The countdown.....

The day after Ben Wyvis was a little painful, but I was pleased how quickly the aching disappeared (unlike the blisters). Meanwhile, Matthew was progressing nicely. He was still sitting in on lessons (as long as my pupils were in agreement) and getting as much driving as possible inbetween. He asked if I could give him a mock test.
"We can do that, " I replied, "but I warn you that I will be strict and pick up on the slightest imperfection, otherwise there is no point."
I thought it went well, considering that we still had a week to go. I can't remember exactly, but I recorded just 5 driver errors (minor faults, if you prefer). But there were three moments I considered were serious.
He switched off the engine. "How do you think that went?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I thought that went well."
"Anything you weren't happy with?" and he talked about a couple of the things I had recorded as a minor driver error.
"How about the time when you moved out to allow traffic onto the A9 (dual-carriageway)? Your awareness and use of mirrors was really good, then you went passed them, but when should you have returned to the left lane?"
His face dropped a little, "The lane was busy."
"It was, but you had plenty of opportunity to return to the left lane earlier than you did."
"Then, toward the end, when I asked you to turn right at the roundabout, taking the fourth exit to Culloden, how were people to know where you were going?"
"I know, I forgot to indicate," he replied, "but I was watching the man at the pedestrian crossing."
"Yes, which obviously is good, but people approaching the roundabout still need to know where you are going." I don't think he was convinced. The trouble is, he sees no end of drivers approaching roundabouts (junctions) without indicators, so it might be understandable that he didn't consider it serious.
I'm struggling to remember what the other serious fault was, but I remember Matthew only grudgingly agreeing with me.
He was very quiet for a few hours afterwards. "Don't worry about it. There was no point doing a 'mock test' unless I picked up on everything that wasn't correct."
"I know, but three serious faults.'
"Yeah, but you (hopefully) understand why those things could have affected other road users, and (hopefully, again) you won't repeat them." He still wasn't happy.
The rest of the week continued to go well - more lessons, then, finally, a day off for Matthew while Joanna was busy passing her test in Elgin. "Can we do another mock test?" Matthew asked. We had two days to go. Would we be better off working on his weakness? And would a 'negative' result knock his confidence? But he really wanted another mock test, so I reminded him that I would be strict again.
At the end of the mock test I asked him "Ok, how do you think it went this time?"
He was hesitant, but I could see he wasn't disappointed. "I thought it was better."
"Anything that you think caused anyone else a problem? Or could have caused a problem?" He wasn't too sure.
"Just three minor errors this time, but......... (drumroll)..... No serious faults this time." His face lit up. "It was a nice drive. You just need to be a bit more aware of road signs and take in what information they give you. But carry on driving like that and you'll be fine."
The next day, inbetween lessons, we worked on his awareness and anything I thought could be polished further. He wanted an early night, but I thought that would be pointless, so Jane joined us for a trip to the cinema to see The Lone Ranger, which I thought was a bit too long, although good in parts. But Matthew loved it, and it did the job of taking his mind off the test.
I think I was getting more nervous than he was. Big day tomorrow.

Windswept and interesting

The next few days Matthew progressed nicely, picking up knowledge from sitting in on lessons, then putting it into practice when we had time between lessons. But I was concerned that it was all getting a bit concentrated. Time for a break.
A week or two ago my daughter, Rachel, had suggested that we all climb Ben Wyvis, the 3,432" mountain that dominates the landscape North of Inverness. The name derives from the Gaelic Beinn Uais, which apparently translates as Hill of terror. Of course, often when such things are suggested, everyone seems keen initially, but nothing happens. This time it actually went ahead.
Matthew and I were driving/instructing in Ullapool during the morning and arranged to meet everyone else at the car park, a few miles north of Garve, at 3.00pm. Of course, after weeks of calm, sunny days, the weather was now looking slightly menacing and the wind was really beginning to whip up.

Corrieshalloch Gorge

Corrieshalloch Gorge

Matthew and I took a very slight detour to Corrieshalloch Gorge, 12 miles south of Ullapool. The photos don't do it justice. The drop from the suspension bridge is just terrifying. But, if ever you are anywhere near Ullapool, it is well worth the short trip.

Matthew at Corrieshalloch Gorge

We met the others, as arranged. There was Jane, my wife, Rachel and her fiance, Jamie, and our eldest three grandchildren, Jordan, Charlie and Carmen, plus Jordan's friend, Job. I haven't told you about Dolly yet. She is our 'new' Jack Russell terrier. Actually, she is a year old now, and I will probably tell you more about her at some point. Anyway, she came too.

