Oooooooh Brynjar

Frigging heck. 0-3 down in the first six minutes!! Head in hands time. Whole stadium bewildered. Then slowly but surely the 'Ding get back on their feet, fix their formation, and start to boss. First Kits with a sneaky little header, then Lita following suit with a excellent header, and finally a frantic last five minutes, before king ging Brynjar launches a pile-driver at the goal. Oh dear god, that shuddering cross-bar will haunt my dreams for days to come...........ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

All in all, a diabolical performance, and a great performance... my only moan is Seol Ki-Hyeon, who could seriously benefit from knuckling down and accepting his own lack of form as his own fault. I mean not shaking Sir Steve's hand, when you're subbed, is pretty petulant behaviour. The trouble is, he's an easy target, being Korean (my perusing of online fanzines confirms that lazy racism is alive and well amongst my fellow footie cretins), and he also has an unfortunately ponderous gait, which doesn't help claims against him of "not trying hard enough". But all said and done, there's only one way to put two fingers up at your detractors, and that's to prove 'em wrong. If those couple of alleged bad-asses Oster (accidently shooting your team-mate in the eye and ending his career is quite impressive) and Lita (seemed to spend his summer months glassing / being glassed in shitey old Brizzle) can clean up their act, and start commanding the pitch like it's their own, then so can you Seol! Don't let that £1.5 million worth of talent (and talented you undoubtedly are) waste away, cause things just aren't going your way....

N.B. I am obviously transmitting this message to Seol Ki-Hyeon telepathically. Or maybe he reads my blog. Ho hum.

A Cheer-Me-Up King of Ging

In honour of last week's FA cup goal, and hopefully in anticipation of tomorrow's FA cup glory (come on the 'Ding!) I present to you Brynjar Gunnarsson. A proper ging and a 'Ding king to boot....

Did a Bad Thing

This is a day of inexplicable misery. I wake up and think: actually I don't want to go to work. So I don't. I ring up my boss, and ask for the morning off, which she is fine with. So I lie in bed, feeling over-tired and maudlin, until time runs out, and I must drag myself into the office. Of course, having failed to get in in the morning, I have a huge pile of work to do in half the time once I arrive. But my mind and mood is so feeble, I can barely touch it.

My best guess is that it is hormones - "girl problems" - or something, though these passing moods are so random, I am not sure I can blame it on that. Today I just feel incapable, stupid, hopeless, tired, shaky, weird. Everything is crap. Out in the pub on Friday, I got a passing comment, which kind of shook me up. It was said very casually, and seemed without malice, but it was a reminder of how all the words we cast out there, however innocent or unintentional, bounce off people; that even those things you think will never find their way to certain places do. This is a scary thought. I already obsess too much about past indiscretions, and how all the things I have ever done might have affected people, or could affect me in the future.

In this kind of mood I want to go away, and live on my own island. I want to become a plank of wood. I want no worries. No nothing. No loneliness. No fear. Nobody to hurt. Nobody to hurt me. Nothing. Nada.

Blogging is bad for the health.... I mean did I moan so much before my blog???? (probably but maybe not). Who did I share all my stoopid thoughts with???? And who do I think reads this???? (what's probably most worrying is that people actually do read this shit!!). Fucketty fucketty fuck fuck fuck. And one more fuck for good luck. That is all.

I've Posted this Picture Before But Some Good Things You Just Can't Get Enough of...

If it Weren't for that Devon Nerd Boy...

I'd be having a much worse day. Thankfully thinking back on last night's gig at the Shepherd's Bush Empire is enough to make any girl (and any fan of good music) smile... I would give you a nice review here, but frankly I can't be arsed, and Schwesty very kindly forwarded me this link, which seems to sum it up all too well:

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/music/gig-23353145-details/Seth+Lakeman/gigReview.do?reviewId=23386325

There was one rather marvellous moment, during a virtuoso performance of 'Kitty Jay', when all I could see was his bow bobbing above someone's head, and thanks to the smoke machine (a Seth favourite), it did actually look like he was fiddling so furiously, that he'd set himself on fire!

