Thankfully it's NOT a fair reflection on their collection!
Honest!
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
How exciting is this?
I kid you not...this is a genuine display case from the Horniman Museum!
Thankfully it's NOT a fair reflection on their collection!
Honest!
Thankfully it's NOT a fair reflection on their collection!
Honest!
Monday, 30 March 2009
Blimey! They've got the RIGHT time!
Where? Actually it's a place where you'd expect the correct time. At a train station. Where clocks are quite important if you got one to catch.
At London Bridge station which I use practically every day you get onto the main concourse from the platforms & there's an escalator in the middle, leading down to the Underground. You walk through some modernised arches, which have small posh shop units on either side, known as 'The Vaults'. I think of it as 'expensive stuff I can't afford', and continue to pop into Sainsburys or Somerfield on the way home.
Hanging from the season is an electronic clock. And it's correct to the minute. Which is fine. The problem is it's out to the hour! I noticed it when I got back from Prague last October, when the clocks had gone back sixty minutes for winter time. I naively assumed they'd just not had time to re-adjust it, and expected them to have done so by the next morning. But the next day became a week, which became a month, which became...two o'clock last Sunday morning when the clocks went forward again for the start of British Summer Time, and now HEY PRESTO it's perfect again!
Incompetence at its best!
At London Bridge station which I use practically every day you get onto the main concourse from the platforms & there's an escalator in the middle, leading down to the Underground. You walk through some modernised arches, which have small posh shop units on either side, known as 'The Vaults'. I think of it as 'expensive stuff I can't afford', and continue to pop into Sainsburys or Somerfield on the way home.
Hanging from the season is an electronic clock. And it's correct to the minute. Which is fine. The problem is it's out to the hour! I noticed it when I got back from Prague last October, when the clocks had gone back sixty minutes for winter time. I naively assumed they'd just not had time to re-adjust it, and expected them to have done so by the next morning. But the next day became a week, which became a month, which became...two o'clock last Sunday morning when the clocks went forward again for the start of British Summer Time, and now HEY PRESTO it's perfect again!
Incompetence at its best!
Sunday, 29 March 2009
What a difference an "i" & a "y" makes...
When the word involves the word 'horny'!
On Friday, as I told you, I was off work. By complete coincidence my mate Fidel was planning to visit the Horniman Museum, in Forest Hill. This place is well known locally.
It has been around for over a hundred years. Parts of it haven't changed since I was at primary school, which was less than a mile down the road. We were often taken her on 'fake' school trips, meaning they were free, & very little organisation or transport costs for the teachers. But they were still fun. And back in those days, up until my mid teens, we often popped in there at weekends, not to learn as such, but somewhere to mess about and wind up the attendants, eventually getting chased out! In adulthood I continue to go back, probably three or four times a year. Even if you've seen most of it there's always something interesting to see again. It's also a trip down memory lane, see what hasn't changed, and also amazed at home 'modern' & 'hands on' some displays are. The music room is amazing.Instruments from all over the world, some old, some modern, with individual numbers.
All the way down the room are low 'tables' with pictures on the flat top of 'interactive instruments'. It's a touch friendly thing, where you find the number you want & pictures & words come up on the top telling you about the instrument, and sound comes out playing it!
Now you're probably thinking...'and?' but to someone as 'technophobic' and old fashioned, tone deaf & musically challenged as me it's a modern miracle machine! I know nothing about music, cannot & have never played an instrument, well ok, briefly the recorder at primary school, and maybe hit a triangle in the annual nativity play! But you know what i mean. Someone like me should be bored to tears by this collection, but it fascinates & totally entertains me. It makes the museum worth visiting on its own.
On Facebook I commented that I was: "going to visit the Horniman on his day off...not quite the 'horny man' he'd prefer, it's a museum & a wonderfully eclectic free one, so it could be worse! ;-) "
So it was the hornIman on Friday, but today I got my hornYman! Got a text from Ali from Leyton, the lad who likes dreassing up in leather! Now it doesn't do much for me, but he's young (late twenties) & got nice cock! The 'downside' is I think he's very confused sexually! (Not that I'm complaining! ) He's happy to have his cock sucked, & wank me off, but that's as far as he wants to go! Though he seems to like me spanking him a little! But I think he's very confused sexually. Meaning brings round straight porn to watch, which isn't so bad if you ignore those horrible flappy bits on the girls! ;-) But the good thing is I put my gay porn on the DVD, and he watches his on the laptop. Best of both worlds!
But he gets off on talking about how sexy his sister is, but thinks me trying to lick or touch his arse is 'dirty' even though he gets off on me massaging a finger up it while I'm give him a blow job! Confused fella!
Still I can't complain, it's certainly better than an old fashioned five knuckle shuffle on your jacks!
And not a bad way to spend an hour or so on a Sunday evening.
Just after he left a football friend 'Blabber' was popping round to drop off some of his old programmes he no longer wanted, so for the next half hour I was dashing round putting my dildo, lube, & porn out of sight! He knows I'm gay, but despite what he says, I think he's a bit two faced & bigoted underneath all that! But I can cope with that as long as he doesn't say anything to my face. What he gossips about I tend not to worry about, even though most of what's said gets back to me anyway! But I don't intend to give him any more 'ammunition'!
I recall when I came out to my football friends about ten years or so ago, still in my drinking days. Despite the fact everyone was extremely supportive it is still the most emotional moments of my life, and very tearful! But also totally liberating and empowering. I've sometimes wondered if I would have been able to face up to my alcoholism if I hadn't come out as gay to my friends first? Who knows?
'Blabber' was apparently fine about it to my face, but only a couple of nights later he was in the bar on a training night. Blabbing-hence the tag!- & slagging me off behind my back to the actual First Team players! Thankfully the barmaids, who liked me, tipped me off, and put me 'back in the closet' on my behalf, saying he was 'stirring' & 'joking', & I never got any grief from them. Of course I'm sure some wouldn't have believed him, but that wasn't important. What hurt in a way was the confirmation that he couldn't always be trusted. I'm not ashamed of being gay, & liking men. Otherwise I wouldn't have told people. But he was out of order for the hypocracy. i've never mentioned to him that I knew wah t he did. That's something that gives me a bit of satisfaction, knowing over him!
I'm sure there are some other Hamlet fans who are, indeed one-at least- I know most certainly is, but will stay hidden in the closet until he dies. Which I find, in the twenty first century, extremely sad. But each to his own, he has to sort his life out, and I've enough on my plate trying to improve mine!
I still speak to the 'Blabber' today, but he's 'just a mate', not what I could qualify as a true friend. In all honesty what I call 'true friends' you could count on the fingers of one hand. Definition of a 'true friend'? Hard to explain. But in my book it's someone who you would do anything for, inconvenience yourself to help, and always be there for them, no matter what. And believe they will do the same for you. That's why I may only have a few, but they are the best people in the whole wide world!
