I'm off to the sun to cool off

I remember the summer of 1976 very well. While most of Britain turned a dusty shade of brown, my family spent two weeks on holiday in a pocket of mid-Wales where it rained every day. Torrentially.

It was also the first family holiday in which my elder brother didn’t join us (17 and too cool for school), but this meant that every evening the four of us (dad, mum, sister and me) would cagoule up and walk to the local phone box, into which we would all squeeze, while my father would call home. "What's the garden like?" would be the opening gambit. "Yellow," would come the reply. And so that went on for a fortnight. Every evening a bemused and bedraggled horse would saunter over to look at us, mockingly, as we appeared progressively more rust red while the rest of the country became increasingly less green and pleasant.

After that summer we returned to traditional British climes with July/August enjoyed in the unpredictable climate that this country had become used to. If you wanted sunshine you'd have to go on a package holiday to Spain. 42 years later, I've lost all perspective on what summer temperatures in Britain should be. The heatwave that has seemingly taken over the weather in the last two months - some parts of the UK have now gone 54 days without rainfall - shows no sign of ending. I can't remember the last time I slept solidly for the full eight hours.

We should be rejoicing. This is the kind of summer weather we all dreamed of as we dodged showers in another Cornish resort, back in the days when Cornwall wasn't the British equivalent of Santa Cruz. Heatwaves, in old money, used to be a week or, at most, two, in which the tabloids ran gratuitous front page pictures of dogs cooling off in duck ponds and young ladies in bikinis eating ice creams on Bournemouth beach, along with 'fancy that' stories of roads cracking. Now we're enduring the longest such dry spell for 49 years, and it's expected to go on for at least another week. Tomorrow could reach 35C, prompting the Met Office to issue an 'amber' heatwave alert and a "Level 3" warning - the weather equivalent of DEFCON2. If it reaches 4, officially there will be a national emergency. And, presumably, nuclear war. The irony of all this is that people are choosing to spend their summer holidays in the UK. The Times today reports that travel agents are discounting foreign holidays by as much as 40% as they try to persuade Britons, as-yet undecided about their holidays, to head for relatively more comfortable destinations around the Med.

Parched: Greenwich Park in May, and today.
Pictures: © Simon Poulter 2018 and Royal Museums Greenwich

Of course, we Brits are never satisfied with the weather, nor do we fare well with any of it. In the autumn the railways can't work due to leaves on the line; in winter, snow brings everything and everyone to a halt; spring - well, we can now skip spring and move straight on to summer, when it is hot and sunny (as prescribed), but so hot and sunny that railway tracks mangle and dustcarts sink into molten tarmac. The problem is that we're just not cut out for extremes of weather. Take the London Underground: built by the Victorians who, if they wanted to experience tropical heat would have to invade an equatorial country in the name of the Empire, its tunnels were built so deep that they cannot be adequately air conditioned. Thus, yesterday, Central Line trains reached temperatures of 36C in overfull carriages during the rush hour. EU legislation specifies that cattle should not be transported at temperatures higher than 30C. Tube trains are so hot that you may as well dress in swimwear. Regular clothing will become drenched in sweat, I guarantee you, within a couple of stops.

Such is the relentlessness of the heatwave that I can't understand why travel companies are having to give away holidays to Spain. With official NHS and Public Health England guidance being "seek shelter" as the heatwave continues and outside temperatures creep closer to the human body's own core temperature, the Mediterranean is starting to look like a very attractive place in which to cool down. There is, however, much worse elsewhere: Japan has declared a 'natural disaster' as its current heatwave sets new records, with the city of Kumagaya recording temperatures of 41.1C yesterday. At least 65 people have so far died of heatstroke with another 22,000-plus hospitalised. Even the Nordic countries are suffering - Finland is likely to get up to 29C later this week, which is, relatively speaking, extreme (though most Finns do at least have endless forests and lakes in which to find respite).

Climate change has made these extremes the new norm. Some experts say it's just a cycle, others fear that we're heading for worse. As much as I love warm weather (when I moved to California people warned me that I'd soon get bored with the sunshine - I didn't), I'm missing the predictability of the English summer. I used to like the fact that if I wanted to enjoy hot sun, a two-hour flight south would sort me out, and that I'd return to England in August, with people talking about "putting on an extra layer". Two months into this heatwave, I'm looking forward to normality. I just don't have an idea of when that will be possible.

Brother beyond: why Oasis aren't reforming anytime soon

In a week of political rancour, from Helsinki to Westminster, from Brussels to Washington, one tweet yesterday bucked the trend with an apparent gesture of reconciliation: “Earth to noel ... I forgive you now let’s get the BIG O back together.” No, this wasn’t Boris presenting an olive branch to Theresa but Liam Gallagher reaching out to his estranged brother Noel, apparently genuinely interested in reforming Oasis. “I’m not desperate just think it’d be a nice thing to do,” the younger Gallagher added.

So far the brotherly love has not been reciprocated by Noel, and it’s unlikely that it will any time soon. Seeing him and his High Flying Birds recently in the wonderful setting of Greenwich's Old Naval College, Gallagher seemed perfectly at home in his solo skin, drawing on his three HFB albums and a smattering of crowd-pleasing Oasis standards, including Don’t Look Back In Anger, Wonderwall and Little By Little. He walked out on Oasis in August 2009 saying that he “simply could not go on working with Liam a day longer” and that has been the situation since. Indeed, Noel has said relatively little about either his younger brother or Oasis, whereas Liam has maintained a constant stream of invective towards his sibling, mostly via Twitter, including the somewhat comical barb of “Potato”. That said, he also wished his brother a happy Christmas in December last year, raising the prospect of a thaw in their relationship. However, the tweet was later dismissed as a “wind-up”.  And so the tweets have continued.

