Updating… The Long Walk Home

Dmitri had a slight injury setback last week as the second walk over Blackheath ended in a minor calf pull, which has eased itself out now, and after two nights of non-activity this week, Dmitri and Dan set out last night from the office and walked to Lewisham over Crooms Hill again. The consensus was that the rest made the climb a little harder, and it certainly tests my poor asthma riddled chest at the top, but once that clears out of the way, it is worth it. The walk took just a couple of clicks under an hour, which disappointed Dan who is in to the speed aspect of this, while I would like to up the distance.

Tonight we take a diversion, as we walk to Maze Hill rather than Lewisham, while tomorrow’s plan (I suggested to Lee) is very much dependent on a dreadful weather forecast improving. That would leave Monday remaining for a stroll, and that would be that until December.

Keep the support going, people. I found when I got home that there were none of the aches and pains of before and I felt good (until I opened that letter – see post below), and whether the rage at what happened to me dulled out the pain, I don’t know, but I certainly did not wake up with back ache and ankle soreness as before, so I have to call it progress.

Dan said we should think about doing Lands End to John O’Groats. He really is mad. I mean, how would we ever leave the theme park in Land’s End?

Victim

After a successful return to our walking programme (more on that later), I got home knowing my History of Britain DVD box set was waiting for me, that the beloved had watched the god-awful Bruno so I didn’t have to, and that I had a very nice dinner on the cards that night. And, of course it is always good to see the beloved when I get home. In short, given the walk did not hurt at all, I was quite happy. Then….happiness turned into…

As I walked through the door I noted I had four letters. One was junk, one was the ubiquitous Virgin Media missive which, as usual, reminded me I could switch to cable. One was my mobile phone bill, which was the lowest it could be. The fourth was a mystery. It was from Nationwide.

I have had a fractious relationship with the building society after the farce with my mortgage. While I loved the guys in the Eltham Branch (most no longer there) who were so kind as to send flowers to my mum’s funeral, the attitude to this first time mortgagee by the “mutual” society was ruthless. In short, when my five year term runs out at Nationwide, so does my mortgage elsewhere.

I opened the letter. Rage started to well up. Could I contact them because there was suspicious activity on the card ending 9***  it said. Now that card has been used to purchase goods in the USA for Christmas presents. I thought Nationwide were being a bit prissy, because this wasn’t the first time it had been used in the States. So I rang the 0845 number ready to unleash hell.

Having been held for five minutes, I got some quiet bloke on the other end. After going through the security questions he then asked me a couple of very odd questions – do you make regular payments into this account (I said no, it isn’t my current account, rather a conduit for my savings to flow through); and do you know the overdraft limit (I said no, I’ve never had to use it – at this point I wondered what we’d spent on the card).

Then he put the hammer down. When asking me the last few payments (and I forgot our dogs flea drops purchase), I mentioned the American sites, and a firm we buy our vegetables from. He then said would I have made a £400 transaction to an eccount? You ever have that feeling when your stomach churns and the whole of your insides drop and it isn’t due to the beer and curry? From wanting to rage, the wind wasn’t so much taken out of my sails, as my whole ship had sunk.

It appears some fucking wanker has cloned my card. This cheeky cunt then decided to take £400 of my money out of my account and do god knows what with it. Nationwide know it is fraudulent and have said the money will be refunded, but in the meantime, when I need to stream money through that account to draw cash on my hols, I am now left hoping the replacement card (obviously that card has been stopped) will arrive in time.

I am mad as hell, and I don’t want to take this any more. I may have transgressed on things in the past, but certainly never wilfully stolen someone’s card ID and tried to nick their cash. At least muggers have to take a risk when robbing you – if you catch them at it and I am all for giving them a beating if the opportunity arises, but these cowards don’t do that. This is sneaky. I know I shouldn’t be overly exercised by this, but this stuff grates on me.  I’d love them to find out who it was, and then tell me, and let me have a word. I’m no tough guy, far from it, but this sneaky prick needs telling.

Instead he/she will probably not get caught, will do it again, and if they do get caught, i’ll probably need to understand their tough upbringing and disadvantaged background no doubt.

My thanks to Nationwide for being sharp on the ball, and hopefully they won’t charge me a fee for going overdrawn when it was nob all to do with me, and everything to do with some prick who thinks he/she could fraud me. Bastard.

I’m As Mad As Hell, And I’m Not Going To Take This Anymore…

Genius. Pure genius.