On Friday, as I told you, I was off work. By complete coincidence my mate Fidel was planning to visit the Horniman Museum, in Forest Hill. This place is well known locally.
It has been around for over a hundred years. Parts of it haven't changed since I was at primary school, which was less than a mile down the road. We were often taken her on 'fake' school trips, meaning they were free, & very little organisation or transport costs for the teachers. But they were still fun. And back in those days, up until my mid teens, we often popped in there at weekends, not to learn as such, but somewhere to mess about and wind up the attendants, eventually getting chased out! In adulthood I continue to go back, probably three or four times a year. Even if you've seen most of it there's always something interesting to see again. It's also a trip down memory lane, see what hasn't changed, and also amazed at home 'modern' & 'hands on' some displays are. The music room is amazing.Instruments from all over the world, some old, some modern, with individual numbers.
All the way down the room are low 'tables' with pictures on the flat top of 'interactive instruments'. It's a touch friendly thing, where you find the number you want & pictures & words come up on the top telling you about the instrument, and sound comes out playing it!
Now you're probably thinking...'and?' but to someone as 'technophobic' and old fashioned, tone deaf & musically challenged as me it's a modern miracle machine! I know nothing about music, cannot & have never played an instrument, well ok, briefly the recorder at primary school, and maybe hit a triangle in the annual nativity play! But you know what i mean. Someone like me should be bored to tears by this collection, but it fascinates & totally entertains me. It makes the museum worth visiting on its own.
On Facebook I commented that I was: "going to visit the Horniman on his day off...not quite the 'horny man' he'd prefer, it's a museum & a wonderfully eclectic free one, so it could be worse! ;-) "
So it was the hornIman on Friday, but today I got my hornYman! Got a text from Ali from Leyton, the lad who likes dreassing up in leather! Now it doesn't do much for me, but he's young (late twenties) & got nice cock! The 'downside' is I think he's very confused sexually! (Not that I'm complaining! ) He's happy to have his cock sucked, & wank me off, but that's as far as he wants to go! Though he seems to like me spanking him a little! But I think he's very confused sexually. Meaning brings round straight porn to watch, which isn't so bad if you ignore those horrible flappy bits on the girls! ;-) But the good thing is I put my gay porn on the DVD, and he watches his on the laptop. Best of both worlds!
But he gets off on talking about how sexy his sister is, but thinks me trying to lick or touch his arse is 'dirty' even though he gets off on me massaging a finger up it while I'm give him a blow job! Confused fella!
Still I can't complain, it's certainly better than an old fashioned five knuckle shuffle on your jacks!
And not a bad way to spend an hour or so on a Sunday evening.
Just after he left a football friend 'Blabber' was popping round to drop off some of his old programmes he no longer wanted, so for the next half hour I was dashing round putting my dildo, lube, & porn out of sight! He knows I'm gay, but despite what he says, I think he's a bit two faced & bigoted underneath all that! But I can cope with that as long as he doesn't say anything to my face. What he gossips about I tend not to worry about, even though most of what's said gets back to me anyway! But I don't intend to give him any more 'ammunition'!
I recall when I came out to my football friends about ten years or so ago, still in my drinking days. Despite the fact everyone was extremely supportive it is still the most emotional moments of my life, and very tearful! But also totally liberating and empowering. I've sometimes wondered if I would have been able to face up to my alcoholism if I hadn't come out as gay to my friends first? Who knows?
'Blabber' was apparently fine about it to my face, but only a couple of nights later he was in the bar on a training night. Blabbing-hence the tag!- & slagging me off behind my back to the actual First Team players! Thankfully the barmaids, who liked me, tipped me off, and put me 'back in the closet' on my behalf, saying he was 'stirring' & 'joking', & I never got any grief from them. Of course I'm sure some wouldn't have believed him, but that wasn't important. What hurt in a way was the confirmation that he couldn't always be trusted. I'm not ashamed of being gay, & liking men. Otherwise I wouldn't have told people. But he was out of order for the hypocracy. i've never mentioned to him that I knew wah t he did. That's something that gives me a bit of satisfaction, knowing over him!
I'm sure there are some other Hamlet fans who are, indeed one-at least- I know most certainly is, but will stay hidden in the closet until he dies. Which I find, in the twenty first century, extremely sad. But each to his own, he has to sort his life out, and I've enough on my plate trying to improve mine!
I still speak to the 'Blabber' today, but he's 'just a mate', not what I could qualify as a true friend. In all honesty what I call 'true friends' you could count on the fingers of one hand. Definition of a 'true friend'? Hard to explain. But in my book it's someone who you would do anything for, inconvenience yourself to help, and always be there for them, no matter what. And believe they will do the same for you. That's why I may only have a few, but they are the best people in the whole wide world!
Saturday, 28 March 2009
I should've been in France!
Yesterday I happened to have the day off work. I had hoped to be in France for the weekend, but lack of funds conspired against me. As did late fixture planning by the Gaffer who currently runs the Dulwich Hamlet Supporters' Football Team.
Those who know me I am still slowly, but surely, paying back long term debts, stretching back to my drinking days, when I ignored all bills in pursuit of my only idol alcohol, & ran up huge debts with various credit companies, some of which I'm repaying, others...well if I think I'm financially fucked now I dread to think how bad it would be if ever they caught up with me!
I could pay back what I owe quicker than I do, but if I were to live on a diet of beans on toast, & stay cocooned within my four square walls of my flat I would crack up completely, & it would be back to square one.
So I pay back what I can afford, & basically live on a monthly income of about two hundred quid, after all bills, repayments & rent. Which has to inlcude food, and basic living costs which we always seem to 'forget about' unless money is tight. stuff like laundrette, washing powder, shampoo, toilet paper, that sort of stuff.
Out of this I try to save a few pence for my trips abroad, which really are the highlights of my year, though I live extrmely frugally on them. Staying at backpackers hostels, & practically eating out of chip shops and supermarkets. One day, in a few years time, I will be able to 'treat' myself when debts are clear, to a 'real' hotel & 'proper' meals in restaurants. I enjoy going to visit new grounds to watch foreign football on my jaunts, as well as ice hockey, if I can find any. I'm also 'fortunate' in that I love going around taking photographs of empty grounds and also cemeteries, both of which are time consuming, but free!
