So quick did Van der Poel take the lead, TV commentators missed it

Happy New Year. We begin by recalling a wonderful slip-up made by Eurosport T V commentators covering the Besancon cyclo-cross in France on Christmas Eve. The race was won by World cyclo-cross champion Mattieu van der Poel of The Netherlands in his usual trade mark style. 

It was his fifth victory of the week! It was another dominant, faultless performance; a work of art on this trickiest of slippery courses. He confessed to feeling a little tired! Van der Poel beat Toon Aerts, second, and Niels Vandeputte, third, by handsome margins. 

When Van de Poel took the lead on the second lap there was no longer any doubt as to the outcome. Yet at the precise moment the champion attacked to take the lead - a moment we viewers had waited for with baited breath - both commentators missed it! 

You had to sympathise. I’ve made more than few embarrassing cock ups in my time. Still, I was open mouthed in astonishment t hat the commentators - who had been so informative until then – should miss the move. 

 Had some annoying person in production been blathering on in their ear piece? Now I don’t know their names, but they seem to know t heir cycling, and I hate to criticise them, because I wouldn’t be up to the task. 

Mattieu Van der Poel

So what happened? In that race we had delighted in watching how the big man stormed around the course. He ran and leapt over ramps others chose to bunny hop. Like most of the field he dismounted to run the sticky deep muddy sections, but remained in the saddle with his right leg out to scoot the bike along that 45-degree muddy slope, to prevent slippage. 

 Pure poetry in motion, that’s Van de Poel. The others were good to, but not in the same league. Van der Poel didn’t have the best of starts, from the second line on the grid with a dozen riders in front of him. 

The commentators were good at identifying the particular difficulties, such as pointing out that how at one turn there was the risk of sliding out if you chose the shortest line. This was- amply demonstrated by one rider who got all tangled up with his bike. 

 I listened as they explained how riders needed to play their cards right on this course which apparen ly differed to other recent courses in that this was extremely muddy and far more slippery. When it came to overtaking, for instance, they needed to be wary of putting power down in thick mud which could send the back wheel slithering right or left. 

So their attention to this detail made it all he more surprising when they missed the vital move which came just after a right turn on a not so muddy stretch. Van der Poel himself had been making it look so easy, but his body language told you he was clearly making a big effort. He would deftly correct any sudden slide to the left or the right, forcing his machine forward, wrestling with the handlebars to keep the front wheel on track, shoulders fighting forces intent on taking him into the fence by throwing himself right then left to keep upright.

 And then he deftly overtook Aerts in a flash! From there on he moved further and further ahead as the course switched right and left, up and over a bridge, down a lane blessedly smooth, before once again diving into oozing mud, made worse each lap, the ground churned up by 50 pairs of wheels and feet. 

Ah, but I get ahead of myself. H ow come the commentators missed the moment he t ook Aerts? It came as the second lap drew to a close after some 15 minutes of racing. At that point, Aerts was still in the lead. But within two minutes all that changed. Immediately behind Alerts was Van der Poel and t hen, a little further back. Vandeputte. All three were close up. All three riding like the wind, a perfect study of athleticism. 

 Suddenly, only Aerts and Van der Poel where in camera shot, as Vandeputte was distanced. On they went, left turn, right turn, dismounting to run up steps, making a slick bike change in the pits, Aerts in front, Van der Poel’s front wheel nosing closer.

 The last thing the commentator said of the live action before him on the screen was to comment on Van der Poel slapping his thigh to get some warmth into it. Seconds later Van der Poel suddenly moved up alongside Aerts, which was not remarked upon by either commentator. ~Van der Poel and Aerts were side by side. 

 At this point I was glued to the screen awaiting the next move, surely an imminent attack by one or the other of the two leaders? But our lead commentator must have taken his eye off the screen, for just before Van der Poel moved level, he chose to address viewers who had just joined the transmission. 

Had someone in production interfered and told him he needed to give a detailed account of race positions? Whatever, the commentator broke off to welcome viewers who had just joined the transmission. He told them Aerts was leading Van de r Poel and t hen he set about reading out all the names that were following, from fourth down to 20th place! 

 Our commentator was naming the guy trailing in sixth place when Van der Poel surged into th e lead at last. If you blinked y ou missed it. Both commenters missed it. One of them, surely, might have poked the other in the ribs? 

