.

Besides, "The Adonis Chronicles" was already taken.

So what's this blog going to be about, then?

Well done for making it this far. Hmm, maybe I hadn't thought this through entirely. I guess a lot of column inches will be devoted to some of my great loves - the mighty (maybe not this season) Exeter City FC; the even less mighty Exeter Exiles Bauys FC and the exploits of our surprisingly agile (for his weight) goalkeeper; come the summer and sporting attention turns to Cricket and the fortunes (or otherwise) of England, Middlesex CCC and Old Isleworthians & Heston CC. Music will feature prominently, and if you're REALLY unlucky you might catch some commentary on life, politics, comedy, whatever else springs to mind...

Phew. I hope I can deliver.

TTFN (or something equally as crass).