Category: The Confessions Series

The All New Liverpool Daily Post: New Year’s fires perplex local fire services in South Liverpool

South Liverpool fire chiefs and police have been perplexed since 2 January when over fifty large bonfires have been set alight between Speke and Dingle, all of them on the grounds or near to local sports clubs.

While there have been no casualties as yet, police are proceeding on the basis that the fires are the work of a local arsonist who knows the area well enough to be able to get access to the clubs without raising suspicions and that it will only be a matter of time before some serious injury is reported.

In a statement, Chief Inspector Murray said:

“Even more bizarrely, the fires tend to consist of used sports equipment such as tennis rackets, cricket bats, hockey sticks, rugby boots and other assorted items. We ask the public to keep vigilant and remove any old sports equipment from garden sheds or other outhouses which could attract the attention of the suspected arsonist.“

Do you have any photos or CCTV footage that might aid the police? If so, please contact the news desk at the All New Liverpool Daily Post and we will pass it on to the relevant authorities.

For minute by minute coverage of this breaking news story just click here.

The All New Liverpool Daily Post est arrivé! Strange sightings at Otterspool Promenade trigger public health concerns.

The early morning promenaders of Otterspool Promenade in Aigburth, Liverpool, were treated to a grisly sight on their first morning stroll after the festive season: a make shift funeral pyre floating down the River Mersey.

In scenes reminiscent of gatherings on the Ganges, a small flaming raft was pulled ashore by coast-guards  at about 6am on Sunday 2 January in the vicinity of Riversdale Campus of Liverpool City College. Close to the site of Liverpool’s International Tennis Tournament in 2021, the area was immediately cordoned off by police and a full investigation launched.

Police were unable to confirm whether or not there were any fatalities but described the funeral pyre as consisting of a collection of second-hand burning tennis rackets, a tennis court net and dozens of used tennis balls, the makes of which are still to be confirmed.

Police also confirmed that local tennis clubs were assisting them with their enquiries.

For minute by minute coverage of this breaking news story just click here.

Get Back! Lord A.J.P.G.R. Murray of Kirkintilloch takes a call…

When I am not toning my physique, tennis technique and body-electrique, I like to tune into the old song and dance routines of the fabbest of foursomes, my old muckers, the Rutles of Rutland.

So imagine my joy when I realised recently that rather than having to watch re-runs of The Little Mermaid every afternoon, the Disney Channel has now started to broadcast every single minute of the final 21 days of the Rutles in their bio-docu-sci-fi-schlock-horror-epic, Get Back.

And what viewing it has been!  Immeasurable stop-start-keep-missing-the-punchline of ‘Don’t Let Me Down’;  Long winding looks of George who seems to be about to burst into flame any minute now; exquisite camera angles of John’s chin and NHS specs.  I have been enraptured ever since the first chord was struck on the piano.  DONG!  It’s been a Hard Days Night sat here for sure, dear reader ever since that unfortunate episode on the Mersey all those years ago.

But the best was yet to come and it seems to me that the title of the 21 day documentary – Get Back – has assumed prescient proportions. Just take a closer look at the lyrics:

Andy was a man who thought he was a loner
But he knew it couldn’t last
Andy left his coach in Tucson, Arizona
And wondered who to contact next…

And guess what happened next?  Guess who phoned the very next minute? That’s right!  I received the call from the one and only (Sir) Andrew Murray (GOAT) to become his next coach, singing it in the only way Andy knows how:

Get back, get back  (he crooned to me)
Get back to where you once belonged  ( I will Andy, I will)
Get back, get back (no need to repeat yourself Andy)
Get back to where you once belonged…

And as the dear boys from Morningside once warbled to me over a pie and peas on Waverley station:

I’m on my way from misery to happiness today, (a-ha, a-ha)

And off I set to take heed of my calling: to become the next GOAT Head Coach for the tennis industry that is Andy Murray.

All you out there in the Tennis Fraternity of 2022: you have been warned.  We are Getting Back and no longer Letting It Be.

(More on Lord Andrew J.P.G.R. Murray of Kirkintilloch’s exploits here

Publish and Be Damned! Write your most damning review and win a prize!

“And there it is… the stupidest fucking thing I’ve read all day” says a reviewer of Confessions of An Ageing Tennis Player recently.

So as Christmas is fast approaching, we’re delighted to run our seasonal promotion campaign where you get the chance to win not one, not two but three – yes three! – signed copies of Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player. The really unlucky winner will also receive a copy of the un-illustrated version of Confessions of an Ageing Football Player! now available on Amazon.

All you have to do is send in your most negative, critical or damning review of Confessions of An Ageing Tennis Player to this website by midnight on Wednesday 1 December to be in with a chance of winning our top Christmas Confessions Prizes!

1st Prize: one signed copy of Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player plus one signed copy of Confessions of Ageing Football Player

2nd Prize: two signed copies of Tennis Player!

3rd Prize: three signed copies of Tennis Player!

To qualify, please post your review on this site and add your name and contact email address. The judges retain the right to remove your post if it’s offensiveness is based on racist, misogynistic, homophobic, disablist or any other forms of hatred. (Yes, you may feel you can publish what you like – but not on this site).

Prize winners will be announced on Saturday 4 December on this website and on all the usual social media channels.

The judges decision will be final and not open to appeal.

Mmm peachy. Lord AJPGR Murray confesses.

I’m not a little relieved that my impersonator has been reunited with his plimsolls over night.

The accusatory looks I was getting from my so called neighbours was all getting a bit too much.

“The scent of peach around your legs is a bit of a give away” remarked one local wag, as his dogs kept on sniffing sniffing sniffing around my nether regions.

Just cheap aftershave I explained, trying to shoo them away in the process. The dogs weren’ t listening though and it soon became clear that I would have to take drastic action.

Fetch! I threw my trainers over the railway crossing as the gates came down, hoping those infuriating hounds would leap on to the railway track about the same time that the 15.47 Liverpool train was passing.

Jump they did, fetch they did but true to British Rail form, the 15.47 was 2 minutes late and they were able to bring me back the trainers intact, albeit covered in a slime of dog slobber. I held them up, scrutinised them and held them to my nose. Mmm, still peachy.

I put them back on my feet and marvelled at their perfect fit. My impersonator had clearly done his homework. Quite how he had found out about my size 16 feet is anyone guess – and quite how he thinks he can get around a tennis court carrying those barges at the end of his legs is quite beyond me too but I have to admit, they felt comfortable, well worn in and clearly had many tales to tell about their owners trials and tribulations on the world’s tennis courts.

I luxuriated in them for a bit longer before reconciling myself to the fact that they would need to be returned to their rightful owner, even if he was unwilling to return the title of Wimbledon champion and Sports Personality of the Year to me.

Timing is everything I mused as I posted them through the outsize postbox on the front door of his bungalow. I rang the doorbell and scarpered away as fast as I could back home. I wasn’t in the mood to confront my imposter, even if his plimsolls reminded me of the Algarve.

More insights from Lord Andrew John Paul George Ringo Murray here.