But hold on, maybe the woman commentator had been called away momentarily because she was silent. Anyway, her compatriot made no comment as the world champion took the lead from Aerts who was now second and Vandeputte still in third. 

Now I like to hear commentators wax lyrical at such moments, inject their own excitement, carry the moment. I want to hear them comment on the action, as you would when someone scores a goal. `And yet the move we were waiting and had expected for some time went completely unnoticed by our experts. 

I was reminded of a story a football sports colleague told me, about an England – Italy international at Wembley. 

 IT CONCERNED A DRINKS WAITER WHO HAD ENTERED THE PRESS AREA IN THE STANDS CARRYING A TRAY OF DRINKS. HE DROPPED THE LOT AND THE CRASH CAUSED EVERY REPORTERS’ HEAD TO SWIVEL ROUND TO SEE WHAT HAD HAPPENED. JUST AS THE GOAL WAS SCORED. SO NOT ONE MEMBER OF THE CREAM OF EUROPE’S PRESS SAW THE BALL GO IN! BUT THE WAITER DID. AND HE BECAME SURROUNDED BY A SCRUM OF SCRIBES QUIZZING HIM ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED ON THE PITCH. 

Anyway, back to the defining moment in the ‘cross. Our commentator , for reasons best known to himself – perhaps he was under orders from the production staff in his ear piece – had chosen to fill us in with the position of the next 20 riders. 

 He’d got to about sixth when Van de Poel shot ahead and I fully expected him to break in and shout “Aha, there he goes, the champ has gone” or something of that order. 

But so taken was he with his list of numbers, nose buried in his notebook, he wasn’t to be distracted by the race winning move on the screen in front of him. No, instead he rabbited on with another 15 names and the time gaps. As if we cared at that point? 

Meanwhile, the television was showing the magnificent Van de Poel in total command of the race, at the front in the slippery conditions, powering to victory. 

And then, also rans dealt with, commentator r et urned o the present and focused on the screen. He began describing how Van de Poel was surging ahead without once giving away the fact that he had missed the vital move moments before which had put him the lead in the first place, the race defining moment. It was as if it never happened.

MOVE ALONG INSIDE. HOLD TIGHT. DING DING

 

There was once a bus conductor called George

He’d stand at the foot of the stairs

On the double decker Number `10

 For town and the Pier Head

He’d help people off

And  he’d help- people on

With a smile and a greeting, “‘ow do”.

“hOLD TIGHT,” he’d call out

Ding Ding on the bell

To set the bus on its way

He’d enliven the trip

With many a quip.

“Move along inside”

And

“Fares, please,” he’d call out.

The regular calls of a conductor,

And then he'd call out

 “Anyone wanna  pay twice”

That would raise a few smiles.

As he squeezed through the downstairs saloon.

For it was standing room only on his Christmas bus stopper.

But his piece de resistance – this raised the most laughs

Was for all those alighting at TG’s

“Shop lifters paradise,” George would loudly call out

With a knowing wink and a grin.

“Ooooo…Y OUSE  are a one!” alighting shoppers would chuckle,  

Brushing past George to step down and away.

Celebrating the late John Prescott MP

 

Here’s a thought.

The late John Prescott and former deputy prime minister, ought to be celebrated as the first - indeed the only UK politician - ever to promote an integrated transport policy. His infamous 1998 White Paper.

 Instead, he was humiliated

 Infamous because it terrified his boss, Prime Minister Tony Blair who saw it as anti-motorist.

Blair feared a backlash from the road lobby, stoked by the right wing Daily Mail who would put the frighteners up Middle England.

 Prescott’s proposals sadly back-fired, as his own party, Labour, turned on him and rejected his plans.

 Prescott was punished by having his transport brief taken away from him.

The report had centred on the need to reduce car dependency to address the need to reduce congestion and pollution which was becoming worse by the minute. Bus and train travel was also poor and expensive.

This was a telling moment in Britain’s transport history and a brief look at the details reveals what a missed opportunity this was for the health of the nation, in particular the need to reduce transport pollution to help stave off climate change.

Cycling figured large in Prescott’s plan, laying the ground work for creating the safe roads needed if cycling as transport was ever to fulfil its promise. The stuff of dreams. Bus and train services would also become more efficient and cheaper in a plan aiming to better coordinate all transport modes and to offer people greater choice.