 Not everyone was suitably attired - Rachel thought Ugg boots were appropriate - but we were not in any hurry and the ground was dry. Off we marched, Jordan and his friend up at the front, and me at the back, lying to my grand-daughter Charlie about how much further it was. The initial approach is a long, continuous rise and a bit of a slog. Charlie was finding it hard going and, to my concern, so was I. For someone that, in the past, has run marathons, cycled from John O'Groats to Lands End and ascended peaks like this with ease, it was alarming how unfit I had become. It must be at least a couple of years since I have done any proper exercise and I was playing the consequences. My legs were fine, but my lungs just weren't accustomed to being used and I was beginning to think that I would have to tell the others to carry on to the top without me. The really embarrassing thing was we weren't even a quarter of the way up.
Every now and then, someone would stop to take a breather, have a drink, adjust clothing, or simply stop to admire the increasingly spectacular view. To my enormous relief, this gave my lungs time to adjust and, after a while, I was absolutely fine and stomping up the mountain without the slightest discomfort.
The thing with mountains is that the summit always seems much closer than it really is, usually because the true summit can't be seen from the slopes. The slope was getting steeper, the path was becoming increasingly zig-zaggy, the wind was becoming a roaring gale and we were all struggling. As we sheltered from the wind behind a mound of boulders, we decided that the sensible thing was to stop climbing and head back down the mountain. The climb itself was not too dangerous, but the wind was incredible.

But Jamie, Job, Matthew and I (with Dolly, of course) are not sensible, and carried on to the top (hopefully). The zig-zag nature of the path mean that sometimes we had our heads right down, using every muscle to push ourselves into the wind, then, as we turned the other way, the wind would push us up the hill - a relief, but you had to be careful not to let it push you too fast. Job decided it was too much and found more boulders to shelter and wait for us. Even Dolly was beginning to tremble. My legs were beginning to burn and my lungs had pushed my ribs to breaking point. The wind roared in my ears, caused my jacket to inflate and flap around me. My cheeks felt like they were being torn from my face, and streams of tears and snot flew from my eyes and nose, high up into the air, and off towards an unsuspecting fisherman, somewhere off the coast of Norway.

Near the top

After what seemed an age, Matthew, Dolly, Jamie and I finally reached the summit. Strictly speaking, it wasn't the very highest point - that was further along the long, humped ridge - but that was a walk, rather than a climb, so we decided that we need go no further. We sat, almost in silence. Funnily enough, the wind wasn't so bad right at the top, almost as though it had admitted defeat. There was no low cloud to obscure the view, so we could see forever in every direction. Sunbeams danced around the scenery, rivers seemed like tiny silver ribbons and clouds raced across the surrounding hills. It was enough to make you feel like a god. An utterly, utterly shagged god, but still a god.

Matthew, Dolly and I at the top

Jamie and I at the summit of Ben Wyvis

Matthew, Jamie and Dolly

The initial part of the descent was steep and totally unforgiving. My legs muscles burned with every step and my sinews and cartilage around my knees had turned to soup (Mulligatawny). Even Dolly was beginning to slow down. Until now she had been scooting up and down the mountain, probably covering at least twice the distance that we poor humans managed. Eventually, the slope began to level out a bit, giving very welcome relief, but it was a seemingly endless trek back to the car. By the time we finally reached the cars I was blistered, aching in virtually every part of my body and my lower jaw hung like an extra from the film Deliverance. But would I do it all again? Of course! Just give me a year to recover.