I pick and choose my trips carefully, and can only go on a few of them a year. At the end of February I went to Belgium for a long weekend. I stayed in a Belgian Youth Hostel in Mechelen on the Friday night, having watched one of the local teams. I didn't see anything of the town centre though, as I spent the afternoon at Fort Breendonk. In the morning I headed to Namur on the Saturday morning, to stay with my good friends Belgian Anorak & his fiancee Rocky. I really do love them as thoroughly decent people. And they are kind enough to put me up in their house for a couple of nights. On Saturday evening we saw Namur get stuffed again, this time at FC Brussels, & on the Sunday he drove to Paris to watch PSG! Magnifique!
I now have a big soft spot for PSG, thanks to my friendship with Belgian Anorak. But my first Parisian love is for 'little' Red Star. It really was love at first sight when I first went there in early 2004! And how that came about is somewhat strange too! I happened to pick up a discarded copy of the 'Independent on Sunday' which carried a story about the imminent demolition of the Stade de Colombes, in Paris. Which was the Olympic stadium from 1924, & also staged the 1938 World Cup Final. Now up until then I'd never been to France properly before, apart from day trips to Calais or Boulogne, which don't really count. Oh, and one to Dunkirk, I've just recalled. But they were just day trips with school, or family type things, or piss ups doing beer runs with mates. Even going there to get drunk on my own! My very first trip across the Channel was when I was about eight or nine, on a day trip to Boulogne, with the 8th Camberwell Cub Scouts! It was a great adventure for me, though iIdon't recall anything about it. On our return there was an essay competition on the day for all f the cub packs in the Camberwell area, and despite my really untidy writing, I won! I think I got a really boring (at the time) book on planets & the universe. I wish I still had it as a little momento. I thnik this was one of the few times in my life that my mum was proud of me...
Until my first visit to Red Star I didn't like the French, & thought they were rude bastards. It's true they still are...but I am English after all, what do you expect me to say! So how did I end up a Red Star from afar? It could quite easily have been another old, historic French club called Racing, who are based at Colombes.(It is also home to the Racing rugby union club) Until the fickle hand of fate stepped in! I had booked an overnight coach from Victoria to Paris for the Saturday night, go to watch the Racing match on the Sunday afternoon, & make the return overnight coach trip that night. But after I'd booked the tickets the Racing fixture was switched to the Saturday. So my chosen game was off for when I was in Paris. Fuck it! I dropped an email to my mate History Snob, and he suggested I go to watch Red Star, who had a nice old stadium, with a good fan base for their level, which was then a regional division six. I liked the ground straight away. I located the club shop & bought a few souvenirs, asking the geezer behind the jump if he spoke English, but the answer was 'non'. Not to worry. At half time I was minding my own business when the Club Shop Man came up to me with another bloke...who was a Red Star fan, originally from England! I spent the whole of the second half chatting to him, and ended up with my photo on their website, for which he does a regular English page! I told him we had a Supporters' Team, & said, only half in jest, that if ever they raised a side we'd go over to play them. Which we did the following season! And I've been back to at least one game every season since. Until this one, which finally brings me back to the weekend! I had this weekend booked off as annual leave since the start of the season, as I picked out the fixture away to Le Havre B to go to.
This was to have been my last foreign trip until the Supporters' Team summer tour to Helsinki in late July. Now Helsinki is an expensive city at the best of times, even more so with the economy being fucked, & the pound crashing against the euro. But I haven't missed a tour yet, since I instigated the first one to Amsterdam, in May 2002. Following which, incidentally, I stopped drinking, and have been sober ever since! For the last three seasons we have also had a mid-season European 'mini-tour' over a weekend. But this year we didn't. The Gaffer originally gave the the go-ahead to investigate one for Lisbon, but as soon as I did, and starting making initial contacts, he pulled the rug from under me, never having given a reason as to why. It me feel so small & a total cunt, and I've never been given a satisfactory explanation as to why. Though that's all history now, in the past. It's not worth dwelling on it. I know I did everything correctly & all I've lost, apart from a bit of face, is some personal respect for him as a person.
Later he explained it away by saying there was to be no mid-season tour because he thought some people might not be able to afford two tours, what with Helsinki being a little more expensive as a destination. Which is perfectly feasable...
In the meantime the Belgian PSG supporters' team had got an invite to the Queens Park supporters' tournament in the middle of June. So I decided I could just afford a weekend up in Glasgow, combining meeting them & cheering on the Belgians, with a bit of sightseeing, for a long weekend.
So my 2009 holidays were all laid out, as I could afford them...just! February-Belgium. March-Le Havre. June-Glasgow. July-Helsinki, from where I'm oving on to Riga, in Latvia, for a couple of days; then, lastly, my annual birthday trip to Prague in October.
Then came an amazing two faced about turn from the Gaffer! Suddenly-after having booked Glasgow- we are now in a tournament in Brussels, run by the Union Saint Gilloise supporters' the weekend after the Scotland trip! I've not missed a tour yet, and have no plans to do so now, but two foreign trips in consecutive months really is crazy-even more so for me who is semi-permanently 'fiscally challenged'. I'm committed to seven days in Finland & Latvia, which I could have cut to four. And five in Scotland, which could have been only two. Which would then have left me enough to go to both Le Havre this weekend, & also Brussels.
But I had to knock Le Havre on the head, & stay at home to try to keep some money back, which isn't easy at the best of times. It will mean, for the first time since I've been following them, I haven't watched Red Star during a season. I will try to squeeze in a very short, probably consecutive overnight coach trips, in late May, to see them. But how I really wanted to go, or where. I know I will enjoy the Brussels tournament when I'm there, but it really is an expense I could do without. Yes, I could just choose not to go, but it is something I do not want to miss. I can-& do-travel cheaply, & live on proverbial peanuts, so will just cope. At the moment I'm not entirely sure how, but I will!
Those who know me I am still slowly, but surely, paying back long term debts, stretching back to my drinking days, when I ignored all bills in pursuit of my only idol alcohol, & ran up huge debts with various credit companies, some of which I'm repaying, others...well if I think I'm financially fucked now I dread to think how bad it would be if ever they caught up with me!
I could pay back what I owe quicker than I do, but if I were to live on a diet of beans on toast, & stay cocooned within my four square walls of my flat I would crack up completely, & it would be back to square one.
So I pay back what I can afford, & basically live on a monthly income of about two hundred quid, after all bills, repayments & rent. Which has to inlcude food, and basic living costs which we always seem to 'forget about' unless money is tight. stuff like laundrette, washing powder, shampoo, toilet paper, that sort of stuff.
Out of this I try to save a few pence for my trips abroad, which really are the highlights of my year, though I live extrmely frugally on them. Staying at backpackers hostels, & practically eating out of chip shops and supermarkets. One day, in a few years time, I will be able to 'treat' myself when debts are clear, to a 'real' hotel & 'proper' meals in restaurants. I enjoy going to visit new grounds to watch foreign football on my jaunts, as well as ice hockey, if I can find any. I'm also 'fortunate' in that I love going around taking photographs of empty grounds and also cemeteries, both of which are time consuming, but free!