 As is well known, Britain has never had a transport policy. And judging by what happened to Prescott, it never will.

Bias towards the roads lobby and vested interests in the multi-£billions roads construction industry remains the major obstacle to achieving anything approaching integration.

That and a laissez-faire approach from the many government departments which need to co-operate to achieve it that is the killer.

Cavendish and Deignan leave the circus

 

Two British stars are hanging up their wheels, as the saying goes.  Mark Cavendish the Tour de France sprint champion with a record 35 stage victories to his credit has already gone at the end of this season.  

He will be followed at the end of 2025 by Lizzie Deignan - classics winner and former world champion. - Unless both have second thoughts about leaving the glamour of the cycling circus.

We will miss trying to spot Cav – the Manx Missile - Carve a path through those mass sprint finishes on Le Tour, and in the classics and in taking the world road title.

And we will miss those Deignan moments, too, the lone breakaways which have brought her so many victories, including the world road title and that memorable inaugural Paris – Roubaix among other classics

There have been many newspaper features about their exploits recently.

The question is, how will they adapt to the humdrum – by  comparison – of  family life put on hold these past two decades in the pursuit of victories in the great races?

Or will it come as a relief, to have a more stable life, a mix of the mundane like shopping, dusting,  catching up with those special moments of their children’s development, making up for the birthdays missed because they were racing.

Not all ex-pros can cope with a return to home life – men mostly.  Some scurry back to the sport, as team directors, or drivers, or as TV pundits, press, to continue on the merry go round, leaving their spouses once more to the chores.

They start racing as youngsters with few ties, but as they get older, marriage and kids come along.

Easy for the guys. The vast majority just expect to carry on – not just in sport but on the business/work career ladder as well, leaving the women to run the home. Is there resentment at this? Bound to be among women who feel they have been denied their chance.

It’s the women who ferry the babies out to the big races won by hubby. So he can stand on the podium showing off his trophy in his arms. The little mite looks at this unfamiliar bloke – his dad – wondering who the hell are you?  Before remembering the picture on the sideboard at home.

Was it German star Eric Zabel who started this trend? I seem to recall him clutching an extra child each year on various podiums.  Zabel won six consecutive points jerseys (1996-2001).

Deignan determined to show a woman  can do both, have family and racing career. Twice she successfully put racing on hold  to have children. Her husband,  former Team Sky pro Philip retired at the end of 2018 after a 14-year career and has held the fort since.

 

When she was a single lass, Lizzie – Armitstead, as she was then -  made a big impression on me in the 2008 Olympic Games road race in Beijing, famously won by Britain’s Nicole Cooke.

She was one of the GB team dedicated to protecting Cooke in that race – marking rivals, closing down breakaways; ready to offer up her bike if necessary.

I recall a news report summarising the race afterwards quoting Lizzie saying to Cooke in the closing stages:  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Well! That spoke volumes to me and I thought, that is a future champion speaking.

It showed maturity, confidence and strength. It showed total commitment.

Four years later she won the silver medal in the London Olympic road race.

And she went from strength to strength in stage races and the single-day classics, world title races.

In Britain you will occasionally hear a rider say, as if to justify their cycling career, that cycling is his/her job.

Surely, cycling is fun, your hobby?

Well, until you become full time, I suppose, and then it’s no longer merely a hobby as you come under orders to perform, to justify sponsorship, the need to train hard and to rest, be committed to a busy season of events. You have to pay your bills, the mortgage.

Hard work, yes.  But come on, let’s not get carried away! One of the kicks of becoming a  pro abroad is you get to ride to races in the swell team coach, to be greeted  by spectators gawping, some wanting autographs. You become well-known, famous even. What an ego trip, being the centre of attention.

On stage races after your work is done you don’t have to lift a finger; hotel waiting, meals provided, time to relax. It must be a huge ego trip.

That said, history reminds us that cycle racing abroad has its roots as a working class sport.  It was always a means to an end.

Good prize money meant you could earn more racing than working in a factory or in a pit, or any number of manual jobs. So although clearly you competed because you enjoyed it, the financial reward was the major factor, made the suffering worthwhile. Many riders depended upon it. It provided them with an income, or supplemented it.

And the prize money at all levels is a lot more generous than in Britain, and far reaching – down to at least 20^th place.