The first few days

Picking Matthew up from Inverness airport went smoothly. We had 40 minutes to kill, so I did a bit of commentary driving to give him a taste of the city and what things he should be considering whilst driving. I then had a lesson with Jade. I had already asked most of my pupils if they would mind Matthew sitting in on the lesson, and almost all of them were quite relaxed about it.
I had already planned to base Jade's lesson on anticipation, use of mirrors and emergency stops. No reason to alter that plan. Besides, it would liven Matthew up after his flight. The first two emergency stops were slightly cautious, but the third was excellent - it certainly did the job of waking Matthew up.
Matthew had already done a bit of driving with his dad, and felt confident(ish) about driving from Jade's house to the petrol station. Unfortunately, it seemed that someone had kindly abandoned their car at the pump while they did their weekly shop in the petrol station, and, as a consequence, vehicles were having to queue back out onto the dual-carriageway. I talked him carefully through it, but, later, when Jane asked him about his day, he described that bit as 'carnage'.
After that, we took turns to drive to Ullapool, then he sat patiently in the back of the car, watching lessons with Peter, Isobel, Chanel and Katie. The last pupil was a brand new pupil, so I suggested he wait in The Ceilidh Place, as I didn't think it would be fair on the pupil.
Day two was similar. Not too much driving for Matthew, but sitting in on lessons with Caitlin, Brian and Jade in Inverness, then lessons with Becky, Ben and Niall in Ullapool. However, I suggested that he drove the eighty mile journey home. Not too technical, but a good opportunity to get him reading the road well ahead at 60mph and adjusting his speed in plenty of time. It was a very promising drive until the very end when he stalled just outside our house, much to his frustration.
Day three: A one hour lesson with Sophie in Auldearn, then a two hour lesson with Jack in Forres/Elgin. So still not too much driving for Matthew (apart from sometimes driving between lessons), but he said that, sitting in the back, he was leaning a lot.
Next pupil, in Forres, was James. James was close to being the perfect pupil: He is always outside waiting at the start of each lesson; he usually has 2 1/2 hours a week (and has NEVER cancelled). And, he listens to every suggestion I make about how to improve his driving, then tries to work on it. He went for his driving test a few weeks ago (in Elgin) and shocked me by picking up one serious fault: Early on in the test a bus, in front of him, had indicated that it was going to stop. With oncoming traffic there was no immediate chance of overtaking, so James decided to slow right down and select first gear. All very sensible. Unfortunately, he put it into first gear before he had got right down to a slow walking speed. The bus then moved off again, much earlier than James expected (perhaps he could have looked to see how many passengers (if any) were waiting to board the bus). So James brought the clutch back up, when he was still going too fast for first gear. As a result, the car suddenly slowed down (with no brake lights, of course, to warn the vehicle behind). The examiner explained that the following vehicle was far enough behind to easily react, but, with no brake lights, would have anticipated that James would accelerate when the bus moved off, not slow down.
Unfortunately (as far as his driving is concerned), James is spending the next fortnight with friends in Nottingham, before moving to Switzerland in a couple of weeks time. We have both been checking for test cancellations in Elgin, to try and get him passed before he goes, but have now run out of time, so this was to be our last lesson. He has managed to get a test booked in Nottingham, a couple of days before he flies to Switzerland, so I thought we would try to cover every aspect of driving and aim for perfection. He achieved that aim. I gave him really awkward manoeuvres in busy areas, took him to areas he had never been before, yet he took it all in his stride.
Later that day, when Matthew and I were discussing what we had covered, he said "I liked James. I learned a lot from him. He seemed to give himself lots of time at roundabouts and was always looking all around the car." I wish James all the best in Switzerland and Nottingham. Keep driving like that and show those Nottingham drivers how it's done James.

" Is it raining? I hadn't noticed" (I'm too busy cursing my stupidity)

Thursday afternoon Matthew spent sitting in on more lessons. My diary was unusually well planned today (or so I thought). Each lesson led on to the next, instead of the usual jumping backwards and forwards.
My 2.30 - 4.00pm pupil (another Matthew) was starting in Auldearn and taking his first drive into Inverness, where I would meet a brand new pupil at the point that I would drop Matthew off. Inverness seemed unusually busy. It wasn't the best weather we have enjoyed recently, so I assumed that a lot of the traffic was tourists coming into the city, rather than enjoying the mountains and beaches. It was only later that I remembered that The Black Isle agricultural show and Belladrum music festival would also be bringing thousands of people into the area. I don't think I have ever seen Inverness so busy with traffic. Later on that afternoon, it would take me nearly twenty minutes to merge onto the A9 dual-carriageway from the slip road.
As we neared the end of Matthew's lesson, I asked him to head towards the train station, where I would drop him off and pick up Elizabeth for her first lesson. The trouble was, traffic was at a complete standstill and the lane that we needed for the station was completely backed up. I decided that the best option was to drive to a nearby area, then I would walk to the station to meet Elizabeth. A few problems with this idea: it was now raining quite heavily (and I was dressed for a summer's day); without my car Elizabeth would have no way of recognizing me (maybe I should get a Farle driving school top hat);  we had only previously communicated by email, so I didn't have her mobile number; and, finally, I had no idea what she looked like - all I knew that she was the girlfriend of someone who passed with me two years ago, so I guessed I was looking for a girl aged somewhere between 17 - 30, but, you never know, she might be older.
So I ran to Inverness train station, in the rain. By the time I got there I was drenched. Then, of course, there were many girls standing, waiting at the station. Which one was Elizabeth? Unless she was wearing a T-shirt printed with "I'm Elizabeth" (or even "I'm with Thomas"), I had no possible way of identifying her. I tried to inconspicuously look at each girl, quickly attempting to decide if they were Elizabeth, purely by 'gut feeling'. Several of the girls were using their mobile phones - I was now a couple of minutes late..... Were they trying to call/text me? Even more stupidly, I had left my phone back in the car. There was no option, I was going to have to approach each girl and ask if they were Elizabeth. Who should I approach first? I then saw two teenage girls with (presumably) their mum, looking towards the road. I felt very uncomfortable walking up to them. I looked at the two girls, one of them looked at me, so I asked "Elizabeth?" To my huge relief she said "Yes."
After scampering through the rain back to my car we had an enjoyable lesson, then I made damn sure I had her mobile number.

