The Geography Of Peace

'The Cleveland Way' should be familiar to anyone who was alive in the 1970's and had a telly. It's what my dear wife and I call a 'Clang - Neigh - Argh' PIF, i.e. lots of empty landscapes with exciting noises and sound effects dubbed on to evoke a more tempestuous past. Growing up, I must have seen this a thousand times as, watching it again after thirty years, I could recite the commentary word for word.

Reach, Throw, Wade, Row

Keith Barron lends his mordant tones to 'Reach, Throw, Wade, Row', one of the most depressing and nightmarish of all public information films. Not content with directing his voiceover at a corpse, the ever chirpy Barron comes up with a series of slightly far fetched alternate realities where, if there had only been access to a handy boat or a plastic football, the dead bloke might still be alive. I'll bet that poor, brave, drowned man feels really stupid now.

Further Fashions Of The Indoor League

Now then - the Queen's Hotel in Leeds has most recently been in the news as the place where Sir Jimmy Savile lay in state, but back in 1973, it was the venue for the awful, brilliant 'Indoor League'.

First of all, we're taking a look at a specific character, Stan Denton from Dartnell near Barnsley. Stan is a table skittles fanatic, and it must run in the family, as he's up against his cousin, Dennis Jones. Host Freddie Trueman describes them as artists, and he has a point: I mean, anyone can swing a wooden ball on a chain and knock down something in its path, but these lads knock down everything. I can't say I understand the scoring system, or what a 'flopper' is, but they know, and that's the main thing.

Please note the beermat propping up the table.

Stan is the reigning Yorkshire champ and, you will notice, a Leeds fan. All piss-taking aside, I think it's wonderful that someone loved Stan enough to knit him his outrageously complicated cardigan, and that Stan loved them enough in turn to wear it on national television. In case you weren't clear on his sporting allegiance, he is also wearing a Leeds United tee shirt in the classic seventies style, i.e. plain white with writing on it. Below the midriff, he's sporting a pair of deep fawn / dog shit coloured slacks and brown shiny shoes. His hair is great, too, just got combed at the front; just got up at the back.

His chip shop owning cousin Dennis is conservatively dressed in comparison, with his green jacket, black trousers, blue shirt and plum coloured knitted tie. There's no knowing what football team he supports. It would be remiss of me not to point out just how far up the female adjudicator's trousers have been pulled, perhaps in a hurry.

Unbelievably, this is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of the 'sheer, naked drama' of Table Skittles, and the fashions of the men who excel at it, so here are a few more of its most skilful exponents.

This is James Porter from Doncaster. James was 75 on the day of filming, and looks great. Not many septugenarians would be so on trend, but Dennis' pale orange shirt, contrasting tie with pin, gold watch, patterned handkerchief and, in particular, his button hole, mark him out as a man who, although perhaps not a dandy or a fop, understands the importance of looking good and hasn't yet lost a keen eye for what's in and what's out.

His opponent, Grimsby fisherman Terry Lodge, cuts a dash with his caramel coloured ensemble (including a bizarre drawstring collar polo shirt) and Ian Brady haircut. He must be doing something right, however, as he soon defeats Mr. Porter and powers forward to the semi final.

Phillip Senior of Barnsley (left) is only 21, but 'he moves that little ball like a magic wand'. His look, eye catching at the time, is a jaw dropper these days, and can perhaps be best be described as 'member of Fairport Convention at a wedding'. Pleated checked pants with unusual external pockets, stone coloured bri-nylon shirt, brown pinstriped hunters style jacket and ginger Jesus 'pop style' hair and beard - all accessorised with an ever burning Embassy Number One.

Phillip walks away with the Indoor League Indoor Skittles title in the end, earning a career best £100 for the victory. When asked how he feels, he simply says "'appy". I know what he means.

More Fashions Of The Indoor League

We're back at The Queens Hotel, Leeds, 1973, for the second episode of 'Indoor League'. The fashions are our focus, and what a lot of fashions there are: the green, the brown, and the ugly.

This is Keith Naylor from Scunthorpe. He's 26 (!), married, but his wife hates darts. The red shirt is a bold statement, and I believe that the top button must be done up at all times lest his huge collar and large ears catch a draft and carry him off balance.