There’s every chance that yesterday’s supposed peace gesture is another joke by Liam, even if he has said in recent months: “I don’t want to be solo. I don’t want to do it on my own – I’m not a guitar player or a prolific songwriter.” The Gallagher brothers released two of 2017's strongest records in Liam’s As You Were and Noel’s Who Built The Moon?, arguably better albums than anything Oasis produced towards the end of the period with both Gallaghers as members. If - and it’s a big ‘if’ - Noel was to accept Liam’s offer and reform “the Big O”, they would certainly be putting together one of the biggest and most lucrative reunions since Sean Connery agreed to play Bond again in Never Say Never Again.

Simon Poulter © 2018

"He’s rude, arrogant, intimidating and lazy. He’s the angriest man you’ll ever meet. He’s like a man with a fork in a world of soup," Noel told Q magazine in April 2009, four months before their bust up at the Rock en Seine festival near Paris, in which Liam is alleged to have thrown a bowl of plums at his brother (“A plum from a plum”, quipped Noel later).

The issue is, perhaps, more deep-seated than typical inter-band creative tensions. Last year Noel revealed that the brothers’ feuding began when they were teenagers, still living at home, and when the senior sibling returned, drunk, from a night out and urinated on his brother’s brand new music centre. Though Oasis were, technically, Liam’s band to begin with, Noel’s joining set them on the path to become one of the biggest British rock bands in history, a trajectory that came with the Gallaghers' headline grabbing antics, from public fights to stage walkoffs and concert no-shows.

For the most part, this was all grist to the mill, generating unprecedented publicity and the resultant record and ticket sales. Post-Oasis, the feuding has, at times, become decidedly nasty. For Liam, in particular, there’s been no let up (”Lots of people say I need to chill out about Noel. Not until they stop Twitter,” he said in one memorable interview.) And so it has gone on.

Noel, for his part, has adopted a position of relative silence as the better part of valour. A resumption of hostilities over Noel’s absence from the concert for victims of the Manchester Arena bombing prompted Liam to comment on an apparently tearful Noel: “NG broke down in tears cmon,” he said in yet another tweet. “You seriously ain't buying that he doesn’t give a f**k. Don't buy into his PR stunt he doesn't give a f**k if the same thing had have gone of [sic] in Edinburgh he'd been up there like a shot ahem.” Noel responded a month later: “He needs to see a psychiatrist. I don’t say that as a joke. Because young Mancunians, young music fans, were slaughtered, and he, twice, takes it somewhere to be about him. He needs to see somebody.” Liam hit back: “As for seeing somebody I bet you and the mrs have got a few on the go you pair of chameleons.”

Frankly it has become tedious, even if occasionally quite entertaining. Liam, with blatant disregard for syntax, grammar or the use of a spellchecker, has made Twitter his medium for assaults on his brother. “I guess it was about him staying relevant,” commented Noel after Liam started the first of his “potato” taunts. “If you’re him, what else is there to tweet about?”. While Noel has recognised that the publicity garnered by the feud has been a boon to business (“As long as he keeps promoting my record, there’s a good boy”), he drew the line in a BBC Radio 4 Front Row interview in which he said “maybe [Liam] should stop tweeting [about me]” for the “ugly” things he’s said about Gallagher’s wife and children. “People come after them, and … it’s not very nice,” said Noel. “It only heightens my resolve that I’ll never walk the stage with that band again for that reason.” That, I believe, is your answer.

Thinking out of the box

Even if sales of physical music formats continue to decline - this year, for the first time, overtaken by subscriptions to streaming services - record companies show no signs of letting up in releasing pricey box sets aimed at, well, the likes of me. 

Amongst the lucrative trips down Memory Lane dangled before us so far this year, we've had packages from the likes of Bruce Springsteen (The Album Collection Vol 2 1987-1996 - a snip at £160 on Amazon right now) and the Rolling Stones' Studio Albums - Vinyl Collection: 1971 - 2016 - 'only' £370... As to whether any of this represents true value for money is a matter of personal opinion. Roxy Music's eponymous debut was re-issued in February as a four-disc 'super deluxe edition', which included a 5.1 surround sound remix by my friend Steven Wilson, and priced at £120. The bulk of that cost, I suspect, was the lavish coffee table book that came in the package. More fool me, you might say.

However, these things continue to appeal through a combination of clever marketing and consumers of a certain age susceptible to that marketing. In some cases, they're worth it: musos are drawn to higher quality vinyl formats, like 180g heavyweight and half-speed releases (delivering a superior experience than when previously purchased on vinyl, cassette or early CDs); completists will view box sets of multiple albums as an opportunity to own a comprehensive package of already-owned albums, even better if live recordings and other content are thrown in too.

This has been the principle behind re-issue programs by Led Zeppelin and David Bowie, the former's reissues being personally curated by Jimmy Page and usually including something to justify the cost. In the case of Bowie, the sets Five Years (1969-1973), Who Can I Be Now? (1974-1976) and A New Career In A New Town (1977-1982) have been largely excellent value, chronicling arguably Bowie's richest period of studio creativity, along with live albums providing fascinating snapshots of the artist in varying stages of performance craft. Only a major mastering error with Heroes in the last box set, resulting in Parlophone having to replace copies of the legendary album, put a dampener on the package, which revolved around Bowie's Berlin period.