I recall one British pro in the 1950s on a steep learning curve racing in a fairly important local race in Brittany, a few rungs below international standard. He’d got in a winning move and was clearly a contender until finding the others, all former pros - ganging up to shut him out in the sprint. He was furious, until he discovered what was going on.

No hard feelings, nothing personal, he was told afterwards. But so and so over there is on hard times and needed the money! The riders decided that if he could get in the move, he deserved to get his chance of victory!

Race fixing, but with a benevolent touch.  

These days riders, at least those at World Tour level, are a lot better off.

Although pay varies considerably, with stars like Cavendish on about three million euros a year. The lower ranks of male World Tour riders are on basic salaries of around 40,000 euros.   But the elite women have had to fight hard for good pay and a decent calendar. Women’s racing is now an exciting sport, with big fields and classy riders.

However, it is only in recent years women have begun to earn better money, 150,000 euros for the top women riders. But a survey reveals 25 per cent of women riders are still paid nothing.

There is prize money – if you can get it!

And after 20 years of racing, with age creeping up, form difficult to maintain, coming home can be relief, especially from all the travelling.

By contrast it is not that easy for the pros and top riders who race at home.  Most must balance a job with racing and earn nothing like their overseas colleagues.  I’ve heard jokes about finding
time for training and racing means letting the garden become overgrown, the front gate left to hang.  It can’t be easy making ends meet.

There was one woman I recall -  her husband was a top UK time triallist in the 1970s, she doubled as wife/manager – indignantly responding to a friend when he said why don’t you get some decent furniture. Her retort? “Oi, you!  ….Tyres come before furniture!”

Last I heard of them they were running a pub in Earls Court, London.

LATEST NOOS FROM AROUND THE SOLAR SYSTEM

 

News roundup just in….

Sir Mark Cavendish wins last race as criminal wins US election …

we talk to commentators around the globe for t heir reactions t o the news this week.

first,  the Manx Missle  cAVENDISH, the Tour de france sprint champion, HAS wrapped up his career with a …

If I may  just  add a word about ….

but as so often happens, it IS the lessor ….

And if that wasn’t enough…..t he world was totally shocked WHEN ~fELON trump

t rumped Harrison to win the las vegas DODGY GUY OF THE YEAR CROWN….with LOSER  hARRISON CLAIMING THE RUNNER UP PRIZE TO SERVE tRUMP’S gaol TERM INSTEAD.

Prime Minister Keir Starmer stood up to say GLOBAL WARMING IS REAL, WE’RE ALL F……

Of course oil businessman tur ned God botherer Justin Welby , the DISGRACED archibald of Cantersbury has RESIGNED  …for failing to tell on cleric sex pervert.

aND WE’VE SAID IT BEFORE, THE PRICE OF A PINT….

wHICH BRINGS US TO THE NEXT ROUND IN THE cHASE….

which is shade better that pointless…

 AS ANYONE SOUTH OF WATFORD…AND so, to the wether or not, as snow

is promised aND MUCH SKIDDING ACROSS THE COUNTRY

BUT IF ONLY  HE HAD LISTENED.…

aND finally, MATCH OF THE DAY PUNDIT lINEKER SENDS HIMSELF OFF …

uNTIL THIS TIME NEXT WEEK…GOODBYE

FINALLY, finally , HERE IS A PHOTOGRAPH OF MY HUGE AND WONDERUL FAMILY AND FRIENDS AT AN IMPROMPTU SUNDAY BOAST ON FACEBOOK.

And we leave you with another Cycling Weekly cartoonist gem from Johnny Helms:

aLWAYS  INFLATE YOUr TYRES HARD, HONK advised  THE  postman when told to GIVE HIM A TIP..

aND FINALLY , FINALLY,  DID YOU HEAR THE ONE ABOUT  A YOUNG MAN FROM SOUTH WALES WHO LIVED OFF….

(nONE OF THAT limerick FILTH in this blog, thank you…)

Book review: Inside Cycling...stories of a lifetime by Michael Breckon

The author in dark glasses in the car behind the Eddy Merckx break in the 1971 Paris-Roubaix.

 

INSIDE CYCLING, by Michael Breckon, is a weighty tome, a gem packed with stories from the last seven decades, a personal history of every facet of the sport, from local to international level, told by a man involved in the thick of it all his life.