I pick and choose my trips carefully, and can only go on a few of them a year. At the end of February I went to Belgium for a long weekend. I stayed in a Belgian Youth Hostel in Mechelen on the Friday night, having watched one of the local teams. I didn't see anything of the town centre though, as I spent the afternoon at Fort Breendonk. In the morning I headed to Namur on the Saturday morning, to stay with my good friends Belgian Anorak & his fiancee Rocky. I really do love them as thoroughly decent people. And they are kind enough to put me up in their house for a couple of nights. On Saturday evening we saw Namur get stuffed again, this time at FC Brussels, & on the Sunday he drove to Paris to watch PSG! Magnifique!
I now have a big soft spot for PSG, thanks to my friendship with Belgian Anorak. But my first Parisian love is for 'little' Red Star. It really was love at first sight when I first went there in early 2004! And how that came about is somewhat strange too! I happened to pick up a discarded copy of the 'Independent on Sunday' which carried a story about the imminent demolition of the Stade de Colombes, in Paris. Which was the Olympic stadium from 1924, & also staged the 1938 World Cup Final. Now up until then I'd never been to France properly before, apart from day trips to Calais or Boulogne, which don't really count. Oh, and one to Dunkirk, I've just recalled. But they were just day trips with school, or family type things, or piss ups doing beer runs with mates. Even going there to get drunk on my own! My very first trip across the Channel was when I was about eight or nine, on a day trip to Boulogne, with the 8th Camberwell Cub Scouts! It was a great adventure for me, though iIdon't recall anything about it. On our return there was an essay competition on the day for all f the cub packs in the Camberwell area, and despite my really untidy writing, I won! I think I got a really boring (at the time) book on planets & the universe. I wish I still had it as a little momento. I thnik this was one of the few times in my life that my mum was proud of me...
Until my first visit to Red Star I didn't like the French, & thought they were rude bastards. It's true they still are...but I am English after all, what do you expect me to say! So how did I end up a Red Star from afar? It could quite easily have been another old, historic French club called Racing, who are based at Colombes.(It is also home to the Racing rugby union club) Until the fickle hand of fate stepped in! I had booked an overnight coach from Victoria to Paris for the Saturday night, go to watch the Racing match on the Sunday afternoon, & make the return overnight coach trip that night. But after I'd booked the tickets the Racing fixture was switched to the Saturday. So my chosen game was off for when I was in Paris. Fuck it! I dropped an email to my mate History Snob, and he suggested I go to watch Red Star, who had a nice old stadium, with a good fan base for their level, which was then a regional division six. I liked the ground straight away. I located the club shop & bought a few souvenirs, asking the geezer behind the jump if he spoke English, but the answer was 'non'. Not to worry. At half time I was minding my own business when the Club Shop Man came up to me with another bloke...who was a Red Star fan, originally from England! I spent the whole of the second half chatting to him, and ended up with my photo on their website, for which he does a regular English page! I told him we had a Supporters' Team, & said, only half in jest, that if ever they raised a side we'd go over to play them. Which we did the following season! And I've been back to at least one game every season since. Until this one, which finally brings me back to the weekend! I had this weekend booked off as annual leave since the start of the season, as I picked out the fixture away to Le Havre B to go to.
This was to have been my last foreign trip until the Supporters' Team summer tour to Helsinki in late July. Now Helsinki is an expensive city at the best of times, even more so with the economy being fucked, & the pound crashing against the euro. But I haven't missed a tour yet, since I instigated the first one to Amsterdam, in May 2002. Following which, incidentally, I stopped drinking, and have been sober ever since! For the last three seasons we have also had a mid-season European 'mini-tour' over a weekend. But this year we didn't. The Gaffer originally gave the the go-ahead to investigate one for Lisbon, but as soon as I did, and starting making initial contacts, he pulled the rug from under me, never having given a reason as to why. It me feel so small & a total cunt, and I've never been given a satisfactory explanation as to why. Though that's all history now, in the past. It's not worth dwelling on it. I know I did everything correctly & all I've lost, apart from a bit of face, is some personal respect for him as a person.
Later he explained it away by saying there was to be no mid-season tour because he thought some people might not be able to afford two tours, what with Helsinki being a little more expensive as a destination. Which is perfectly feasable...
In the meantime the Belgian PSG supporters' team had got an invite to the Queens Park supporters' tournament in the middle of June. So I decided I could just afford a weekend up in Glasgow, combining meeting them & cheering on the Belgians, with a bit of sightseeing, for a long weekend.
So my 2009 holidays were all laid out, as I could afford them...just! February-Belgium. March-Le Havre. June-Glasgow. July-Helsinki, from where I'm oving on to Riga, in Latvia, for a couple of days; then, lastly, my annual birthday trip to Prague in October.
Then came an amazing two faced about turn from the Gaffer! Suddenly-after having booked Glasgow- we are now in a tournament in Brussels, run by the Union Saint Gilloise supporters' the weekend after the Scotland trip! I've not missed a tour yet, and have no plans to do so now, but two foreign trips in consecutive months really is crazy-even more so for me who is semi-permanently 'fiscally challenged'. I'm committed to seven days in Finland & Latvia, which I could have cut to four. And five in Scotland, which could have been only two. Which would then have left me enough to go to both Le Havre this weekend, & also Brussels.
But I had to knock Le Havre on the head, & stay at home to try to keep some money back, which isn't easy at the best of times. It will mean, for the first time since I've been following them, I haven't watched Red Star during a season. I will try to squeeze in a very short, probably consecutive overnight coach trips, in late May, to see them. But how I really wanted to go, or where. I know I will enjoy the Brussels tournament when I'm there, but it really is an expense I could do without. Yes, I could just choose not to go, but it is something I do not want to miss. I can-& do-travel cheaply, & live on proverbial peanuts, so will just cope. At the moment I'm not entirely sure how, but I will!
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Been there, dunnit!
CON-GREGATION said the headline. Well headline's too big to describe it really. It was only one of those one sentence snippets that pad out papers. And the sentence in question was: 'A conman posing as a worker at Salisbury Cathedral mayhave duped hundreds of visitors into giving him cash donations'
I like that bit about 'cash' donations. What else were they going to give him? Here you are squire have my bible, I'm just leaving & don't need it anymore...
But what made me chuckle about the tale was the trip down memory lane it took me. All the way back to September 1978. For Salisbury read Canterbury!