Now, Parlophone have announced the next release in the posthumous program of Bowie box sets:  Loving The Alien (1983-1988). Released on 12 October with both CD and vinyl options, the package covers arguably the weakest period of Bowie's career, but one which might invite new consideration. Let's Dance is sometimes seen as his last great album from the period between the 70s and 80s, chiefly due to the hit singles it generated, but its follow-ups, Tonight and the ironically titled Never Let Me Down (and its disappointing supporting Glass Spider tour) were never received with much enthusiasm. That said, the new package will contain a "brand new production" of Never Let Me Down, featuring new instrumentation by guitarist Reeves Gabrels and bassist Tim Lefebvre (part of the New York jazz collective who played on Bowie's final album, Blackstar).

Elsewhere, the 11-disc CD box and 15-disc vinyl package will include newly remastered versions of Let's Dance, the original Never Let Me Down, the previously unreleased live albums of the Serious Moonlight and Glass Spider tours, Dance, a collection of original remixes, and an album of rarities, B-sides and soundtrack music, RE:CALL 4. Both CD and vinyl packages will include an accompanying book featuring rarely seen and previously unpublished photos by photographers such as Herb Ritts and Denis O’Regan, as well as notes and comments from contributors like producer/guitarist Nile Rodgers and producer Hugh Padgham.

In general, the Bowie reissue packages have represented excellent value for money. With all, they've engendered the reappraisal of albums that have often been exalted unconditionally...with most coming out as even better than first encountered.

Bowie's death in 2016 quite rightly shocked and saddened a large swathe of music fans, a sudden event as enigmatic in some ways as the musician was in his creative life. Tom Petty's death last year was equally as sudden, and while never considered in the same realm of musical ‘art’ as Bowie, his demise at 66 brought the curtain down on a career as prolific as the British icon.

That is the core premise of An American Treasure, a 60-track collection of previously unreleased Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers material that will be released on September 28. The four-CD box set (along with a cutdown two-CD version) has been compiled by Petty‘s family and former collaborators, and will feature studio recordings, live versions of familiar songs, and alternate versions of other album tracks, selected from Petty’s particularly voluminous outputting the 80s and 90s.

While live versions of hits like I Won’t Back Down and Into The Great Wide Open will anchor interest from more casual buyers, it’s the richness of writing across the previously hidden Petty canon that will make An American Treasure so attractive, complementing affinity with his better known songs with a broad dip into the American heartland that he melodically captured via a fusion of pop, rock, guitar-jangle and country - Florida’s Springsteen if you will.

For Phil Collins, however, such exaltation will probably always go wanting. Some simply loathe him,  a sentiment I've never truly understood about one of the most gifted drummers of his generation. It doesn't take genius to work out that animosity towards him was built in the late 1980s and pre-Britpop '90s when he was, frankly, everywhere. As he explains in his brutally honest autobiography Not Dead Yet, he sort of stumbled into a solo career, but ended up becoming one of only three artists to have sold more than 100 million albums as a solo artist and member of a group (the others being Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney). By his own admission, he became ubiquitous, a familiarity that bred the contempt, especially from the likes of the music press.

But despite the over-exposure, Collins' total career deserves the reappraisal afforded by Plays Well With Others, a four-CD box set also released on 28 September that pulls together a long and surprisingly broad history of collaborations and contributions. Although, oddly, the compilation includes a few of Collins' own solo and Genesis tracks, there is a far more interesting variety over the four discs.

One of the least appreciated aspects of Collins' career is the amount of session work he did, reflected on Plays Well with cuts such as Argent's I Can't Remember, But Yes, Brian Eno's Over Fire Island (Collins was 'loaned out' to Eno as a reciprocation for the keyboard wizard's work on Genesis' The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway), John Cale's Pablo Picasso, Robert Fripp's North Star and Robert Plant's Pledge Pin. Also included is Intruder, the opening track from Peter Gabriel's third solo album, and which, effectively, invented the 1980s with its distinct "gated reverb" drum sound - famously applied in the legendary fill on In The Air Tonight - and created by Collins, engineer Hugh Padgham and producer Steve Lillywhite after Gabriel requested that drummers on the record did without cymbals.

One of Collins' abiding professional and personal relationships was with my music hero John Martyn.   The pair's respective divorces - and their booze-sozzled mutual support - were the inspiration for Collins' Face Value and Martyn's Grace And Danger albums, and the latter's Sweet Little Mystery (featuring backing vocals from Collins), Could've Been Me, Ways To Cry, Suzanne and posthumous release Can't Turn Back The Years are all included. Pleasing to see Martyn so prominent, and I hope this mainstream exposure leads people to his back catalogue (much as Collins' work with Martyn led me to discover him for myself).

Despite his history as a prog rock drummer, as well as his love of jazz and jazz fusion (both represented in the package), Collins' 1980s pop ubiquity is also reflected - and sometimes surprisingly so. Everyone remembers him drumming on Band Aid's Do They Know It's Christmas?, but what about Adam Ant's Puss 'N' Boots, Tears For Fears' Woman In Chains and Howard Jones' No One Is To Blame, excellent hits all? Other collaborations, including work with Eric Clapton, David Crosby, Chaka Khan, ABBA's Anni-Frid 'Frida' Lyngstad and Earth, Wind & Fire's Philip Bailey are also faithfully reflected in the package, along with live tracks from the various big name charity concerts Collins became a regular participant in, pre- and post-Live Aid.