Embroidery was also pretty funny this morning. My teacher persuaded me to adapt my machine embroidery sample (a rather unintentional football-shaped mess) into a homage to the bad boys of football. I think my class of middle-aged ladies like to humour me, and see what "wacky" crap I can come up with next. Bless 'em.

But this afternoon I was at work, and I have been on the end of some serious cack-handedness, by a senior colleague. I am loathe to 'dob' people in, but my boss is going to get ear-ache tomorrow, when I do just that. As mistakes in my line of business could have very serious consequences, I'm pretty pissed off about the whole affair.

Anyways, gotta go, as the Swiss Miss has rescued me from an evening on the sofa, in favour of a couple of bevvies. I should be out with the lovely Choc-Chip but she was on the end of a serious bout of bad-luck yesterday, which I'm sure she she does not want repeating here. Needless to say - d'oh!!

Gone to 'Nam

Spent my Saturday evening down the pub, watching Manure vs. the Mighty 'Ding. It started off scrappy, slowly but surely turning into a good cup tie. I could watch Ronaldo missing that sitter on a loop, and happily (despite the pub being not in 'Ding town) I was clearly not the only one that found it amusing, the place positively ringing with laughter at that point, and plenty of cheering to be heard when the lovely Brynjar put away his header to get the draw....

My Manure supporting companion did not find it quite so entertaining. Ha ha ha ha. Alas the evening took a gradual turn for the worse. I had reluctantly agreed to dins at the home of said companion. I was always on thin ice, as he had previously made his feelings about me clear. I've been equally honest to him, but value his friendship greatly, so thought I should say yes, to prove my point about us being 'cool' with each other. He made a lot of effort. It was nice. But it got to that stage (post a couple of glasses of wine) when I needed to go home. He didn't want me to go. I said I had to. He said he only wanted someone to drink with, for the evening. I said let's not cross any lines. He said what lines?? He did puppy dog eyes. I felt like a heartless bitch. You get the picture. You couldn't wish to meet a lovelier man, a complete gentleman, but am very very determined not to go there, just for the sake of flattering myself. Arrgg.

So I found myself sitting on a bus, faintly drunk, feeling guilty, staring out the window at the delights of a midnight Tottenham (or the 'Nam as I prefer to call it). Tottenham is like heaven and hell. As you admire the grand architecture, and amazing glimpses of an old and untouched London, you are also desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the proper hard-asses that stalk the streets, music booming (no we don't all actually want to listen your shit Hip Hop thanks). You hear every language, and every kind of face, and realise that you are the minority here. This would be by-the-by, if you didn't get the distinct impression you're passing through a kind of ghetto. I wonder how long it will be until the 'Nam gets gentrified, and the ghetto gets pushed somewhere else?

The Best of Times and the Worst of Times

Today, in my wisdom, I decided to spring-clean my office. What started off as a minor tidy, became a three-hour military operation. Who would have thought such a small space could hold so much crap?? However all was made well, when I suddenly came upon £20 tucked away in my office drawer.

I simply cannot tell you how much pleasure this small miracle gave me. Oh how I dreamed of what I could do with this forgotten gold-mine. In fact for four whole hours I soaked in the aura of my new-found richness, telling any colleague unlucky enough to pass by of my amazing luck.

Then Disney (jokingly) asked if it actually might belong to petty-cash (seeing as part of my job is to give out cash to couriers). As the colour drained from my face, she laughed "no, it can't be, so and so from Finance would have chased it by now, it must be yours....". But no, something rang true, and suddenly I had visions of a courier who had handed cash back, so Didcot did the "right thing" and rang Finance to find out if their books balanced...

DAMN IT AND BUGGER IT AND FECK IT!!! So the glory of my extra £20 is no longer. Booo and hiss and etc. etc. So yet again I am heading down the pub, and will have to nurse one pint for approximately three hours. Great.

Spadger Tips

Firstly, have a laugh at the expense of some folkie people..........

Private Benjamin has very helpfully just pointed out that spadgers don't like coming into gardens without any plants in. Which may explain why the concrete / gravel / rubbish strewn space out back is not an attractive prospect for the little beggars!