I don’t have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It’s a depression. Everybody’s out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel’s worth. Banks are going bust. Shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there’s no one anywhere that seems to know what to do with us. Now into it. We know the air is unfit to breathe, our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had 15 homicides and 63 violent crimes as if that’s the way it’s supposed to be. We know things are bad. Worse than bad. They’re crazy. It’s like everything everywhere is going crazy so we don’t go out anymore. We sit in a house as slowly the world we’re living in is getting smaller and all we say is, “Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster, and TV, and my steel belted radials and I won’t say anything.” Well I’m not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad. I don’t want you to protest. I don’t want you to riot. I don’t want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn’t know what to tell you to write. I don’t know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crying in the streets. All I know is first you’ve got to get mad. You’ve got to say, “I’m a human being. God Dammit, my life has value.” So, I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out, and yell, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!” I want you to get up right now. Get up. Go to your windows, open your windows, and stick your head out, and yell, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” Things have got to change my friends. You’ve got to get mad. You’ve got to say, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” Then we’ll figure out what to do about the depression and the inflation and the oil crisis. But first get up out of your chairs, open your window, stick your head out and yell, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

Observations From The Weekend And Beyond

You will have to get used to the more sporadic blogging as the trip to the other side of the pond approaches. This weekend the beloved and I spent our first anniversary weekend sampling the delights of walking a recalcitrant border collie around Brighton, wondering who selected the playlist for family firework night at Blackheath, and how difficult it is to get away from the damn thing, and then on Sunday, having a delicious pizza at the superb establishment that is Zerodegrees in Blackheath. And I have a money counting machine, and it rocks!

Some quick points – Statto. Received. I have the means now to do it justice, so look for a piece soon. Majestic.

Big Club Bias – so everyone and his dog seems to have a comment on Chelsea v Manchester United, and the cries of cheat are deafening all around the place. Ferguson can spout off to all but the BBC about it. He gets his poodle to do it for the BBC (how much input do you think Mike Phelan has in all this), and Wayne Rooney will not be sent to the naughty step for saying “twelve men” to the camera. By the way last night David Ngog blatantly dived to cheat Birmingham out of the win and McLeish, you can see, is pretty much told to take it like a man. Benitez’s response just about sums the fucking Premier League up…

Liverpool manager Rafael Benitez conceded he had his own doubts as to whether the incident merited a penalty but he insisted that a draw was the very least his side had deserved.

“I haven’t seen the replay but maybe it wasn’t a penalty. I still think that we deserved to win anyway,” he stated.

“Possibly it wasn’t a penalty but we have had a lot of situations during the year and one for us I think is not the worst.”

That’s it. One – amazing how these c**** take a look at the replay every time there is a dispute over a throw-in, but fail to look at it when one of their players cheats. Fucking amazing. Two – there’s some sort of moral justification for this cheating because his team deserved to win anyway. Work that one out. Three – oh, and they’ve been denied a few so this makes up for it. Cheating blatantly “is not the worst” decision he has seen. For the love of Christ.

To show how much, for example, the BBC care about this blatant cheat, and let us face it, it is the Liverpool mafia on there, the news that Torres is delaying his operation is now above that one labelling the cheating striker a fucking disgrace. I applauded Eduardo’s ban, and I want to see them ban this tosser. I know some Scouse wags would say that would do them a favour, but that’s not the point.

Now on to the jaw dropping decision of the season. Peterborough United have parted company with Darren Ferguson. Now, let me ignore the fact that he’s the offspring of the Crimson Snide, and say I have a bit of time for Ferguson. When the Windybricks turned them over on Easter Monday courtesy of a thrice taken penalty where a ref and a linesman really wanted to get noticed, the dignity and poise he showed under questioning could have taught his old man a thing or two. Yes he was upset with the penalty nonsense, no it wasn’t the reason they lost the game and he wasn’t going to use that as a fig leaf; the reason they lost were that the WindyBricks played better than them. At the time I metaphorically tipped my hat.

So Peterborough United, owned by some Irishman who like, it seems, many of his rich countryman, has got there by acting like a complete c*** to all humanity, who hired Son of Snide when languishing in the fourth tier of English football, are now at liberty to be sniffy at being bottom of the second tier of English football a couple of years later, and get shot of their manager after they lose to Newcastle. Away. Count me as one of those who, if we find out that he’s been sacked for results (and this isn’t some “you want to stay up, give me some money” “no” “well I’m off” exchange) then I pray the Posh leave the Championship at the earliest opportunity.

