It was an angle guaranteed to raise a smile. Bowls players! Drunkenness and revelry! Carousing old coffin-dodgers! Debauched behaviour off the greens! I can’t say that I’d have treated the tale any differently, [...]]]> Note: this was originally written for the Guardian’s ‘Comment is Free’ section; it didn’t get used, so it may as well live here…

It was an angle guaranteed to raise a smile. Bowls players! Drunkenness and revelry! Carousing old coffin-dodgers! Debauched behaviour off the greens! I can’t say that I’d have treated the tale any differently, had I been editor of one of the several papers that followed up the ‘London bowls club stripped of drinks licence’ story this week.

Partly that’s because any minor news item of antisocial behaviour and noise really does need a twist to make even the local press. But it’s mainly because I play bowls, and we’re quite comfortable with the idea of the odd bit of drinking and revelry thank you very much.

I mean, we try to know our limits whilst we’re actually playing the game – the police have been called only once, for an attempted wild assault, and this was a season or two before I joined. But we’re certainly not afraid of bringing out a few tinnies whilst we play. Unless the venue has a bar, of course – in which case you’ll find a tray of lagers perched next to the green, in order to assist our concentration as we try to work out how best to draw in on the backhand.

Club bowls has less of an image problem than an image disconnect. As has the golf course, as has the tennis club, bowls has become a shorthand to outsiders for a particular stereotype.

But whilst I’m sure there are bowls clubs who do consist solely of the doddery and becobwebbed, I haven’t met one yet. On our ‘circuit’ the sport is more akin to darts or snooker – a ‘game then a few pints’ thing based around the social clubs and pubs of the area. Most leagues have no dress code – you’ll often see shorts and football tops – and the code of conduct is relaxed and occasionally ribald.

We do have pensioners, although they’re all young at heart, and are definitely in the minority. But what’s wrong with pensioners anyway? We learn from their experience, and they tend to tell the filthiest jokes in the bar.

Might things change for bowls? Might youth culture embrace this most misunderstood of sports? Probably not. My book – Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll – attempts to humanise the sport a little; during production, a meeting had to be convened at the publishers to explain to the younger staff what bowls actually was. Yet Vauxhall have recently sponsored a one-off open event in Brick Lane, complete with celebrities and DJ’s, and legendary impresario Barry Hearn is taking six of the UK’s best players to Cyprus next month to play a tournament for Sky – including walk-ons to loud rock music.

Let us feel a little genuinely sad for the players of the Temple Bowling Club in Denmark Hill. They overstepped the mark somewhere, but they’ve lost their licence and therefore they’ll probably lose their club. They’ve been the butt of a few headlines – but for me they’re perfect ambassadors for the sport.

Phoenix Williams – discovered via the This Reality Podcast, er, podcast – lives in Brighton but is a Lancastrian by birth. She’s unsigned to a major label, she sings and plays guitar and has some Strong, Strong Songs.

Blow Out/Everything’s Good – the ‘double-A single’ (if [...]]]> Occasional short reviews of what’s earworming me at present…

Phoenix Williams – discovered via the This Reality Podcast, er, podcast – lives in Brighton but is a Lancastrian by birth. She’s unsigned to a major label, she sings and plays guitar and has some Strong, Strong Songs.

Blow Out/Everything’s Good – the ‘double-A single’ (if this terminology means anything whatsoever) – is a fine showcase. A warm electric sound is built around the foundations of her voice and acoustic guitar – there’s some blues in there and a lot of energy; the producer’s been brave enough not to make the whole thing too polite. It’s got crunchy guitars and reassuringly unflattened drums, and Williams’s personality shines through nicely. I’m hoping that personality is strong enough to resist any pressure to soften out the rough edges – this is accessible music but just the right side of mainstream for me, and it would be a shame if everything got lost in a quest for some Sheryl-Crow-Lite. Looking forward to her second album.

Website: phoenixwilliams.co.uk

Idiot Johnson’s also a North Westerner – but there’s no blues and certainly no relocation to the arty South Coast for him. In fact the sense of place that comes across is palpable – small towns and shy would-be lovers – it’s heartfelt and honest stuff that paints pictures from the off. I’d guess you’d describe the music as pop with folk influences – again, he starts as a singer-songwriter, but the title track from the ‘Girl on a Train’ EP is as perfectly joyous a piece of English pop music as you’ll hear anywhere. A word, also, for the closing track (‘A Free Man in Preston’) which takes a chord sequence and melody that Benny and Bjorn would have been proud of, but slows it down with a courageously haunting arrangement that sticks with you long after the Salvation Army harmonium has faded out. Highly recommended.