In all likelihood, Collins will never catch a break from the too-cool-for-school brigade. This is despite his drumming prowess, first developed as a young boy and which, until physical impairment caused him to stop, should be regarded positively regardless of people's tastes and opinions about Collins the pop star. For that matter, an artist whose career spans everything from progressive rock to jazz workouts with Quincy Jones, deserves the recognition afforded bigger luminaries. It's just unlikely that he'll ever get it.

Hazard warning

When I began my blogging career eight years ago I didn’t give much thought to what I’d write about. The first post just happened to be about football - because I was angry - but when I christened the blog What Would David Bowie Do?, most assumed it would have a musical connection. I now realise that, over the last few weeks, it has been exclusively about football. But, then, can you blame me when there have been such sumptuous pickings from the beautiful game to blog about?

Today, my friends, will be no different. Matters musical can and will wait. Because - and I know the World Cup confetti has barely been Hoovered up, but things move quickly - Chelsea burst back into my consciousness at the end of last week with, finally, the firing of Antonio Conte and...er...finally, the hiring of Maurizio Sarri. Sarri appeared yesterday in his first interview for Chelsea's in-house TV channel and gave an impressive, eloquent account of himself. Speaking in fluent English (a marked contrast to Conte at the start, although he worked hard to learn the language) Sarri set out his intent: "I think with one or two adjustments, we can try to play my football," he said, perhaps making reference to the entertaining style he employed at Napoli and which first drew Chelsea's attention to the former banker.

Quite what those adjustments will be remains to be seen, though the arrival of Italian midfielder Jorginho as part of the deal with Napoli that brought Sarri to Stamford Bridge, is surely only just the start. Juve's Daniele Rugani and Gonzalo Higuain are reportedly also on Sarri's shopping list, though both might be difficult to extract from the reigning Italian champions, even if they have just shelled out £105 million for Cristiano Ronaldo.

The bigger headache, however, for Sarri will be holding on to players, in particular, Eden Hazard, but also Thibaut Courtois, Willian and Gary Cahill (who, being over 30 and slipping behind Antonio Rudiger and, potentially, Rugani, is unlikely to get any more gametime under Sarri than he was getting from Conte). Willian grew increasingly frustrated last season - most notably in the FA Cup Final, when he was only brought off the bench in the 91st minute, having spent most of the game warming up on the touchline. Courtois, who has just one more season to run on his contract, has been hinting at a move back to Madrid for some time, largely due to his children still living there with their mother, Marta Domínguez, the goalkeeper's former partner.

But it is Hazard who poses the greatest challenge for Sarri and Chelsea. Having captained Belgium to third place in the World Cup, the club has given the mercurial midfielder three weeks off to recover - a generous amount of time and long enough to give plenty of thought as to what he might do next. At the weekend he hinted at what that could be, saying that "it might be time to discover something different" after six "wonderful years" at Chelsea. And, guess what? Ronaldo's move to Juve just created a vacancy on the left side of the attack at Real Madrid, the club Hazard referred to on Saturday as "my preferred destination". That may well be the case, but Madrid are apparently eyeing up either Neymar or Kylian Mbappe as first-choice targets.

For his part, Hazard is hardly agitating for a move. The affable Belgian has always been relaxed about his future (and the latest rumouring is nothing new). "It is not my decision, he told reporters on Saturday. "The club will decide. Now I just want to go on holidays and we will see what happens."

Nevertheless, now might be the time Hazard sees as perfect to fulfil his dream of winning the Champions League. He signed for Chelsea in June 2012, just after the club had won the European prize. With the club reduced to the Europa League next season, playing for the current European champions would be highly appealing. However, even if Madrid come in for him, Chelsea are expected to slap a whopping £200 million price tag on the Belgian, who still has two years to run on his current contract.

A further question is, can Chelsea afford to lose him? Hazard is, without doubt, the best player on their books. I would even argue that, on his day, he's the best player in the Premier League. That's an asset any club would be reluctant to give up. But having helped Chelsea to two Premier League titles, the FA Cup, League Cup and Europa League, at 27 the club has certainly had the best out of him, and could be tempted to cash in. Even if Madrid is unlikely to spend anything like what Chelsea want for Hazard, he would certainly not go cheaply, which would raise decent funds for some of the names on Sarri's list.

It would be a wrench to see the charismatic Belgian go, but maybe the time is right. Better now while he is relatively relaxed about both his relationship with Chelsea and his future, rather than when he is agitated and demotivated, as Diego Costa was when he was eventually released to Atlético Madrid. Under Conte last season, Hazard continued to demonstrate his worth, week in, week out, unlocking defences like no other and winning critical spot kicks, as he did in the FA Cup Final in May, an otherwise dire affair in which the only thing separating Chelsea and Manchester United was Hazard's penalty.

Sarri promises a fresh start and a new approach, which may be enriched by new signings that could also compensate for Hazard's potential departure. Jorginho - while no direct replacement - is certainly one of the most coveted creative midfielders in Europe (his signing was a major blow to Pep Guardiola, who'd earmarked him as a replacement for Yaya Touré at Manchester City). That said, Hazard could be a player whom Sarri would want to build his team around, even with the acquisition of his 'own' players.