Perfection in parts

A real mixed bag of test results recently. Over the course of their lessons I get to know my pupils' driving their strengths and weaknesses. Then, when I think we have eliminated their weaknesses, they pass their test. At least, that is the plan. The trouble is, I have no control over what they do in those forty minutes of the test. I have had a few people recently who I was absolutely convinced would breeze through the driving test, but something silly happened and they failed.
Nerves are the usual problem. A couple of weeks ago Sarah had her first attempt. Being quite heavily pregnant, she had to choose between taking her test before or after the baby. In the weeks before her test she began to doubt her choice. But what reassured me was that, although she asked me all sorts of questions, many were about complex hypothetical scenarios, not simply 'how do I do this?' On the day of her test the glorious weather had brought even more tourists into Ullapool (although not as many as had been in the village the previous week for the World Skiff Rowing Championships). It obviously didn't matter. At the end of her test she stepped out of my car, proudly brandishing her pass certificate. "I passed!"
I looked at her test sheet. "You didn't just pass," I informed her, "you were perfect. Literally." Sarah had just become only my second pupil to pass with 0 driver errors. Absolutely fantastic.

Last Christmas my brother, Chris, his wife, Sondra, and son, Matthew, came to stay with us for a few days. Being 16 years old, the subject of Matthew learning to drive came up.
"Come up and stay with us for a while when you turn 17 and I'll be happy to teach you. " I suggested.
So, tomorrow morning, Matthew is flying up and spending a couple of weeks with us. And, as I have been so neglectful of this blog recently, I thought I would document his progress.
Stay tuned

Overcoming all obstacles

Are you sitting comfortably? I'm not. I'm sat, cross-legged, in a car park, in Harbour Road industrial estate in Inverness (it's a long story. One that I'm about to tell). Actually, it's not that uncomfortable, so I shall begin my epic tale of lust and one man's fight to overcome all obstacles.

My Fiesta is starting to get on a bit now. It's not much over a year old, but I have been racking up the miles. I have been leasing my last two cars and, perhaps understandably, the lease company aren't too happy with my mileage. So, it was beginning to look like the sensible thing was to buy a tuition car.
What car to get? I like my Fiesta. I liked my Clio. I liked my wee Fiat 500. I would be happy to get any of those. Maybe it's a defect in my personality, but, somehow, I knew they wouldn't quite suffice. Just as, no matter how much I love most of the music I have collected over the years, I always want something new.

There are some cars which are just achingly beautiful: The 1950s Mercedes Gullwing

, the Jaguar E-type

, the Alfa Romeo 8C

, AC Cobra (see below) and Ferrari Dino

immediately spring to mind. Alfa Romeo are also bringing out the 4C, which is possibly even more beautiful than its big brother

. All of these are more than slightly out of my league. And not really cars that I would be happy to let a learner driver loose in.