Website: idiotjohnson.bandcamp.com. There are beautiful animations of two Idiot Johnson tracks at Lucy Pepper’s website: http://lucypepper.com/films/films.html

Here’s a very short excerpt:

Alex Marshall is the world number one bowls player, according to the commentator. There is something exciting about being the near-namesake of a legend, although physically we are very different. A shaven-headed bull [...]]]> Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll: published by HarperCollins UK. Available from Amazon, Waterstone’s and all good bookshops.

Here’s a very short excerpt:

Alex Marshall is the world number one bowls player, according to the commentator. There is something exciting about being the near-namesake of a legend, although physically we are very different. A shaven-headed bull of a man, he looks like he could hold his own should there be any conflict about the positioning of the mat. His opponent is Robert Chisholm, who is a young lad from Newcastle.

Barry Hearn knows what he’s doing. There is constant reference by the commentators to the players’ ‘premier league dreams’; the coverage is sponsored by a dynamic poker website; each players wears personalised glossy sports shirts, in colours that are co-ordinated with their woods – speckledy for Marshall and a bright yellow for Chisholm. The graphics whiz around the screen football-style; advertising hoardings line the bright blue carpet-green: PartyPoker dot com, Premier League Bowls, Potter’s Leisure Resort. The latter, the venue for the Premier League itself, is in Norfolk. Of course.

There is no ‘We are the Champions’, or ‘Simply The Best’ or the woman who sings repeatedly that she is ready to go. But the players walk on to loud rock, waving slightly sheepishly at the audience and cameras. They don’t have to keep their own score.

I lean forward on my sofa as Alex Marshall draws gently in on the backhand. There’s no denying it – the standard is excellent. The players have got themselves into the Zone, and are treating the audience to a masterclass of their craft. The woods are retrieved for the next end.

Suddenly the lights go out in the auditorium. ‘POWER PLAY!!!’ booms a pre-recorded voice over the P.A. ‘POWER PLAY!!!’. Immense spotlights machine-gun crazy zig-zag patterns on the mat. I involuntarily jolt backwards in alarm…

From ‘Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll’ (HarperCollins publishers.) It explores one man’s inept attempts both to get to grips with the beautiful game and to work out how his life has led to the greens. Available at Amazon now (click here). The perfect gift for the bowls enthusiast in your life.

For more ordering options – including international sales – see the information on the right.

If you are to be a successful househusband then making an effort in this department is essential. Key to your success is to be on the same wavelength with regards to ingredients.

We argue about a potato.

Here’s a very short excerpt:

Bowls works because the woods aren’t perfectly round.

As they’re not perfectly round, they travel in an arc rather than a straight line. This is the ‘bias’ of the wood – the shape and [...]]]> Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll: published by HarperCollins UK. Available from Amazon, Waterstone’s and all good bookshops.

Here’s a very short excerpt:

Bowls works because the woods aren’t perfectly round.

As they’re not perfectly round, they travel in an arc rather than a straight line. This is the ‘bias’ of the wood – the shape and weight distribution that allows you to sneak behind, between and amongst things, to bypass short woods, to approach the cott in different directions. Some are heavily biased so they swing in dramatically at the finish; others follow a more gentle and predictable curve. The manufacturers have mathematical diagrams on their websites to help purchasers choose what’s right for them.

It’s a key part of the ritual of stepping up to bowl: foot on mat, stare at head, check bias. The manufacturer’s badge or logo is generally smaller on one side of the wood than the other – this indicates the direction in which your shot will swing.

Getting that bit wrong is not advised.

“Wrong bias!!! He’s got the wrong bias!!!” cries the opposing skipper, as my wood starts out on the left and continues that way, further and further hurtling away towards the next rink. I hang my head in humiliation and shame. Getting the wrong bias is something that happens about once a year, and has no parallel in any sport. It is a relentless, slow-motion embarrassment that causes the game to stop whilst people stand, hands on hips, smirking. Hit wicket, own goals, double faults – all over in a trice. Getting the wrong bias is slow death, like starting a four-minute song before realising that it’s in much too high a key for you and that there is a further octave leap in the final chorus coming up.

An elderly lady on the next rink scuttles over from their head to prevent my wood from crashing into their own game. She gives me a Look. Having crossed the markers that define a wood as out of bounds, mine is unceremonially and brutally rolled into the ditch.

“You get the wrong bias, Alex?” yells Glen from about 27 rinks away. His voice echoes around the green.

“Wrong bias?” asks Big Andy.

“Wrong bias,” I confirm.

“Drinks on you then, mate,” calls Nigel from the other end.

From ‘Sex and Bowls and Rock and Roll’ (HarperCollins publishers.) It explores one man’s inept attempts both to get to grips with the beautiful game and to work out how his life has led to the greens. Available at Amazon now (click here). The perfect gift for the bowls enthusiast in your life.

For more ordering options – including international sales – see the information on the right.