What Day Is It??

The fact that I had completely forgotten it is Valentine's Day today goes to show how little I expect from it! I am actually feeling fairly contented, and haven't yet tired of the song that is whirling about in my head at the moment (well one line of a song), which I sat listening to at my Old Ma and Pa's place on Sunday morning, as I was sewing up my granddad's trousers, and watching the spadgers (that's dad-speak for sparrows) squabbling outside. I hear it is lame to quote song lyrics (via Choc Chip via Monky), but I don't see the difference from poetry and I do that all the time! It is from an Appalachian / British folk song called 'Come All You Fair and Tender Ladies', and I've been listening to it on the album 'Scalene' by Sandra and Nancy Kerr and James Fagan. It's a really nice album, including some great Australian songs, and the front cover is hilarious - with their multi-coloured woollen outfits, and thoughtful poses, they could not be more stereotypical folkies if they tried!

I wish I were a little sparrow,
And I had wings and I could fly,
I'd fly away to my own false lover,
And when he's talking I'd draw nigh,

But I am not a little sparrow,
I have no wings, nor can I fly,
I'll sit right here, and weep in sorrow,
And try to pass my troubles by.

Talking of which, I love the little spadgers, but no matter what I put out in the garden (peanuts, seeds, bread and the holy grail of spadger-food fat balls) they will not be tempted in.... anyone got any helpful hints??

The Current King of Ging

I present to you Mr Paul Collingwood... yes I'm shallow. Yes the England cricket team are suddenly doing well, and suddenly I notice..... ahhh but who cares?? Honourable mentions must also go to the mighty ding (beating Villa 2-0) and in particular ging-boy Steve Sidwell putting in an ace performance, and two bonza goals. Sign that contract Sidders!!

Snow Day Update

Went to the Heath with Didcot, Pedro, Shaggy, TheCroydonMassive, Zion, Burnley and Archie at lunchtime. We reverted to childhood, had a massive snowball fight, and me and Shaggy attempted to slide down Parliament Hill on our arses, failing miserably and getting very muddy / soggy in the process. Wetsham also had the misfortune to be walking past, and fell heroically under a hail of snowy missiles. Just big fun really. Never grow up.... life's too short!

But now have had to abandon my snow-boots, and hang my socks on Disney's radiator to get them dry. By doing so, I will probably incur the wrath of Private Benjamin, who stalks the office barking orders like she's still in the army, and who went to the trouble of reporting me for breaking Health and Safety regulations, after I walked round the office in my socks(!) Some people need to find themselves a life methinks ... and for once it isn't me!

Snow Day for Shooting Guns at Buses

Mmmm snowy and lovely. Unfortunately trains were working (actually on time?!?) so have managed to get into work. Am considering hitting the Heath at lunchtime, and sliding on my arse down Parliament Hill........

Yesterday me and Shaggy hit Dalston, noshed some tasty Turkish tucker, and hit the cinema to watch Babel. Our main motivation was Gael of course. However I think he probably has about 10 minutes screen time in a two and half hour film, so perhaps not worth the bother for him alone. That said, it's a thoughtful film interweaving stories (as is the 'yawn' fashion) around the ownership of a single gun. Surprise surprise everybody involved has a pretty shit day. Probably the best performance (and most excruciating) is Rinko Kikuchi as a Japanese deaf-mute teenager, who's grieving, hormonal, and can't get anyone to take any notice of her, to-boot.

There was a definite anti-American tone to it - the authorities badly over-react to the incidents in the film, and are oblivious to the devestating effects this has on the people involved. Mind you the Brits and French don't come out of it too well either. In the film there's a bunch of Euro tourists who act in an incredibly petty and callous way when something happens to someone on their tour bus. I found this a bit difficult to swallow. But maybe I'm being a little naive and the worst in people does come out in panicky situations. I just seriously hope that isn't the reality though. Anyways, I'd probably give it 7/10. Interesting but bloody depressing.