Last night I avoided attending the WindyBricks clash with History Stealers as (a) I didn’t want to fork out money I’d inserted in the money counting machine; (b) the FA Cup means Fuck All to me now; (c) I had gone home after physio and couldn’t be bothered to go out again and pay £15 for the pleasure when I can fatten the US economy with that little extra revenue; and (d) it was cold. As it was, the game was on the internet and I caught most of it anyway. Nice one. We won 4-1 with the correctly valued one netting a brace, the bombing axeman opening the scoring and Daniel not Pip netting a little beauty after the upstarts had pulled one back. We now go on to Ali G’s semen in the next round.

Had physio with Hatchet Harriet yesterday. Jesus, I swear she gets stronger each time. I know I call her Hatchet Harriet, but she is rather nice, although built like a five foot ball of muscle. Like the wimp I am I moaned that my shoulder had twinges in it, so she told me to lay on my back and then pulled the shoulder around the back of my head. As I started to wince, and whimper, she came out with that great line, probably beloved of physios. “Does it hurt?”. Anyway, I now have a blue band rather than a green one, she pronounced herself pleased with my progress, and told me to do the exercise that hurts the old rotator cuff the most more often. “See you in four weeks. Enjoy your holiday”. At least she didn’t have to repair my I-pod this time.

One thing I am getting back into is the NBA. Like most complete bandwagon Brits, I am a fan of the Chicago Bulls who decided he probably liked Michael Jordan more than the sport itself, and so I lapsed – especially during the dark days of Tim Floyd and his blown up Bulls. However, the series against Boston last May was so good it reignited my interest. Derrick Rose is a  tremendous talent, Brit Luol Deng is back in the team, son of Yannick, Joakim Noah is clogging up the lane, and in the currently injured Tyrus Thomas and more than handy John Salmons they can add additional scoring to the mix. It is a huge shame they couldn’t keep Ben Gordon. I have ordered some of their games on Pontel to get a flavour of the sort of team they are, and judging by the scores, they are a tough defensive team, but not a potent offensive outfit. Due to Royal Mail eccentricities, I have yet to see a game, although I am currently going through some of the vintage games I ordered from Pontel to get me in the mood.

Ah yes. “Windybricks” own David Straw won the World Heavyweight Championship outpointing a Russian Crane in a fight I listened to on the radio once we’d navigated the firework display crowds. Good on him…. I can’t comment, I’ve not seen it.

Oh yes. Family Firework night contained the following tracks in the pre-amble to the main event.

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds – The Beatles

Pass The Duchy – Musical Youth

White Lines – Grandmaster Flash

Light My Fire – (Including, of course, the line… Girl, we couldn’t get much higher) – The Doors.

Someone, somewhere, is sniggering to himself. Oh yes, they threw in “We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off” as some sort of piss-take. All we needed was Golden Brown I suppose…. Family Firework night, Phoenix Nights style. Where was Sammy The Snake?

More when the mood takes me…..

We’re Walking Up That Hill….

LATEST UPDATE – Injuries, Ikea and Inclines….

A minor setback on the road to SE9, as the fatter of the two walkers has come down with a minor calf injury. The bloody lump can’t take a couple of days uphill walking before squealing about a pain or other in his leg. Still, it is an improvement on where the previous pain was coming from – very tender I can assure you.

This week Dan and Dmitri have sort of upped their game a little. On the route home from work we will be confronted by one of the various routes up from Greenwich to Blackheath. Greenwich Park will be out of the question as it will be closing that bit earlier due to the darkness, so this means it will be either Crooms Hill or Hyde Vale. As both are roughly the same distance to Lewisham Station from the office we tried them both out this week.

Monday saw Crooms Hill. It was a last minute decision after we had received unexpected largesse from the woman in Greggs who donated us a couple of bottles of water. According to Dan, Michael Winner once called him a c*** on this hill, so it has pleasant memories. The pavement is narrow here, and when you get past the church, the pathway veers off to the right and gets exceedingly steep for us fat boys. But the pain is short, the hill flattens out and a pleasant walk across the heath ensues. Once across the A2, the route is grass on Wat Tyler Road and then turns into steep pavement downhill to Lewisham Station. 55 minutes from door to train was good going.