Despite maintaining that his future will be up to Chelsea's to decide, much depends on the player himself. Chelsea fans are somewhat sanguine about Hazard's future. Knowing that nothing in football lasts forever, some could even be forgiven for thinking that it's amazing he's lasted as long as he has in West London, given all the comparisons to Messi and Ronaldo. "He is a player who has maturity and a lot of leadership," said his Belgium national team boss, Roberto Martinez in an interview with Spanish radio. "Hazard could carry a new project anywhere in the world. He is at the best moment of his career. He could fit in any team in the world." Over the next three weeks we will find out whether that team continues to be Chelsea or not.

Putin on the Ritz

It was like the 2012 Olympics, all over again. Weeks of negativity, doom and gloom, followed by 64 games of, mostly, absolute sporting joy. No terror, no hooliganism, no geopolitical shenanigans. In fact, the only notable moment of saltiness was Roy Keane and Ian Wright kicking off in the ITV studio over the latter’s unconditional warmth towards England.

There is consensus - and not just those carried along by England’s uncharacteristic wave of progress - that the 2018 World Cup in Russia has been one of the best, if not the best, in modern times. Who’d have thought it, given the suspicion of brown envelopes that stank up FIFA’s awarding of the tournament to Russia. Well done, then, Russia, or Vlad, or whoever was controlling things.

Not every match, of course has been a zinger but from the very beginning - host Russia's 5-0 demolition of Saudi Arabia - we've been treated every step of the way. By the first Friday night we had the Spain-Portugal match, one of the best internationals I've seen in years, with six goals including a tour de force by Cristiano Ronaldo which virtually sealed his record-breaking move from Real Madrid to Juventus. The following day we had Argentina being held 1-1 by Iceland, and all of a sudden all bets were off as to how the tournament would move forward. And so we went through the group stage, with two or three games daily, each as fascinating in the permutations as the next, including that memorable fixture, in which everyone and everything stopped work to watch Germany go out at the group stage for the first time since 1938.

In a World Cup lacking European footballing aristos like Italy and the Netherlands, we had the likes of Iran and Senegal punching well above their weight, and south and central America gradually slipping away as that region's traditions in international football fell somewhat short, as Argentina and Uruguay couldn't build on their respective legacies as past champions. And, yes, England: perennial underachievers, perennial failures, managed by the individual with "the impossible job" whom the nation collectively fell in love with, ending in fourth place, surviving a penalty shootout, and giving a platform to a squad of young men for whom the next tournaments - the 2020 European Championships and the 2022 World Cup in Qatar - promise so much, at last. This World Cup hasn't, of course, all been about England, but from the exclusively English perspective, this World Cup has profoundly transformed the nation's relationship with its national side. Let's hope it lasts.

Congratulations, of course, must go to France and indeed Croatia, their defeated opponents in yesterday's final. A 4-2 victory for Les Bleus, with a few controversies, a couple of monumental blunders and six goals, it provided something of a microcosm of the preceding 63 matches combined. One of the largest football nations in the world versus one of the smallest, pedigree versus underappreciated tenacity. France are, for me, surprising world champions. I'd been tipping Belgium as dark horses to win, just as many had seen Brazil or Spain as champions once more. France's ascent this time has been quite subtle. While most were focusing on the big guns - especially those who gradually disappeared - France had been getting on with progress. As he does for Chelsea, the diminutive N'Golo Kante was a giant in the French midfield, Paul Pogba demonstrated that without José Mourinho's deadening influence over him he can justify some of the hype that has followed his career, while the 19-year-old Kylian Mbappé underlined preposterously why Paris Saint-Germain made him the world's most expensive teenager indeed the second-most expensive player on the planet.

As such, yesterday's final was a fitting finale. France knows better than most how to celebrate - the scenes in Paris in 1998 are burned in the memory as the most incredible scenes of celebration I've ever witnessed. Even the sight of Emmanuel Macron going nuts, while genial host Vladimir Putin sat, atypically gimlet-eyed, at the final whistle, presented a vision of unfettered joy that perfectly characterised these last four-and-a-bit weeks of football. Whether FIFA has redeemed itself remains to be seen: the whiff of suspicion over how Russia ended up staging this World Cup will never go away, but few will disagree that it has been done in an exemplary fashion. We will have to see if Qatar in four years time will be able to do the same, even if many, if not most, have been proven wrong this time.

Dead men walking

Imagine, for a moment, being sacked by the media before your employer has formally relieved you of your position? Imagine knowing for weeks that the person most likely to take your job hasn’t officially left theirs, even though someone has been appointed to replace him? Imagine maintaining, amid all the speculation, that you plan to see out your contract? Imagine turning up for work on a Monday knowing the it was only a matter of when, not if, that your successor would be announced? Imagine, then, being a dead man walking.

"People have said I am a dead man walking but I am not - I am still moving. It is difficult to kill me" - Claudio Ranieri

It was Claudio Ranieri who rose, stoicly, above the rumouring when still Chelsea manager to respond to media claims that he was a “dead man walking”, following Roman Abramovich’s acquisition of Chelsea. The Italian - a dignified figure then and still a much loved figure to this day - was being written out of a job by the sports press who hypothesised that the so-called “Tinkerman” (on account of his sometimes eccentric susbtitutions) would not be the manager Abramovich would want to implement his vision of turning Chelsea into the AC Milan of West London. Enter José Mourinho.

As long drawn out public executions go, Antonio Conte has been on Death Row for the last 12 months. Even as he was celebrating winning the Premier League - perhaps unexpectedly - in his first season in charge at Chelsea, the Italian was sowing the seeds of the departure announced this morning by agitating for more investment in players, or investment in better players. This became the narrative of an otherwise disappointing second season for Conte at Chelsea. Given Roman Abramovich's history of trigger-happy knee-jerk dismissals, Conte was playing with fire. That it's taken such a protracted time for him to go is, actually, baffling. Chelsea managers have gone far sooner and for less.