The world's your oyster, as Frankie (goes to Hollywood) once said (although I'm pretty sure they didn't coin the phrase). If I was to buy my own car I could choose anything I liked (although DSA regulations rule out a convertible and various other vehicles). My wife just traded her monster Navara pick-up for a wee Fiat Panda, which I think is fantastic - so easy to drive and park. It really would make a very good tuition car. And I also hear really good things about the VW Up and the similar Seat and Skoda versions. But.... I don't know. I guess I want something slightly bigger because, effectively, my car is my office. I want something I will be very comfortable in for ten hours or more. This still left me with a lot of choice, so I started looking.

Jordan admiring an AC Cobra

A couple of weeks ago I took my grandson, Jordan, to a classic car show in Forres. It was a beautiful morning and we had a great time looking at some amazing cars.

A beautiful Bugatti

What really struck me was how much character these older cars had. Some of the interiors looked really uncomfortable, some looked really naff, but some just oozed class and individuality - I particularly liked one Lotus which had a button labelled "cigar"..... Not a common cigarette lighter, a cigar lighter. Perhaps it was not a good idea to look at such cars when I was looking for a tuition car - it's a bit like the theory that it's not a good idea to go shopping in a supermarket when you're hungry - because it made me yearn for something different (no, I didn't decide I wanted a Lotus with a cigar lighter).
After quite a bit of research and searching I found a car advertised which seemed perfect. Just one problem.... It was in a garage in a village near Dunfermline -  Over 150 miles away. There was nothing else locally that compared, so I drove down to the garage for a test drive. Luckily, the car was everything I was looking for and more. They accepted my offer and the car was mine..... I just had to try and work out a way of getting it home.
So last Friday I had it all planned. Train ticket from Forres to Dunfermline (changing at Inverness) was bought, then I would have to get a bus or taxi to the garage. Simple. Or, at least, it should have been.
With hindsight I obviously should not have agreed to a lesson that would leave me just enough time to catch the train. A chatty pupil meant that I missed the train. No problem; I could drive to Inverness and make the connection there. I had fifty minutes to make a journey that should take forty. A tractor was holding up the traffic. Don't panic. The tractor finally pulled over. With Inverness in sight I could see the traffic ahead slowing to a halt. Roadworks. No, no, no! If I didn't catch the train there wasn't another one that would get me to the garage before they closed. After what seemed an age, the lights changed to green. I got to the car park with five minutes to go. I just had a couple of minutes walk, through the shopping centre, to the station. As I approached the shopping centre exit a smiling lady stood in my way. "Hello! How are you?", she asked. It was a former pupil, who passed her test last year. I hurried my reply, asked how she was getting on and hastily condensed a conversation I would have loved to have had into 30 seconds. Then I ran to the station and just made the train.
Well, it is disappointing to tell you, at least as far as the theme of the day is concerned, that the train journey went without a hitch. Not even the smallest delay. I just had to either get a taxi, or make the ten minute walk to the bus station and catch a bus. I made the wrong choice.
Catching a bus. That's a fairly simple thing to do, right? The garage closed at 6.00pm. According to the timetable, the bus would get me to the garage at about 5.20pm. I could relax. I didn't know this part of Fife, so I kept an eye out for my stop, having made a mental note of the villages that preceded it. Just as I could see the garage a couple of hundred metres ahead, the bus turned right. I assumed that the bus would do a loop and come back this way. Ten minutes later, we seemed to be heading further and further away, and the last remaining passenger was getting off the bus. I was beginning to feel that something was not quite right. I asked the bus driver if I had missed my stop. "Yes, it was about ten minutes ago." No need to panic, I thought. My best option would be to get off the bus, call the garage and ask if they could collect me. Luckily, I got my phone out before I got off the bus.... The battery had run out!
All I could do now would be to get off the bus then hope that there would be another bus in the next five minutes that was going back the other way. My final salvation came when the bus driver said that this bus would be going back nearby, then I would have a ten minute walk to the garage.
Finally, after over six hours, a stressful car drive, a walk, two trains, another walk, a stressful bus ride, then a final walk, I arrived at the garage about ten minutes before they closed. They could have given me any old car at that point, I was just relieved to be back in a car and in control.
So, I had my car. I also had dual-controls, but not in the car. So the latter part of today was set aside to get the controls fitted, and also to have my logo put on the car. I dropped the car off at the garage and wondered how I was going to kill three hours in Inverness. After nearly two hours the garage called...
"We seem to have a bit of a problem......"
Don't you just hate it when someone starts a conversation like that.
"...... The dual-controls don't seem to fit."
My heart sank. "But I ordered the controls specifically for that very model." I now had visions of having to send the dual-controls back to He-Man (the manufacturer), then having to wait maybe a week before I could finally start instructing in my car.
"We have been in touch with He-Man and they don't understand it. We at waiting for them to get back to us, but it may be that it is not possible."
This was serious. I couldn't contemplate using the car for instruction without dual-controls. I even began considering the awful prospect of having to sell the car, after just four days, and going through the whole process of finding another tuition car. So I walked back through Inverness to the garage, probably looking like the most miserable man that ever lived.
It was, therefore, a very slight glimmer of hope when I got back to the garage to see two men with their heads buried deep within my car.
"Any news?" I asked, hopefully, but fearing the worst.
"Yes. We think we've cracked it," was the beautiful reply.
It turned out the previous owner had a Bose sound system installed, and the rather substantial amplifier had been fixed exactly where the dual-controls were supposed to go.
Would I have to make the ultimate decision? Sound system or dual-controls? I bit my lip and hesitantly said "If it's a choice, the amplifier will have to come out."
And so I sat, cross-legged in the garage car park, like an anxious father waiting outside an operating theatre at an hospital.
The surgeon, I mean mechanic, finally came out. I tried to read his expression.....
"It's good news.... You now have dual-controls."
Ah, the relief! I couldn't contemplate what chaos it would have caused if fitting them had not been possible. It got better though...
"And we have managed to relocate the amplifier too."
Music to my ears. Literally.