I can date it so perfectly as my team Dulwich Hamlet were away to Canterbury City in the first qualifying round of the FA Cup, & I'd pursuaded my best mate (& wank buddy for several teenage years actually..I've often wondered what became of him...probably married with a couple of kids!) and his cousin to go to the match with me. We got the train down and strolled around the town. Which inevitably meant diving into the famous cathedral. Being a Saturday morning it was packed with tourists. And one thing about these christian types is that they do love their candles. And candles means money! Now we're not thieves! We didn't smash open a collection box, or anything like that. More your Sarf Lunnon wide boy apprentice entrepreneurs! So we stood in front of the collection box, & honed our finest choirboy voices, 'selling' the candles! And we were doing a roaring trade on behalf of the 3rd Canterbury Scouts, when questioned! Or were until rumbled after about half an hour by some strange bloke in a skirt...cassock I think they call it! If I knew then what I know about lots of priests I think I'd have allowed him to catch me & take any 'private' punishment he chose to dish out!
But back then, when you're thirteen or so, it was like a Benny Hill chase, as we told him to fuck off, called him a cunt and he chased us along & around the pews, with other weird men of the cloth joining in, before we thought they might actually grab us & we dived out of a side door! I'm not sure how much we made back then, but if memory serves me right it more than paid for all of our train fares, & the money to get int the game!
Which was played at the old speedway stadium, where they shared at. You were miles from the pitch & we got bored...
At half time we walked round the track & there was a shed behind the goal with a tractor in it, presumably used for pitch maintenance. Now I ca't drive, and have never had any interest in motors whatsoever. But my mate could.And guess what ?The key was in it! But he wasn't a tractor driver, though he could nick a Ford Escort or two. So we could only get it to shake, and stop-start.
By now the second half had started. And then came a tannoy anouncement I've never heard at a football ground before or since: "Would the boys behind the goal please get off of the tractor before we call the police!"
I like that bit about 'cash' donations. What else were they going to give him? Here you are squire have my bible, I'm just leaving & don't need it anymore...
But what made me chuckle about the tale was the trip down memory lane it took me. All the way back to September 1978. For Salisbury read Canterbury!
I can date it so perfectly as my team Dulwich Hamlet were away to Canterbury City in the first qualifying round of the FA Cup, & I'd pursuaded my best mate (& wank buddy for several teenage years actually..I've often wondered what became of him...probably married with a couple of kids!) and his cousin to go to the match with me. We got the train down and strolled around the town. Which inevitably meant diving into the famous cathedral. Being a Saturday morning it was packed with tourists. And one thing about these christian types is that they do love their candles. And candles means money! Now we're not thieves! We didn't smash open a collection box, or anything like that. More your Sarf Lunnon wide boy apprentice entrepreneurs! So we stood in front of the collection box, & honed our finest choirboy voices, 'selling' the candles! And we were doing a roaring trade on behalf of the 3rd Canterbury Scouts, when questioned! Or were until rumbled after about half an hour by some strange bloke in a skirt...cassock I think they call it! If I knew then what I know about lots of priests I think I'd have allowed him to catch me & take any 'private' punishment he chose to dish out!
But back then, when you're thirteen or so, it was like a Benny Hill chase, as we told him to fuck off, called him a cunt and he chased us along & around the pews, with other weird men of the cloth joining in, before we thought they might actually grab us & we dived out of a side door! I'm not sure how much we made back then, but if memory serves me right it more than paid for all of our train fares, & the money to get int the game!
Which was played at the old speedway stadium, where they shared at. You were miles from the pitch & we got bored...
At half time we walked round the track & there was a shed behind the goal with a tractor in it, presumably used for pitch maintenance. Now I ca't drive, and have never had any interest in motors whatsoever. But my mate could.And guess what ?The key was in it! But he wasn't a tractor driver, though he could nick a Ford Escort or two. So we could only get it to shake, and stop-start.
By now the second half had started. And then came a tannoy anouncement I've never heard at a football ground before or since: "Would the boys behind the goal please get off of the tractor before we call the police!"
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Read the bloody label!
I was well pissed off at work today! I don't usually blog about work, in fact I avoid mentioning work like the plague, having almost lost my job through blogging back in January 2006. Only keeping it thanks to the strong support of my trade union. Without whom I would not be here now, as I have no doubt I would have ended my life in the mental state I was in at the time if I had joined the ranks of the unemployed.
So I will be careful what I say...
On Friday I popped into the supermarket on the way home, buying a few bits & pieces as it was payday. I picked up two bargain packets of ten slices of roast beef, down from £2.95 a packet of ten slices to only 65p! Their use by date was at midnight. but, as with most pre-packed foods, you have a good few days of leeway after that. My rule of thumb when picking up almost out of date bargains like that is to sniff before I eat. You can tell if something is off or not. The idea was to make some sarnies to keep me going as I was at work on Saturday, & out and about on Sunday. sods law, typical of me, I forgot to make them. But I wasn't going to let them go to waste. Beef is a bit pricy for me to buy on a regular basis, hence when I saw them on the reduced shelf I quickly grabbed them. It really did feel like a naughty treat. That's what not having much disposable income does to you!
So I chucked them in my bag, along with some bread that would be too hard if I didn't eat it, and mde up some sarnies on my lunch break. I used two thirds of one packet, with the other still unopened, & left them in the fridge at work overnight.
Come Tuesday morning I got four crusty rolls from the bakers on the way in, & looked forward to finishing off the roast beef in my break. I do love crusty rolls, but don't eat them too often. When I do, then, they taste so much nicer. I was almost licking my lips in anticipation. So far so good...
I started work, but after half an hour or so my boss came up to me & asked if I had some cooked beef in the fridge. Before I had time to answer she continued. I chucked them in the bin, I was cleaning out the firdge & they were a month out of date.
No they weren't you fucking stupid cow! Are you blind??? It clearly says 'USE BY 20th MARCH', which was less than four days ago! Thanks for ruining my luchbreak you dozy bitch!
But did I say any of that? Nope. I took a deep breath & thought was it worth it? No it wasn't. I simply popped into the small kitchen area by her office when she wasn't paying attention, which is most of the time, if I may say so. And rescued them from the bin, putting them in my bag, which while not refridgerated, lunch was only a couple of hours away.
And you know what? They tasted fine, I never had the shits & I enjoyed my beef rolls, which were delicious!
I work for a local authority, and my line of work is a front line public service. There have been a few memoirs-& I do mean a few, I've read three in total-from people who work in the same line as myself. I always kid myself that I should do a book on my job. Indeed a few people have suggested it to me. I clearly couldn't do while I am still in the job i'm doing. But with bosses like these I have no shortage of material! My current boss to feature fairly prominently...
So I will be careful what I say...