On Monday this week Conte took charge of Chelsea's first official pre-season training session at the club's Cobham base. It was the first time he'd been seen in public with Chelsea since the FA Cup Final at Wembley in May, when he paraded with his squad and the trophy. His future remained ambiguous: he maintained he was going nowhere, that he had a contract and he would fulfil it. The club said nothing, but the rumours continued that it was actively seeking a replacement, with Napoli's Maurizio Sarri persisting as the lead candidate. Today, Conte's status, at least, has been finally clarified: "Chelsea Football Club and Antonio Conte have parted company," was the headline on the club's website, following the somewhat basic "During Antonio’s time at the club, we won our sixth league title and eighth FA Cup. In the title winning season, the club set a then-record 30 wins in a 38-game Premier League season, as well as a club-record 13 consecutive league victories. We wish Antonio every success in his future career." 61 words, and none of them including the customary "we thank XXXX for his contribution to the club's success over the last XXXX years" or "by mutual agreement". It's a statement that no doubt, had been crafted by a lawyer. Just the right side of acknowledgement, just the right side of liability.

The period since the FA Cup Final has been, even by Chelsea's modern standard of dysfunction, chaotic. According to various reports, Conte's departure was protracted while lawyers haggled over the terms of his payoff, rumoured to be worth up to £9 million, as well as payoffs for his entire coaching staff, which includes his brother Daniele. Whether Conte had accepted his fate, or not, remains to be seen, and the sight of him on Monday taking training came across as either an act of accommodation or resilience on a scale not seen since Monty Python's Black Knight declared "it's just a flesh wound",  as blood spouted from a socket vacated by his severed arm.

Sources in Italy claim that Conte has been "disgusted" by his treatment, but as likeable for fans as he was, he should not be surprised. On top of the precedent set by eight previous managerial sackings, often with considerably shorter lead times, Conte needs to reflect on the way he went about things: effectively firing a sellable asset like Diego Costa by text message wouldn't have gone down well; then there was the constant niggling about players, plus an apparent deterioration in his relationships with key figures on the playing staff like Eden Hazard, Willian, David Luiz and Thibaut Courtois; and then a season - a title-defending season - in which consistency and indifference became the norm, rather than the bright, exciting excellence of the previous term. If the griping about players wasn't enough, a post-Christmas run of three consecutive 0-0 games and seemingly routine defeats to Manchesters United and City raised questions. The 4-1 reverse to Watford only raised more. A league record of 21 wins, seven draws and ten defeats, with a fifth place finish, may not be a disaster, but in contemporary Chelsea terms, not enough. The 3-0 away defeat to Newcastle on the final day of the season probably sealed Conte's fate - even with the Cup Final win to come - as it simply summed up a season of seeming indifference. That Chelsea would fall outside Champions League places - still the measure of Abramovich's expectation - added one more nail to the Conte coffin as Chelsea manager.

Given this record, it seemed to be an unavoidable conclusion that Conte would go. What has delayed the process has been the even more protracted legal wrangling to land Maurizio Sarri as his replacement. Despite Napoli appointing Carlo Ancelotti as manager some weeks ago, Napoli have been haggling with Chelsea over minutiae in an agreement to release Sarri from his contract, and prevent Chelsea trying to poach Neopolitan players. Presumably, the timing of this morning's terse, 61-word statement about Conte means that Sarry's appointment, plus the signing of Italian midfielder Jorginho, all part of a £54 million deal with Napoli, will go ahead.

Just as well: the club's website yesterday trilled that there's just four weeks to go before the start of the season. Never has there been such an alarming lack of preparedness for a new season. The club might, apparently, seem calm about it, but its fans are restless. As Spain found a few weeks ago, sacking a manager just before a major competition can have disastrous results. I hope Chelsea - lacking a Director of Football since Michael Emenalo left for Monaco, with an owner seemingly barred from the UK and calling a halt on the development of Stamford Bridge - are prepared for the consequences.

If there is one good thing about finally solving the manager issue, it's that the club can start making summer signings. The suggestion is that since discussions began with Napoli over Sarri's release, the manager-in-waiting has been feeding instructions or at least requests on who he'd like Marina Granovskaia, the club's de facto chief executive, to sign. More hangs on this than just a sign of activity: Eden Hazard's stock has risen in Real Madrid's eyes since Ronaldo hopped off to Juve, and with the Belgian rattling his sabre over Chelsea's lack of signings so far in the window, Sarri's first task will not be bed in new players but to keep those like Hazard from fleeing. Conte's man management left a lot to be desired, and stories have even surfaced this week if him carrying an intimidating air about him around the club. Sarri will have to work hard and work fast to galvanise the squad, parlay his vision and get them working to it in time for the Community Shield face-off with Manchester City on August 5, and a week later, the opening game of the Premier League season, a tricky away tie to Huddersfield. It all feels just a little too much, a little too late.

They’re coming home...

Picture: Football Association

We may now be up to 52 years of hurt, but the pain has been considerably dulled. The editorial post-mortems will quite rightly ask questions of what happened to England after Kieran Trippier’s remarkable free kick put them ahead after five minutes; of why they seemed unable to maintain possession as Croatia gained confidence; of why they resorted to the long ball tactics we thought had been left behind when Sven-Goran Eriksson stood down after the 2006 World Cup; of why Dele Alli went missing and Harry Kane was largely anonymous. And, yes, some questions, too, about ‘Sir’ Gareth Southgate. But, perhaps, these inquisitions are for another day.