Interesting ensemble on the Robert de Niro / Bobby Darin hybrid: the cardigan is a shade of chocolate perhaps best described as 'coffee enema', yet his aqua marine shirt and yellow tie show some dash. His trousers appear to be pulled up extraordinarily high. His friend seems to like this. The gentlemen with the hair is either mentally undressing someone or adding them to his shit list. It's a real list, written in shit.

This is Malcolm Rider, but I think he looks more like a 'Ted' or a 'Dick'. Everything about Malcolm is careful, including his Bar Billiards playing. Neat but nondescript jacket, matching shirt, and even a vaguely paisley tie in a mouldy green. His hair is immaculate. Strange, then, that he should have forgotten to put his teeth in. He must have known he was going to be on the telly.

I could probably write 5,000 words on this shot alone, a study in concentration. 4,500 words would be about the couple on the right. I think that they're engaged, but they haven't done it yet. This one does look like a Malcolm, the sort of man who sees a rust coloured jumper and thinks 'I'll get that, it will go under my itchy jacket'. His fiancee (she looks like a Brenda) is a knitter, and her torquoise cardy is a tribute to her art. They're saving up to get married, but they'll have to live with Brenda's Mum for a while until they can get on the housing list. I expect they're still together, and that this remains one of the highlights of their relationship.

Then, as now, students make for perfect TV audience members: they're easily entertained, have nothing else to do, and will travel enormous distances for a free buffet. This lot (all in their late teens / early twenties, remember) are pretty atypical 'Indoor League'-ers: they're quite attractive, for a start, and they're all dressed differently to each other. There's something slightly subversive and dangerous about them: the Baader-Meinhoff Gang watching a shove ha'penny tournament.

More soon, but for now - 'Ah'll see'thee'.

Fashions Of The Indoor League

I'd like to share some images from the first ever episode of 'Indoor League', a pub sports show which ran from 1973 to 1977. It's hypnotic, and I'm obsessed with it, although only the first series has been released on DVD to date.

The premise was straightforward: hire a hall in Leeds (first the Queens Hotel, then the Irish Centre); fill said hall with punters; organise darts, arm wrestling, table football, billiards and skittles tournaments; film the results and stick it on telly. Fred Trueman introduced, pint and pipe in hand, the mutton chopped embodiment of working class sportsman made good.

Nearly forty years on, it says some interesting things about working class life in the nineteen seventies, not least in the way the majority of people look: lumpy, pasty, tired, old. The 'fashions' are a long way from Mr. Fish, too: Glam never rubbed any sparkle over 'Indoor League', and the delicate touch of Vidal Sassoon is entirely absent. I find it fascinating, especially as I recognise most of the looks from my own childhood.

Here's Mr. Trueman in action. His ensemble, if I may call it that, is extraordinary: an ill-fitting symphony in browns. His hair hasn't seen a brush for a while, just the heavy stroke of a ham like hand dipped in Brylcreem or Suarfega. Fashion? He couldn't give a toss.

The young athlete at the Skittles Table is Philip Senior from Barnsley, a 'right young upstart' who is showing the older generation a thing or two. His shoulder length hair is his first challenge to authority, but his outfit, which features three variations on olive, is more conservative.We'll come back to Mr. Senior, I think.

I also like the judge to the right, wearing the regulation 'Indoor League' officials uniform of a double breasted bottle green blazer and a chunky yellow polo neck. The kid in the middle of the audience appears to be wearing a rainbow patterned knitted tie, which I like very much; the young man to his right may be wearing an open neck shirt and neckerchief, a very daring move indeed in this company.

These two sets of herberts are deadly table football rivals, Messrs Crane and Kelly and De Mauro and Elliot, respectively. Crane and Kelly are students, so look like shit, with sheets of thick, unkempt hair. They've both rolled up their acrylic sleeves to get on with the job - it's the most work they've done for a while. Elliot is sporting big glasses and a hand knit jumper, but it's De Mauro that catches the eye. Perhaps its the continental roots his exotic surname hints at, but his Dennis the Menace meets 'The Prisoner' is something almost approaching a fashion statement. The big blue Yorkshire TV badge should have a number on it, really.

Finally, meet Charlie Ellis from Bradford. Physically somewhere between Robert Shaw and Big Daddy, Charlie is rock hard enough to make a splash with big, bold primary colours: a rusty red airtex cardigan and a lemon sherbet long sleeved tee. Out of shot, some manly chunky gold finger wear. His striking fair hair hints at comb over, but his eyes dare you to fucking mention it.

We'll be back on the pub game catwalk soon. You can't say I didn't warn you.