On Friday I popped into the supermarket on the way home, buying a few bits & pieces as it was payday. I picked up two bargain packets of ten slices of roast beef, down from £2.95 a packet of ten slices to only 65p! Their use by date was at midnight. but, as with most pre-packed foods, you have a good few days of leeway after that. My rule of thumb when picking up almost out of date bargains like that is to sniff before I eat. You can tell if something is off or not. The idea was to make some sarnies to keep me going as I was at work on Saturday, & out and about on Sunday. sods law, typical of me, I forgot to make them. But I wasn't going to let them go to waste. Beef is a bit pricy for me to buy on a regular basis, hence when I saw them on the reduced shelf I quickly grabbed them. It really did feel like a naughty treat. That's what not having much disposable income does to you!
So I chucked them in my bag, along with some bread that would be too hard if I didn't eat it, and mde up some sarnies on my lunch break. I used two thirds of one packet, with the other still unopened, & left them in the fridge at work overnight.
Come Tuesday morning I got four crusty rolls from the bakers on the way in, & looked forward to finishing off the roast beef in my break. I do love crusty rolls, but don't eat them too often. When I do, then, they taste so much nicer. I was almost licking my lips in anticipation. So far so good...
I started work, but after half an hour or so my boss came up to me & asked if I had some cooked beef in the fridge. Before I had time to answer she continued. I chucked them in the bin, I was cleaning out the firdge & they were a month out of date.
No they weren't you fucking stupid cow! Are you blind??? It clearly says 'USE BY 20th MARCH', which was less than four days ago! Thanks for ruining my luchbreak you dozy bitch!
But did I say any of that? Nope. I took a deep breath & thought was it worth it? No it wasn't. I simply popped into the small kitchen area by her office when she wasn't paying attention, which is most of the time, if I may say so. And rescued them from the bin, putting them in my bag, which while not refridgerated, lunch was only a couple of hours away.
And you know what? They tasted fine, I never had the shits & I enjoyed my beef rolls, which were delicious!
I work for a local authority, and my line of work is a front line public service. There have been a few memoirs-& I do mean a few, I've read three in total-from people who work in the same line as myself. I always kid myself that I should do a book on my job. Indeed a few people have suggested it to me. I clearly couldn't do while I am still in the job i'm doing. But with bosses like these I have no shortage of material! My current boss to feature fairly prominently...
Sunday, 22 March 2009
I'm easily pleased
Which is quite true, even though I tend not to suffer fools gladly, & sometimes come across as a bit of a miserable cantankerous old git! But in actual fact I find that in sobriety, despite still having lots of problems, I am not just less judgmental of people, I am happier with lifes lot, if things are going reasonably ok. And today was one of those.
I was heading over to east London, a side of the water that I dislike, for no other reason, if I'm honest than I'm from south of the river! The east end has a lot of history, & places to explore, but I don't seem to put myself out to do so. The Hamlet Youth Team had reached the final of the London Cup, at a complete shit hole that is Mile End 'Stadium'. A godforsaken dump that is the local athletics track. One stand, where you're miles away from the pitch. It quite an apt description actually, godforsaken, as the team that uses it as a home venue are Sporting Bengal United, from the Kent League. Kent? Don't ask...I know it's slummy Essex Senior territory.
So I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone (three actually) & make a bit of a day of it. So I visited the Museum of Childhood at Bethnal Green; followed by a wander round Tower Hamlets Cemetery, before going to the match.
The childhood museum was actually much more fun than I remember it, I doubt if I've been there for at least a dozen years. It's set on two levels, with case after case of toys through the ages. Far more than I could possibly tell you about here. But it is worth a visit, if ever you're over that way, & just as importantly, it's free! The only slight disappointment was that there was no guidebook on sale.
I took a fair few photos, which I'll get round to posting on my 'touristy' blog eventually. But I thought I'd share a few with you now.
This cracked me up!
Not that I'm one to suggest her family nick the idea, but just in case the dear departed Saint Jade-yay!told you she'd croak on Mothers Day, should've gone to Paddy Power-didn't raise enough dosh to ensure her boys are looked after, though somehow I think they'll be raking it in just for being her sons as they grow up, what about a Baldie Jade game, where you can imagine what her chemo wigs would've been like, if she could've afforded them? Well you know how hard it was, saving every penny for the kids...
And then there was this toy television set. You probably got a better picture on this one, that the real one that mummy & daddy had. (Note to any young children reading this: A 'mummy & daddy' were adults you lived at home with, who were married. A few people still live this strange old fashioned way today)
Who on earth would buy something like this? Assuming it actually worked!
Can you imagine how shit the ice cream must have tasted like, if you attempted to make some with your friends? Thankfully I was from an age when the Cornetto was invented, so I could get one of them with the pocket money I'd saved from not wasting it on some plastic ice cream making crap! Or just grabbing one from the shop and running as fast as I could! And you had to be quite fast, or it would have melted before you got far enough away.
There's an urban myth that little boys who play with sissy dolls will themselves turn into sissies. Not true! I don't recall playing with my sisters dollies. People are born gay so surely gay boys will be going 'phwoar' with their Action Men...
Well it's an argument, which sounds feasable, until you see this fucked up one! That's no soldier, it's an out & out psychopath! Never mind eltro-sick bastard-shock treatment. If you think your little boy's a poof just get him one of these! Should put him off blokes for life! Just look at those mad as fuck eyes. I reckon Dennis Nilson was a perfectly adjusted child until he got one of these for christmas! He was so scared he pulled it apart, while playing in the bath, and tried to wash it away...the rest is history as they say!
I love cemeteries, I can't put my finger on it, but I think you'll be surprised at how popular they are. Though how many people go to the lengths of taking photos of them I don't know ;-)
But there are dozens of 'friends of cemeteries' groups all over the country. I'd never been to Tower Hamlets Cemetery before, so I took the opportunity to have a look while I was in the area.
As you can see it's completely overgrown & left to decay. On purpose. As it's now a nature park, deliberately left to go wild. If I were to describe it I'd call it a graveyard of a graveyard.
After strolling round there for an hour or so, it was time for the match. This picture tells you what you need to know...
A cracking five one victory over Thamesmead Town...
Never mind son, look what you might have won!
And after the final whistle, & photos, I went for a stroll along a bit of the Regents Canal, to Limehouse, before heading home. A little tired, but happy in the fact I might be a bit of a 'Billy No-Mates', going to some strange places, but I'd had a really great day. Helped by the result..but isn't that always the case with football?
I was heading over to east London, a side of the water that I dislike, for no other reason, if I'm honest than I'm from south of the river! The east end has a lot of history, & places to explore, but I don't seem to put myself out to do so. The Hamlet Youth Team had reached the final of the London Cup, at a complete shit hole that is Mile End 'Stadium'. A godforsaken dump that is the local athletics track. One stand, where you're miles away from the pitch. It quite an apt description actually, godforsaken, as the team that uses it as a home venue are Sporting Bengal United, from the Kent League. Kent? Don't ask...I know it's slummy Essex Senior territory.