Yesterday we went a different route, passing the Union pub with its excellent Meantime beer (which, of course, we passed by) and then taking the first left up Hyde Vale. This is a gentler slope but seemed a lot longer, and by the end this particular undertall gent was definitely feeling it. But nothing ventured nothing gained, especially as the niggle in the calf / Achilles had turned into a full blown strain and walking started to hurt. After my jibes at Geoff Capes Syndrome, karma was inflicting its own blow on me. I hobbled into Lewisham station and the leg got worse. However, the euphoria had clearly got to Dan who challenged Dmitri to a friendly agreement that we would “walk a marathon”. I think my answer rhymed with duck toff.

So, today, we have one night off, as I rest the leg and Dan goes to Ikea with the Mrs. Once the niggle has gone it is back on the path to the long walk home. No flat routes now – it is inclines when we have the inclination. Uphill when we feel uplifted. Ascending when we feel assertive…. You get the picture.

THE LONG WALK HOME CONTINUES….DOUBTERS!

Wish Them Luck

I know I will be…. and especially for the man who really got me into baseball.

So for Pedro…. win it Phillies….

I would, of course, have been saying this if the Angels hadn’t asphyxiated against the mortal enemy, as I have no love for those whingeing, classless ass-hats (I speako Americano), but, of course, I have to watch what I say as I am in union with a Yankee wife. I knew it would come to this…..

Driven To Distraction

I am a worker in the father-feed ‘em all that is the UK public service. As such I am paid a salary akin to my job security (relative) and try to do a decent job. I don’t see that I should be the focus of public rage because the banks were slipshod and a bit like a gambler who had a big win and started to lump its money on worse outsiders. I know we attract the ire of a population suffering at the moment, but we are just like you. We just took the lower risk route. You didn’t listen to our bleats in the good times, did you? (My department cut by over a half in the “good times).

But I tell you what does get my ire. Fucking consultants, that’s who. Where I work I have two people who have been brought in from outside behind me. One is quiet and very softly spoken. I hardly know he is there. The other is as noisy as hell, a real sloanie, trying to sell houses when she is charging the public purse a fortune, talking about her property portfolio, and generally getting on my nerves as she talks about her life loudly. Add to that, and I can’t really say the nature of her work, but it isn’t rocket science, they are making the task sound like the Labours of Hercules. I see ker-farking-ching as they continue to conceptualise, talk about what is stopping them from moving on, doing memoranda and business cases, scoping and Quality-reviewing talks, but as yet, no sign of any, you know, product.

I’ll bet it over-runs. I’ll bet it comes in over-budget. And I’ll bet it is fucking awful.

It isn’t all the public sector’s fault. You know the private contractors see them as a soft touch, get themselves in, place themselves in the department’s bloodstream like a Herpes virus, and continue to infect us on certain occasions. They also charge a lot of money to cure the illness, and like bloody coldsores, none of them fucking work.

And if that fucking mobile goes off again….

Taking The Bull By The Horns…

Let’s face it – and it hasn’t only just dawned on me – that I could do with losing a few pounds and doing some more exercise. I am not going to be jogging any time soon, and Danno’s 90 odd last season for the Old Jos did trigger something in my mind along the lines of “if he can do it…”. Regrettably my chosen form of exercise, swimming, is out as I recover from my shoulder injury this summer, so walking is taking over, and with my good mate Dan (who just happens to work in the building opposite), we have decided to set an objective – a walk from our offices on the Isle of Dogs, to my house in or around the Mottingham area – after work. According to Google Maps it is around six miles. Hardly a marathon, but fuck me, it is a start….

By way of warm-ups we are walking from here to Greenwich, not via the Jesus route, as an introduction. Currently that’s about 1 and a half miles. We will up this to nearer 3 when we walk to Lewisham, and then maybe an intermediary where we walk to Lewisham and then get out at Lee and walk the rest. Before the real objective, probably after I’ve undone any gains by putting on a ton of weight in the States. The aim is to do the walk in early December.

I know it is pathetic, but by saying this, and putting it on here, I am making a commitment. I will do it. Laugh all you want!

Come and join us, if you want, fellow SE Londoners based in Docklands!

Happy Trafalgar Day

Make it a Bank Holiday – equidistant between Late Summer and Christmas, it celebrates our finest naval commander and all round philanderer, and he took on the French and Spaniards to boot, so it’ll pique them somewhat as well.

For more, read here for those who like wikipedia.

One For The S-I-L

No thermometers in sight.