This review is a but an attempt to provide a glimpse of what is in store for the reader.

The front cover bears witness to how well connected Breckon became in the sport.  For here he is in this shot of the 1971 Paris-Roubaix, in the dark glasses standing up through the roof of the car immediately behind a breakaway group including Eddy Merckx, Felice Gimondi and Jan Janssen.

Inspired by the exploits of Tom Simpson the star of the 60s, and also by Brian Robinson, first Briton to win a stage of the Tour, Breckon, then a young hopeful,  also took himself off racing to that hot bed of cycling, Brittany.

An avid time triallist, he was a member of the Yorkshire Road Club winning team in the 1958 British Best All Rounder competition. And he achieved 15th place in the 1961 BBAR.

His devotes a chapter to the famous Bath Road 100-mile trial and  the legendary Ray Booty who made that classic his own.

He devotes another chapter to the women's trialling, with tributes to three of the best women riders of the time.

In the early sixties he emigrated to Canada, staying for 20 years in the cycling mad Province of French-speaking Quebec. During this time he played a key role in the sport’s development there, including contributing to organising of 1974 World Championships in Montreal and the 1976 Olympic Games, as well as the Montreal Six-Day.  

Be it as racing cyclist, journalist, Television and radio commentator,   organiser, or upon his return to England to take up a new post of marketing executive for Raleigh -  a major sponsor at the highest level -  Breckon’s stories take the reader with him.

It’s a seamless journey and you cannot fail to be caught up by his enthusiasm, his sense of history, his delight in recalling great moments in the sports development, of the legendary deeds of the great riders of the past – and the modern era, it must be said.

Like every good story teller,  he makes you feel as if you were there, too, brushing shoulders with the stars, or as a spectator at the road or trackside.

The 19 chapters include his first visit to see the finish of the Tour de France in 1957. He has a profile of French hero Jacques Anquetil; also of Arthur Metcalfe, the only man to win Britain’s Best All Rounder t time trial titles and road r ace title in the same year.

From the highs to the lows, there is a detailed account recalling his first-hand and shocking experience of the terror attack at the 1972 Munich Olympics, when he was manager of the Canadian team.

No book on cycling would be complete without acknowledging the sports doping history, and this mill stone around cycling’s  neck is deserving of a chapter, too.

He recalls the 1974 Montreal World Championships in which he played a major role in organising.

There are stories of the great British riders, including twice Tour of Britain winner Bill Bradley. Fittingly the final chapter is reserved for a personal tribute to legendary Brian Robinson who was a great influence on the young Breckon.

For Robinson’s stage wins in the Tour during the 1950s can be said to have paved the way for British successes in Le Tour in the New Millennium by Bradley Wiggins, Chris Froome and Geraint Thomas.

Copies of Inside Cycling are available from the author. Contact by email:

michaelbreckon36@gmail.co Price £10 + postage and packaging £4.95 = £14.95. Total.

Author's note: Photographs illustrating chapters of the book are available on a website gallery, exclusive to purchasers. To keep costs down, no photos are included in the book itself, other than the cover shot.

 

 

An ode damning the health service

 

THIS from a recent British Medical Journal, reported also in the newspapers.

“The complete lack of specialist care in England for patients with severe myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME or chronic fatigue syndrome) could cause deaths in future unless urgent action is taken, a coroner has warned.

“The hard hitting prevention of future deaths (PFD) report by assistant coroner Deborah Archer on the death of Maeve Boothby O’Neill, 27, also highlighted the lack of research funding, training, and guidelines on treating the condition.”

The truth is that ME and other conditions such as EDS (Hypermobility Ehlers Danlos Syndrome)

are not widely understood by doctors who shrug and say: “Nothing to be done”.

That’s my family’s experience. It came as complete sur prise to me. Until that moment I had faith in the health service.  No longer, especially in respect of chronic illness.

And so to my latest Blog, which refrains from peppering this piece with the profane remarks it deserved.   

Rant!!!!!

AN ODE DAMNING HEALTH PROVIDERS

Who’s that going up and down the stairs?

Who’s that going up and down the stairs?

It’s the carers.

It’s the carers.

Who is that behind the closed bedroom door?

Who is that behind the closed bedroom door?

It’s their daughter.

It’s their daughter.