So I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone (three actually) & make a bit of a day of it. So I visited the Museum of Childhood at Bethnal Green; followed by a wander round Tower Hamlets Cemetery, before going to the match.
The childhood museum was actually much more fun than I remember it, I doubt if I've been there for at least a dozen years. It's set on two levels, with case after case of toys through the ages. Far more than I could possibly tell you about here. But it is worth a visit, if ever you're over that way, & just as importantly, it's free! The only slight disappointment was that there was no guidebook on sale.
I took a fair few photos, which I'll get round to posting on my 'touristy' blog eventually. But I thought I'd share a few with you now.
This cracked me up!
Not that I'm one to suggest her family nick the idea, but just in case the dear departed Saint Jade-yay!told you she'd croak on Mothers Day, should've gone to Paddy Power-didn't raise enough dosh to ensure her boys are looked after, though somehow I think they'll be raking it in just for being her sons as they grow up, what about a Baldie Jade game, where you can imagine what her chemo wigs would've been like, if she could've afforded them? Well you know how hard it was, saving every penny for the kids...
And then there was this toy television set. You probably got a better picture on this one, that the real one that mummy & daddy had. (Note to any young children reading this: A 'mummy & daddy' were adults you lived at home with, who were married. A few people still live this strange old fashioned way today)
Who on earth would buy something like this? Assuming it actually worked!
Can you imagine how shit the ice cream must have tasted like, if you attempted to make some with your friends? Thankfully I was from an age when the Cornetto was invented, so I could get one of them with the pocket money I'd saved from not wasting it on some plastic ice cream making crap! Or just grabbing one from the shop and running as fast as I could! And you had to be quite fast, or it would have melted before you got far enough away.
There's an urban myth that little boys who play with sissy dolls will themselves turn into sissies. Not true! I don't recall playing with my sisters dollies. People are born gay so surely gay boys will be going 'phwoar' with their Action Men...
Well it's an argument, which sounds feasable, until you see this fucked up one! That's no soldier, it's an out & out psychopath! Never mind eltro-sick bastard-shock treatment. If you think your little boy's a poof just get him one of these! Should put him off blokes for life! Just look at those mad as fuck eyes. I reckon Dennis Nilson was a perfectly adjusted child until he got one of these for christmas! He was so scared he pulled it apart, while playing in the bath, and tried to wash it away...the rest is history as they say!
I love cemeteries, I can't put my finger on it, but I think you'll be surprised at how popular they are. Though how many people go to the lengths of taking photos of them I don't know ;-)
But there are dozens of 'friends of cemeteries' groups all over the country. I'd never been to Tower Hamlets Cemetery before, so I took the opportunity to have a look while I was in the area.
As you can see it's completely overgrown & left to decay. On purpose. As it's now a nature park, deliberately left to go wild. If I were to describe it I'd call it a graveyard of a graveyard.
After strolling round there for an hour or so, it was time for the match. This picture tells you what you need to know...
A cracking five one victory over Thamesmead Town...
Never mind son, look what you might have won!
And after the final whistle, & photos, I went for a stroll along a bit of the Regents Canal, to Limehouse, before heading home. A little tired, but happy in the fact I might be a bit of a 'Billy No-Mates', going to some strange places, but I'd had a really great day. Helped by the result..but isn't that always the case with football?
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Farewell Ron
I found out today that an old mate of mine died a couple of days ago. I say 'old mate', he was old, certainly a pensioner, though I doubt if he'd reached his 'three score and ten', I don't know. I hadn't seen him this season. Season? Yes he was a fellow Dulwich Hamlet fan. Which doesn't make him a 'mate' in the normal sense. As I only ever saw him at football. His name was Ron the Print, as he used to work in the print, & was actually a proud veteran of the picket lines at Wapping. Ever since that dispute he had a bitter dislike of the police. He was an ordinary law abiding man, and always supported law & order. Until he saw the vicious old bill in action as Maggie's bully boys. He was always apologetic when he recalled those battles in east London, unable to quite believe he was so naive about the boys in blue.
I'd known him for as long as I can remember. He'd follow all the teams, like me. first Team. Reserves. Youth Team. Even the younger age group Junior teams on Sundays. Like me. But I knew nothing much about him. Apart from chatting at football. He fell ill with Parkinsons, which he'd got progressively worse with over the last ten years at least, but over the last few could barely sit properly in his wheelchair, with his body ravaged by the illness. But still he had to be at Champion Hill. Until, over the last season or so, he couldn't even get to the ground.
It was a relief to hear he'd died, even though I'm sad I am happy in a sense. That he's now no longer suffering in his shell that was laughably called a body.
In an ideal world I want to die quickly. Either in my sleep, or from a quick heart attack. Bang! And I'm gone. Not that I believe I will go like that. I'm certain that one day I will end my own life when I think I've had enough. Though i think that will be a conscious & rational mental decision, not based on physical illness. My biggest nightmare is to have a dehabilitating disease where my body goes, but my mind stays intact; or even where I'm 'vegetabled up' in an accident & lose use of my limbs, as another scenario I don't want to contemplate. Or to go blind. Which, despite the old tales, is NOT caused by wanking, or by not eating carrots. I happily wank every day, & cannot stand carrots.....in fact I've only ever had one use for carrots & not very often. Use your imagination. Thinnk Bugs Bunny. You know...what's UP doc! ;-)
But enough of that, back on topic of having a decapacitating illness. In a situation like that I would love to have the protection of a 'living will' whereby someone can assist me in dying. Which is totally illegal in this country, where anybody helping you would get done for murder. Which is why hundreds of people who want the tight to choose when to end their own life with dignity end up going to Switzerland, where assisted suicides are legal.
Which is a crazy situation. But a way round the law....for some. Not an option for those who are poor, or living alone with no support. It's all well and goo for families to be able to all go to cuckoo clock land and bid a final farewell to their loved ones, but you're living in cloud cuckoo land if you believe the same option is available to the poor on council estates, who may be struggling on benefits. All too easy to arrange if you're from a comfortable middle class family from Dulwich Village, but not so if you live on the East Dulwich Estate a mile or so in the other direction.
What a crazy world it is when a Member of Parliament has to bring in a Private Members Bill just ot get the matter discussed, even though there is no chance whatsoever of it going to a vote, never mind becoming law. Ease your conscience by discussing it, but not having the balls to vote for it. Scared of the crazy christian minority who think they speak for the country.
An ill dog is humanely put down. Horses are shot. Yet the supposed most intelligent creature of all , that is us human beings, have to suffer til the bitter end.