Gratutitous Pics

Bahhh self-pity is bad.... so here are some pics to cheer people up (me mostly).

1. "Gratuitous Gamst"

Morten Gamst Pedersen - a fine example of Norwegian loveliness (in the tradition of my other favourite Morten of A-Ha fame) and still magnificent despite his insistence on sporting boy-band haircuts and blond highlights....

2. "Little Long"

Shane Long - He was bullied off the ball a bit too much on Saturday, but he's only young, and frankly lovely. The best thing to come out of Tipperary since that song apparently...

Inane discovery of the day:

Scrambled eggs made in the microwave are much nicer than those cooked in the pan.

Ridiculousnessmus

Or something. My wonderful friend Monky is greatly sad at the moment, over a combination of man-badness and poorliness. All totally undeserved, but that's the way things seem right now. I too teeter curiously on the edge of maudlin at present. Today I went shopping for jeans. Every pair I tried on made me look like a hippo. I have now decided that I need to starve myself for a week or two to make this affliction better. I'm also aware that this is stupid, that I am as I am, that I will put the weight back on in a matter of days, and that a kilogram less fat has never equated it's "weight" in happiness. And yet I will still do it.

I hope that this feeling is inspired simply by a lack of light. I fear it may be a lack of man. The more I think, the more pitiful I feel, which leaves me wondering whether it wouldn't be better to be some thick bint, who wanders aimlessly through life, picking up what scraps are thrown her way. No amount of grand ambitions, supposed wit, intellect, and independence has ever got me further than acting like a embarrassing tart, a hopeless reject, or a heartless bitch, on every occasion that has called for the opposite.

Fuck it though, this is me - sometimes cool, sometimes clumsy - and I suppose I wouldn't have it any other way.

Better Get Dancing

Am just home from an evening of contemporary dance, which Didcot kindly invited me to. Three different compositions, from three different dance companies. The first one was shite of the highest order - an 'interpretation' of Alice in Wonderland, acted out (badly) by some plummy voiced eejit in a big dress, and boring boring boring. But the evening was saved by the last two acts, particularly one which ended with some lovely dance-deaths....

Otherwise my week has been chaotic - with half days off work, and general catching up needed. Spent Tuesday wasting my life down the hospital. Courtesy of "patient choice" (up there with educational choice in the fucking up of Britain stakes) I headed to far off Harlesden, which held the shortest waiting list for referrals. Three and half hours after my appointment was scheduled I started to see why no-one else chooses this hospital. Brand new hospital building - general organised chaos. It took them two hours to admit they'd lost my notes, and that was after being dismissed haughtily by the receptionist (why are they all like that??). When I finally got to see the doctor, all he did was ask me questions from a questionaire, before looking generally bemused. At one point he asked me my occupation. "Student" he said. "Er no ******* ***********". "Right student". "No ******* *********** or just put down administrator if it's easier". "Ahh School Co-ordinator". "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT'S THE FUCKING OBSESSION WITH SCHOOLS???? I AM NOT A STUDENT OR A TEACHER. I MAY DRESS LIKE ONE, BUT PLEASE!!!!!" (naturally I didn't actually say that being far too English about it all). He then proceeded to send me to another department to have bloods taken, which surprise surprise didn't open until 40 minutes later. From my 10.10 appointment, I dragged myself into work at 15.00, and all for a questionaire and a blood sample. And joy of joys I'm trooping back to the beloved place in two month's time, so they can do what they could easily have done then, and saved me, the country, the NHS, the time, the effort, and the money. I know it's a cliche, but working with the NHS as I do, and currently experiencing it as a patient, it really is a bottomless pit of money-wasting. And all because it is managed so very very woefully. The staff and the money are there. The management brain cells (from the top down) just aren't unfortunately. But never write off an experience completely. There was a great "blitz" spirit in the waiting room, with me, an equally bored nurse (turned patient), and a Jamaican lady, taking bets on how long we'd be stuck there, and an elderly gentleman so overwhelmed with excitement when he finally got called for his appointment two hours late, he broke into applause, and shouted at the top of his voice "God Bless America!".