Do you think Big Al Sharpton may have a problem as the white ones do seem to be taking a lead….

I Really Miss Fire Joe Morgan…

Again, all non-baseball lovers can switch off, but this was just the best site at debunking ridiculous comments by “experts”. A UK equivalent would be “Fire Andy Gray”, but I’d just need him to say “son” one more time for me to want to do that, rather than pick out his nonsense.

One of the key contributors was a guy with the name “Ken Tremendous”. I don’t know why I am posting it here, and I really don’t care, but on a thread discussing the possible career moves of the undoubted best hitter in baseball over the past few years, Albert Pujols, Ken Tremendous’s comment made me chuckle..

“If there’s any chance at all, they do it. They don’t have nearly the chips to trade (choose any seven guys from the farm system + Cano, Swisher, and anyone else who isn’t nailed down?) I don’t think, but money would never be an impediment to landing Pujols.

Jeter
Damon (on short money)
Pujols
ARod
Teixeira
Posada
My Mom
Your Mom
A Sea Lion

That line-up scores 1100 runs.”

It made me chuckle.

This was the genius at work - as fantastic a site as I have ever come across. I could only dream of being this good. They came back for one day on Deadspin, a US sports blog website, and then disappeared again. 

As I said, they always made me chuckle. Especially as one of their top targets happens to be the beloved’s favourite player.

Changes…

Bored with the set-up I had, so decided to change….. I hope this isn’t too bad for my limited readership!

Here is the full picture where the header came from… As you will possibly note, the new blog format allows me to publish slightly bigger pictures, so the lighthouses can be even bigger for you, Duke RobinO.

It is a picture of the beach on the southern part of Cozumel. Pretty horrific, eh?

Announcement – Problems

I am not sure why, but while working on the blog last night on my laptop while being literally spellbound by the England v Belarus game, I discovered that WordPress would not allow me to upload pictures onto the blog. So unless I can find out why I am getting an IO error, anything that is uploaded will be from other sources and much more limited in scope.

Other than that, I’ll try other avenues and link to them from this blog. I already have a livejournal and blogspot account (and the old place won’t be revived, before you think it will) so there are other areas if it is a wordpress only problem or if it is permanent.

Watch this space.

Map of the Day – 14 October

From the mists of time, a couple of the most memorable days of my life were spent here…..

Ah Yes… The wildlife….

This was spotted (looking at the map) on the loop of the road at the top (nr Memorial Gate) in January 2005. A truly exhilarating moment. Especially when it looked at us straight through the windscreen…..

Er, Sir Peter – it has been four and a half years, sir….. Any chance of the video footage of this?

Map of the Day – 13 October

Fondly remembering the Summer holiday up in Bonny Scotland…

A Nice Wee Town

We stayed a couple of miles south of this, and ate at the local restaurant at The Glen Hotel - where if I recall, they did a very lovely Thai curry…

It May Amuse Only Me…

But I will conduct an experiment. I paid £21.40 for a Zone 2-4 travelcard for this week. I will outline how many times someone has wanted to see this card this week as I commute to work.

Monday 12 October…

Train – Walked to the station. No-one there at Grove Park to check, as usual. In all my time using that station since I started commuting even occasionally, I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times there are people there in the morning. No-one checks when I get out at Lewisham.

DLR @ 9:35 – the Passenger Liasion Officer, or whatever it is they are called did not bother with a check.

DLR @ 18:05 – Always crowded, the Passenger Liaison Officer never, ever bothers. Want to jump a fare? I’ve never ever seen the inspectors at Lewisham.

Lewisham to Grove Park – No-one checks you in, and again, since I started commuting, no-one has checked you out.

I could have walked home but a bus turned up, and of course, showed my ticket. However, if I had no ticket I could have used my Oyster for a pound or walked home.

Checked Usage = £1

Tuesday 13 October -

Walked to station. No-one at Grove Park as usual. Got off at Lewisham. No-one checks at Lewisham.

DLR @ 9:35 – Passenger Liaison Officer looked like he was hungover, he was slouching so much. Certainly in no mood to check tickets. No-one at my get off station as usual.

You get my drift here? What’s the fine if you get caught? If you did a cost benefit analysis, I’m sure you would make a packet jumping fares and pleading guilty to the offence… Not that I could condone this in any way. You wonder why public transport isn’t as revenue generating as it should be? You think the criminals and the slackers don’t know this?