As everyone - from TV commentators to newspaper pundits to pub experts - has commented, England’s progress through the 2018 World Cup has been nothing short of incredible, and welcomely restorative at the same time. Cynics from other lands might say a little success has gone to our heads, but if these last four weeks have been intoxicated by unseasonably summery summer weather mixed with England winning games, then so be it. If nothing else, it’s given us a welcome diversion from all the other nonsense going on in the world.

We have become so used to doom and gloom around the England team, with dismal, premature exits from competitions, that for once, the national love-in with Southgate and his men has been entirely justified. The young England manager, himself, has cultivated this: in an age of hate and cynicism, fuelled by social media’s free-for-all and the notable loss of civility that appears to have been engendered by Brexit and Trump, Southgate’s manners, intelligence and dignity have been counter to the times. Even those who say “it’s all very well him being so polite, what about the performances?” will have to concede that it mostly went right. Which is much more than can be said for any of his recent predecessors. The waistcoat-and-tie smartness isn’t an act: when Southgate was appointed it was unfairly surmised that he was the last option left. The FA had run out of ‘exotic’ propositions like Capello or journeymen like Roy Hodgson and Sam ‘One Game’ Allardyce, and that appointing an FA insider like Southgate was the safest political option. Maybe it was, but didn’t it work out well?!

So what has made the difference between the abject departure to Iceland in 2016 and defeat to Croatia in 2018? Surely the core of the squad is the same? The difference is that the England in Russia this summer has been more cohesive and focused on the task. The universal decry after that Iceland game was that England were, essentially, eleven overpaid Premier League superstars doing whatever they thought their self-appointed talents should be applied to. This time, England have looked like a band of brothers which, surprisingly, has enabled them to largely avoid the petty tribalism of who they play for in their day jobs. True, this England squad has, perhaps, a disproportionate number of Spurs players, who have - let the records show - no silverware to show for their exalted status, but somehow even the most vehement anti-Tottenham fans have rallied around Harry Kane. Possibly not Dele Alli, though.

In fairness, this World Cup has been the making of some of these young England players. Jordan Pickford comes immediately to mind: relatively short for a goalkeeper, and not exactly from the ‘cool’ quadrant of the Premier League, he has demonstrated himself to be an impressively reactive stopper, not least of which in that penalty shootout. Harry Maguire, Kyle Walker and Jon Stones, too, have enhanced their reputations enormously, applying a three-man central defence model (for which Antonio Conte deserves some credit) that pushed into midfield with decisiveness. Raheem Stirling should also be mentioned here: still mystifyingly divisive amongst fans, his penetrative pace was one of the bright spots in England’s attack. Less so, Kane and Alli. The former was often poorly served in the open play which his reputation has been built at Tottenham (that he still leads the Golden Boot is mostly down to his impressive spot kick record). With Alli, who may have been carrying injury, he just seemed to be played too deep in some games, and was too standoff in others (especially last night), to make himself useful in front of goal. Tempting as it is to niggle further, I won’t. Because to do so would be to submit to the default behaviour we’ve all been guilty of down the years.

That we’re not all self-flagellating this morning in the usual fashion is testament to how England actually did. Defeat in a semi-final has been accepted by a glass half-full, that England only went out after 120 minutes and a single-goal margin. People are, thankfully, even prepared to ignore that England met their match against Croatia. I had been increasingly wound up by all the ‘football’s coming home’ hoopla, and commentators making ridiculous nudge-nudge, wink-wink remarks about 1966 and Sunday’s final before a tricky semi-final with Croatia had even kicked off. As much fun as the waistcoat-wearing national euphoria was, experience has taught us that you can be over-confident. ‘Pride before a fall’, as the adage goes. But all that aside - and I’m not seeking meagre gratification here - there is much to look forward to.

As The Times pointed out today in its daily World Cup supplement, youth is on England’s side for both the next European Championships and the 2022 World Cup in Qatar. The Under-19 pipeline is equally promising, and with Southgate’s experience from managing England’s youth set-up - effectively, into the senior team - for once we should not be pointing our eyes skyward at the thought of the next tournament being another pointless exercise. Contrary to the negative narrative going into this World Cup - both about the competition itself and England’s prospects - we have all emerged with a smile on our faces, and none of the usual caustic resentment. Ain’t that a breeze?

So, now that’s out of the way...

"Hard to believe it’s less than a fortnight until the headline 'Theresa May calls snap general election after England brings football home' is running on news websites," joked The Guardian's Jim Waterson last night on Twitter. Well, you wouldn't put it past her, such is the moribund state of her premiership and, moreover, such is the state of English euphoria after the national football team won its first penalty shootout in 22 years.

England's success in Moscow - a moral victory as much as an actual victory - is a big deal...even if it shouldn’t be. After all, England are just out of the Round of 16 and into only their fourth quarter-final since 1986. Such is the paucity of English success at World Cups and the Euros that we'll take rare success in the first knockout game as the confirming sign of changing fortunes. As premature as crowds blocking streets in Shoreditch, Croydon and elsewhere last night were in chanting "Football's coming home", you can't deny the need to celebrate, more out of relief than anything else.