All that remained was to get my logo on the car, and Macsigns, in Harbour Road, Inverness, made a wonderful job with that. So, finally, I could now begin lessons in my new dual-control, liveried and wired for sound Alfa Romeo Mito Multiair.

It was a long, and very arduous journey, but, boy, it was worth it in the end.

Who Hefner

Apologies again for the paucity of posts recently. Last week I had written perhaps the finest post yet. It had more mystery than Broadchurch (and was just as long). It had more wit than an entire series of Frasier (even the early ones) and had more twists than a very twisty thing. Then, zut alors! I switched my tablet thingy on, to finish my epic post, only to find the whole thing lost, evaporated, gone, vanished. Bugger. I was a little irritated, I have to say.
I've been trying hard not to let certain other things irritate me of late: I was listening to Radio 5 and a 23 year-old girl was saying how wrong people are to despise Margaret Thatcher, especially after all that she had done for her country. Everyone is entitled to their own views but I just sat there thinking "What do you know? You were barely more than a primitive pairing of sperm and ovum when she left office, so how can you possibly argue her legacy against people who lived (and suffered) through it?"
Don't worry, I'm not going to get all political. Which is hypocritical, because I think people should be more passionate about politics. At the time, as far as I was concerned, Thatcherism was a bad thing. But the thing that puzzles me is that, surely, the time for celebration and parties was when she was ousted from No.10? Twenty-three years later I don't understand celebrating the death of a frail old woman, whose only current relevance was to her family and friends.  But the most irritating thing was all the effort to get Ding dong, the witch is dead to No.1, and all the subsequent fuss. I've nothing against that particular song, it's just that we, as a nation, missed out on a great opportunity to have a classic song on top of the charts. Instead of paying 89p to download 51 seconds of Ding dong... You could have spent your money far more wisely on 'The day that Thatcher dies', by Hefner. A genuine sing-a-long classic and it finishes with more than 51 seconds of Ding dong.... What do you mean, you've never heard of it?! If that is the case, trust me, go and find it on the MP3 provider of your choice. I can almost guarantee that, having heard it once, you will want to hear it again. Then you will wake up the next morning singing to yourself 
"We will laugh
The day that Thatcher dies
Even though we know it's not right
We will dance and sing all night.....'
Ding dong indeed.

Luis Suarez..... Ah, Luis Luis. What on earth possessed you? There can be few footballers more feared by opponents for their attacking threat than Luis Suarez. So why play into your opponents hands by fouling, diving, handballing, and biting!? Does he have children? What will his children think when they see his actions? 
Liverpool are my team. I have supported them for forty years. And, although there are few more thrilling sights in football than Luis Suarez, ball glued to his feet, treating defences apart, I am almost glad to hear of his ten match ban. Selfishly, I fear the prospect of him moving to another club. But I genuinely would rather see Liverpool lose their next ten games if it meant that Luis returned as a more honourable and honest footballer..... Just like Branislav Ivanovic, whose commendable conduct has gone largely unnoticed.