UPDATE 1 – Tuesday night. 6 pm DLR to Lewisham – no checks. Once off at Lewisham, no checks. Got on 6:30 to Grove Park, no checks getting on or leaving GP station. Again, only had to show pass to bus driver.

Checked Usage – £1 (total £2)

Wednesday 14 October -

Dynamic changed a bit as I got up early. On bus to Mottingham at 7:15 so pass obviously checked then. Arrived at Mottingham and walked through the unguarded door. No check. Got off at Lewisham at 7:55 and although two police officers were standing at the top of the stairs, they weren’t there to check tickets.

No-one checked the tickets either entering Lewisham DLR station, on the DLR itself, or getting off at my appointed station. Halfway through the week and my checked usage is £3, for a ticket value of £10.70. As I said, you think the criminals don’t know this?

Some Monday Thoughts…

All totally at random, but here goes…

While on holiday I managed to watch all 8 parts of Michael Palin’s Pole to Pole. The only thing I would say is that it got a PG certificate but at one point, Mr Palin’s appendage is clearly visible. Excuse me. He also gets his arse out too! I could get all Daily Mail here, but who cares. Actually if you read his diary extracts on line, you get a much better feel for the journey he took. I thoroughly enjoyed it and will look for the others on sale to take up a few more hours of my time.

The next book being read is by Colin Thubron and is called “Shadow of the Silk Road”. Lord knows why, because I read his book “In Siberia” and although he wasn’t as tiresome as the author of Mirrors of the Unseen (Jason Elliot – and I’ll explain why sometime but it revolves around a charicature American, his moaning about tourists, and then an incident with a camera – clue…you were a tourist too, mate) that book plodded. I am wading through it like I would a lake of treacle. Don’t expect a book review for a month.

A quick restaurant review or two. I went to the East Quay fish restaurant on Saturday in Whitstable. Jolly nice, if a little pricey. In Cornwall I had lunch in the Wellington Hotel in Boscastle, and thought the fish left a lot to be desired, but then again, I was a bit grouchy that day. At the Godolphin Hotel in Marazion, the burger was fine, but the staff need hearing aids (the mother-in-law went meal-less). The Norway Inn, on the main road between Truro and Falmouth did an excellent baguette – but lets face it, that’s tough to cock up. Harvey’s Wharf in Falmouth got good reviews from the beloved and m-i-l but I thought my whitebait was cack, and the crippling soullessness of the place probably accentuated by malaise. The sandwich and smoothie at Polzeach (near Rock) was absolutely magnificent – especially the smoothie. Although expensive, I wanted another. That’s the end of food critic corner.

I listened to the radio when the boss of the refs union suggested the Crimson Snide should be suspended. I sometimes wonder if football can get any more up its own arse, and then something comes along to banish those wonderments. Crimson Snide is a law unto himself, he does what he wants, he knows he is untouchable, and yet you feed it. If he thinks Alan Wiley is bad, then my mate Henry VIII would point him in the direction of Phil Dowd!

Hey ho. Rio Ferdinand made a dozy mistake. Why is anyone surprised? Ashley Cole makes an error trying to do too much. Why is anyone surprised? I swear, football can’t parody itself enough.

On the way home from Whitstable I had Charlton v Oldham on the radio. A League One game on Radio Five Live. It may well have been a bad game, but fuck me blind, if that had been Liverpool v Man Utd, frequently a turgid affair, I’ll bet the moans wouldn’t have formed the basis of the commentary. Have a pop at the lower leagues, twats. No-one cares.

The NFL game in London is two weeks away and my tickets haven’t shown up. Worried. Not yet. Ticketmaster said they had been despatched and we were away all last week, but there is no record of them trying to deliver the things.

I will avoid politics for the time being, except to say that Ben Bradshaw must be having a laugh. In general.

Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace prize. According to those that know about this sort of thing, he was nominated just 10 days or so into office. Hope wins you millions. I must confess I laughed. Still, Al Gore won it a couple of year’s back for a powerpoint presentation so credibility is always going to be a problem.

Nice to see Rio win the Olympics – it really needed to go there. If they can afford it, and the infrastructure is there, then it should go there, and wasn’t it amusing to see Chicago go out first depsite the Messiah making their case. Change I could believe in.

Congratulations to the Eden Project for having helpful stewards and attendants – and not utter utter jobsworths. You still couldn’t pay me to actually go in there, but at least I dropped off and picked up the beloved and m-i-l with help from the high visibility jacket brigade.