However, to state the obvious, and whilst not wishing to rain on the parade (and at risk of being called a "waxwork" by Danny Baker for continuing to guard against getting carried away), we’re not done yet. Saturday's quarter-final against Sweden won't be the ordeal of cynical play as Colombia offered last night, but it will be robust. And here's why we need to be cautious: England were terrific last night in the first half, taking the game decisively to Colombia. They were particularly pleasing at the back, building through the middle and creating attacking momentum for Kane, Sterling and Alli in particular. But as the second half wore on, England once again started to be opened up. This was a trait of their first three games (even while drubbing Panama, they conceded late in the game), and continued last night when Yerry Mina equalised in the third minute of stoppage time. Do that again against Sweden, and another penalty shootout awaits.

Technically, England still have a lot to do to be regarded as a real threat in this World Cup. But before you react with accusations of treason, I do believe that momentum is carrying them on. Confidence is an unbelievable asset for this young team. Winning in regular time alone would have done the job to boost Gareth Southgate's players, but winning a penalty shootout - for so long the source of all our pain - will have washed through the England camp like a potion. On another day, Colombia would have won that shootout: on another day still, it could be England. Or Colombia again. Who knows. Penalties are a lottery, and that’s what makes them such an excruciating nightmare, but also wildly entertaining and still the only way to settle these fixtures if goals in open play can’t do it.

Much of why England are in this position is down to Southgate and his assistant Steve Holland, and their psychological management as much as their tactical nouse. Their calm, intelligent stewardship of England's young stars probably manifested itself most strongly in that penalty torture. Calm heads prevailed. Southgate, in particular, deserves credit for imparting his own torrid experience at Wembley in 1996. "We're trying to write our own history, and I've talked to the players about that. They write their own stories. We don't have to be bowed by the pressure of the past," he said, reflectively, after last night's result.

However, England do have to face the pressure of the future. The standard line is that they have to now focus on the next game, not dwell on the last (you know, "there are no easy games"). They may be two games from the final, but that next one will be every bit a test of this young England team. Sweden aren't in the quarter-final by default. I'm dancing on the head of a pin, I know. I'd love to gush with unconditional, just-because enthusiasm, but I'm just too paranoid. Remember Kevin Keegan, co-commentating for ITV in the 1998 World Cup when England played Romania in the group stage? "There's only one team that can win this now, and that's England," he told Brian Moore. Five minutes later, Dan Petrescu scored Romania's winner. These things are so easily jinxed.

Southgate's gamble on taking the route more favourable may, now, be seen to have paid off, but only so far. Sweden awaits and beyond that, potentially, Russia or Croatia. There are no easy games, but there's no harm enjoying the ride as we get through them.

Who's Sarri now?

Amid all the welcome hoopla of a World Cup which has been, so far, largely good fun, this week my postbox delivered up a reminder that when it’s all over, we will return to the monied insanity that is domestic football. On Friday my 2018-19 Chelsea season ticket arrived, and with it questions about what it, actually, be good for. This year’s renewal date fell early in May, with two league games still to play plus a FA Cup Final, and with no idea what was going to happen to the manager, Antonio Conte. And there hasn't been any further news since.

The general consensus, all season long, was that Conte would be out this summer, with Napoli's Maurizio Sarri emerging as the primary candidate to replace him. Today, July 1st, there's still no clarity. Journalists have been speculating that something might be announced this week, but the silence from Chelsea has been deafening, apart from a couple of announcements about junior players (one loaned out, the other signing a new contract). Beneath the rumours, it has been assumed that Chelsea have just been taking their time to work out compensation packages for Conte (who stands to get £9 million) and releasing Sarri from Napoli (despite his role already being replaced by Carlo Ancelotti). Presumably, this is still going on.

But while that may be the headline story, the mood around Chelsea is, six weeks before the new season begins, iffy. Players don't know who they'll be playing for when they return from the World Cup or the beach, and even this week it was reported in the Evening Standard that the squad was totally in the dark as to when they were supposed to be reporting for duty for pre-season training...or who will be in charge of it.

Conte has been understandingly silent - he hasn't been seen since lifting the FA Cup at Wembley on May 19 - as has Sarri. Rumours have also swirled as to Gianfranco Zola becoming his No.2 (or not) and Michael Ballack filling the void opened up by Michael Emenalo resigning as Director of Football last year. And then we've had the likes of Eden Hazard dangling a Sword of Damacles over the club by suggesting that, unless it starts signing A-grade players soon, he’ll be off. For now, Hazard is busy with the World Cup, but it can't be long before he returns to thoughts of the day job. And, finally, there's the matter of the club's owner, Roman Abramovich, who took over Chelsea fifteen years ago today. The apparent inertia at Stamford Bridge appears to have coincided with the oligarch being denied a visa, resulting in the club announcing that plans to rebuild the Bridge have been put on hold due to the UK's “investment climate”.

Much, then, depends on the managerial situation being sorted out. Officially, Conte is still in charge, and Chelsea are apparently relaxed about it all. However, us fans aren't. Chelsea's FA Cup win last season was consolation for what was otherwise a disappointing title defence. To be starting July without any signs of player replacements - presumably because the situation regarding the head coach is not resolved - means Chelsea go into the pre-season program and the Premier League's commencement with a mixture of players, some rested from the season, some not rested from World Cup duty, and no clarity on what their marching orders will be. Thankfully the World Cup continues to provide some welcome diversion, but if news does break of Sarri's appointment and Conte's removal, expectations will be high that preparation for a tough new season will begin in earnest...and will be effective. Right now, confidence in the Chelsea board to do the right thing is low.