Room bound many years

They thought it was ME to begin with. It may still be ME.  But it is certainly EDS – a faulty gene causing weak connective tissue – the stuff that  holds muscles, bones, holds all organs together - making movement painful and sometimes impossible;  no known cure.

POTS – (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia) sudden movement causes surge in heart rate and corresponding drop in blood pressure resulting in giddiness.

It’s their daughter.

Who is also considered to be autistic.

Praise be for Kings College Hospital, London.

Praise be for Royal Orthopaedic Hospital, Stanmore.

For their thorough and exhaustive tests

For their diagnosis of POTS and EDS.

Cursed be Surrey and Borders Partnership  mental health services.

For turning down her doctor’s referral.

Damn your eyes.

Cursed be the NHS at large, for choosing to remain largely ignorant of these conditions, in some cases doctors disputing them; and for their failure to press GPs to automatically provide rudimentary health checks which would also boost morale.

Instead, they say “nothing to be done” - when there is much that can be done to manage symptoms. 

Who is that going up and down the stairs?

Who is that going up and down the stairs?

It’s the carers.

It’s the carers.

Carrying food, medicine, vitamins, water…morning, noon, late into the night.

It’s the carers.

Carrying Complan, carrot juice, heat wraps.

It’s the carers.

It’s the carers

Drawing the curtains

Raising the blinds.

Emptying the commode.

It’s the carers.

It’s the carers.

Taking care of the one lying in bed up upstairs.

Morning, noon and late into each and every night – for over 5 years now.

To sit with her at bedtime.

In her confusion.

Holding hands.

Their daughter.

Their daughter.

In her drawer, the university degree, key to a different life.

It’s their daughter.

It’s their daughter.

Lying still in her bed wearing sound deadening headphones,

in a silent room in a house which must remain quiet, the TV muted or sound turned off.

In the early years, over two decades ago, our doctor surmised it was “ME”, saying to the 12 year-old: Nothing to be done!

He said that to a child!  A life sentence.

He could have offered to look up a specialist for us to refer to. He did nothing. We had to do our own research and we discovered a world of self-help, about how to manage symptoms, how to oblige the school to arrange home education.

He simply shrugged. 

This doctor died recently. I held back from adding something to the book of condolences in the surgery. Didn’t want to offend his family.

More recently another doctor, from the same stable, angrily told us that having to mute the TV

 was ridiculous. You should not put up with that. (This guy, I may yet swing for him, as the saying going).

So no friends to visit, unable to do so for many  years:

No visitors to the house. No social contact. Never goes out. No Christmas. No holidays for many years, no meals out for years and years.

Plagued by sensory issues; sight – people move too fast; sound – too loud, clink of plates deafening; her anxieties - off the scale.

Once a vibrant personality, now speaks little, subdued. Beaten down.

It’s their daughter.

It’s their daughter.

thousands like her.

Thousands like her.

Isolated…disregarded…off the NHS radar.

Who’s that going up and down stairs?

Who’s that going up and down the stairs?

Not the doctor.

Not the doctor.

Who’s that ill behind the door?

Who’s that ill behind the door?

Five years and counting

No one they care about.

No one they care for.

To those in the NHS who either do nothing, or do very little to help, who never seek to ask how this is impacting upon the family brought to breaking point – damn your eyes.

To the Mental Health services – damn your eyes.

 

As for carers...

Every waking hour of every day for the last five years we have been on constant alert, for the ‘ding’ of a text from our daughter’s mobile!

“Caregiver burnout is a state of profound mental and physical exhaustion, especially common in parents of autistic children. It arises when the constant demands of caregiving—managing meltdowns, sensory overloads, and advocating for support—drain their energy. Over time, neglecting their own needs leaves caregivers emotionally overwhelmed and trapped in guilt and frustration, which diminishes their ability to provide care and affects their mental health, relationships, and overall quality of life.— (Tony Attwood, Clinical Psychologist).

*The rhyming and repetitive nature of this piece draws for its inspiration two comic sources; ironically!:

The song by the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain, which ran thus: “What’s that coming over the hill? What’s that coming over the hill? It’s the monster. It’s the monster”;  repeating itself.

And secondly, to Private Eye who, in 1972, gave away a spoof record – a priceless political satire - purporting to be that of Prime Minister Ted Heath singing about the Miners’ strike; “Oh the miners want more pay, damn their eyes; the miners want more pay, damn their eyes.”