I have several beers to consume, but will say at the outset that Skinners Cornish Lager is a most acceptable beverage. I have Sharps, St Austell, Skinners, Keltek, Lizard and Wooden Hand to drink – yes, I am getting more into bitters.

It would be nice to see the Dolphins beat the Jets and pop that awful team’s bubble. It won’t happen though. A shame also that Favre and the Vikings are 5-0. The beloved’s Giants are also 5-0 and look the best of the bunch at the moment.

I know the Yankees are the best team in the MLB, but did they really need to be helped by playing Minnesota less than 24 hours after they clinched their place in the postseason and having had to go 12 innings to do so? Why didn’t they just make it clear and ask them to play with one hand tied behind their back while they were at it?

Think it easy to do without Sky Sports (or ESPN America)? I had a whole week without it and it was very bad. With nothing major on the terrestrial channels, it was a case of Sky News or those god awful channels with home auctions and what not. No wonder I watched the DVDs on the laptop (see internet problems).

Nice to see Terminal 4 has had a polish up. However, you get the feeling that the airline industry is in a really bad way at the moment, and it wasn’t exactly a hive of activity there. Maybe it was a false impression.

Now the Sox are out, at least I can sleep without looking up their score on the mobile. The beloved will be happy about that, I am sure.

WindyBricks drew 1-1 with Willie Carson and Julian Wilson’s Magic Roundabout Town, which according to the cognoscenti was a good result. Some bloke on loan scored for us, and Comes Alive got sent off. I missed a 5-0 win over the team managed by “You’ve got to have the gift, but use it at the right time.” Clearly he didn’t and he couldn’t. Not Thierry got a hat-trick, and all of them were from outside the area, and none of them bust the net. The Plassie Scousers soon got rid of “Liverpool FC is Hard As Hell”.

Enough random musings. I will return.

I Like Their Style…

Having spent a week in Cornwall and having a number of the local ales at my disposal on my return, I can vouch for the concerns a number have raised about the nanny state now turning their attention to drink as a way to tax us all further into oblivion improve public health.

A number of you may recall my post a couple of months back about Brewdog, a Scottish brewing firm, and their production of a super strength beer called Tokyo (a special edition of the brand) – the post is here.

Well, it seems as though the reaction of the idiotic press, bandwagon hopping lobby groups who won’t let reason stand in the way of a good outrage and of course, our beloved nanny politicians has affronted the good people of Brewdog. Their reaction is an absolute classic…

“NANNY STATE”

I do advise you all to read the blog article. As they say, you’d think they would get praised for producing such a responsible product, and at 1.1 ABV they have produced a beer that isn’t subject to excise duty! But of course not. There are no merits in praising a product that meets the demands of the lobby fodder..

BBC have an article on line about it, but I think the chap here misses the point…by a country mile..

“Jack Law, chief executive of Alcohol Focus Scotland, said of the new Nanny State beer: “This is a positive move which proves that low strength doesn’t compromise quality.

“However the name of the beer proves that once again this company is failing to acknowledge the seriousness of the alcohol problem facing Scotland.”"

Of course sunshine. Of course. It is a commentary on the whole bloody UK and the government interfering in all sorts you muppet, not your insular little anti-alcohol stance. This blog posting puts it as well as any..

Map Of The Day

Ah well – the descent into total randomness continues…

For all your rickshaw needs in Truro. I pity the poor rickshaw bloke who has to take me. Good luck mate!

A Message To The Scum Of The Earth

Somethings happen that really shake you, and to put it mildly, I am a bit concerned.

First of all, to the individual who inputted two words – one to do with children and the other ”n*r*o*p” (and read the word backwards – put the stars in to stop it being the subject of a further search) and got to this blog; it is a good job I am a technophobe who doesn’t know how or where IP addresses are logged, because you sick bastard deserve to be grassed up. I fucking hope you get what comes to you.

Of course, I am concerned as to how this blog ends up on a list of sites that Google search comes up with to go with such a despicable entry. It almost makes me want to stop doing it and start again from scratch.

Jesus. Life can kick you in the teeth.

UPDATE – The offending post was “Adult Entertainment – Fridge Magnet Style” which had the two offending terms in it – I’d used an acronym for No Relation Of Patrick. This has been changed. I only hope the nonces out there got absolutely distraught when they saw what they clicked on, and that they suffer a life of purgatory, knowing they’ll get caught one day.