Suicide is a way out taken by many people with mental health problems. Often brought on by quacks tinkering with their medicine, or not giving them the proper support or treatment at it's 'too expensive' & after all 'nutters' aren't vote winners when it comes to spending taxpayers money. But who is to say they are all crazy? I've always maintained that suicide is not a cowards way out, but something that takes a lot of courage to go through with. Real craziness to me is the system in this country that forces people to live to a point way beyond what is a basic existence, where the 'kindness' of putting animals 'out of their misery' is more important than humans have a basic quality of life.
Give me an assisted end to life when I want to finish it, on my own terms, rather than the indignity of ending up like my friend Ron the Print please.
I don't know if he fought his illness tot he end, or whether each day he silently prayed for the end. Whichever it was I am just relieved his suffering is over & wherever his spirit may be in the afterlife he is at peace.
I'd known him for as long as I can remember. He'd follow all the teams, like me. first Team. Reserves. Youth Team. Even the younger age group Junior teams on Sundays. Like me. But I knew nothing much about him. Apart from chatting at football. He fell ill with Parkinsons, which he'd got progressively worse with over the last ten years at least, but over the last few could barely sit properly in his wheelchair, with his body ravaged by the illness. But still he had to be at Champion Hill. Until, over the last season or so, he couldn't even get to the ground.
It was a relief to hear he'd died, even though I'm sad I am happy in a sense. That he's now no longer suffering in his shell that was laughably called a body.
In an ideal world I want to die quickly. Either in my sleep, or from a quick heart attack. Bang! And I'm gone. Not that I believe I will go like that. I'm certain that one day I will end my own life when I think I've had enough. Though i think that will be a conscious & rational mental decision, not based on physical illness. My biggest nightmare is to have a dehabilitating disease where my body goes, but my mind stays intact; or even where I'm 'vegetabled up' in an accident & lose use of my limbs, as another scenario I don't want to contemplate. Or to go blind. Which, despite the old tales, is NOT caused by wanking, or by not eating carrots. I happily wank every day, & cannot stand carrots.....in fact I've only ever had one use for carrots & not very often. Use your imagination. Thinnk Bugs Bunny. You know...what's UP doc! ;-)
But enough of that, back on topic of having a decapacitating illness. In a situation like that I would love to have the protection of a 'living will' whereby someone can assist me in dying. Which is totally illegal in this country, where anybody helping you would get done for murder. Which is why hundreds of people who want the tight to choose when to end their own life with dignity end up going to Switzerland, where assisted suicides are legal.
Which is a crazy situation. But a way round the law....for some. Not an option for those who are poor, or living alone with no support. It's all well and goo for families to be able to all go to cuckoo clock land and bid a final farewell to their loved ones, but you're living in cloud cuckoo land if you believe the same option is available to the poor on council estates, who may be struggling on benefits. All too easy to arrange if you're from a comfortable middle class family from Dulwich Village, but not so if you live on the East Dulwich Estate a mile or so in the other direction.
What a crazy world it is when a Member of Parliament has to bring in a Private Members Bill just ot get the matter discussed, even though there is no chance whatsoever of it going to a vote, never mind becoming law. Ease your conscience by discussing it, but not having the balls to vote for it. Scared of the crazy christian minority who think they speak for the country.
An ill dog is humanely put down. Horses are shot. Yet the supposed most intelligent creature of all , that is us human beings, have to suffer til the bitter end.
Suicide is a way out taken by many people with mental health problems. Often brought on by quacks tinkering with their medicine, or not giving them the proper support or treatment at it's 'too expensive' & after all 'nutters' aren't vote winners when it comes to spending taxpayers money. But who is to say they are all crazy? I've always maintained that suicide is not a cowards way out, but something that takes a lot of courage to go through with. Real craziness to me is the system in this country that forces people to live to a point way beyond what is a basic existence, where the 'kindness' of putting animals 'out of their misery' is more important than humans have a basic quality of life.
Give me an assisted end to life when I want to finish it, on my own terms, rather than the indignity of ending up like my friend Ron the Print please.
I don't know if he fought his illness tot he end, or whether each day he silently prayed for the end. Whichever it was I am just relieved his suffering is over & wherever his spirit may be in the afterlife he is at peace.
Friday, 20 March 2009
How inconsiderate
Why are some people not allowed to die with the dignity they deserve?
Jade Goody, the real peoples' princess from Bermondsey (Diana who?) has faced her iminent demise with from cancer with dignity. Selflessly hogging the front pages, along with pages two, four, five six and seven...colour supplement to come later post mortem, when what does the jealous bitch, who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, Natasha Richardson go & do? But bang her head on a skiing trip, to out-death our Jade!
Well I'm not falling for that! Sunday is Mothers Day, & what could be more fitting for the saintly former ignorant racist bitch Miss Goody-two-shoes than croaking it before the kids have brought up the tea and toast on a tray? That should out-trump the upstart from the Redgrave clan. Jade wants her front page spotlight back!
Never mind Trafalgar Square. There's another empty plinth in London. Standing outside Rotherhithe library. There is nothing on it. Not anymore. Formerly a statue of'Bermondsey Boy' Tommy Steele, it was 'arf inched & melted down for scrap a couple of decades ago. how about a national campaign for our Jade to be erected there.... the only problem being who the fuck is actually going to contribute to it? (Oh, shit! I'm starting to get serious here!) Yes, it is terribly sad that she is dying so young from cancer, but who on earth is she that warrants so many column inches? Heart of gold though. She's 'doing it for the kids'. Scraping together every single penny so that they can have a future. Not to mention her new husband & her mum are looked after too. I wonder how long the money will last with them? He's a mockney-cockney wideboy thug, & her mum....well! There's a saying that you can only judge as you find, and I've never met her, even though she lives in Bermondsey & I work in a public building in Bermondsey too. Until a few weeks ago. She popped in, with the two grandchildren in tow. Oh & accompanying camera crew from Live TV, who are somewhat ironically filming a documentary about Jade until she croaks it. Live until death eh? now in my line of work, where I deal with members of the public I have had to encounter some decidedly thick people to say the least, & Jade's old girl Jackie is up there with the worst. This woman is what the word stupid was invented for. It really wasn't Jade's fault that she didn't know where East Anglia was, or called Shipla Shitty (NOT a spelling mistake either!) racist names, because having now met her mother it's all clearly in her genes.
What hope her two 4 & 5 year old boys, with a nan like that? But there is 'hope'. Because it's been reported that the money Jade raises by dying will go towards their private education. If there was any shred of sympathy I had for Jade dying (& to be truthful I never had much anyway, I was just indifferent, as I don't know her. Why should I be anything else?) goes down the pan if she thinks 'looking after her kids' is buying them privilege. But if you're going to go for it let's not do it by halves. I'm quite looking forward to granny Jackie with her two grandsons at parents evening at Eton, with a Live TV camera crew not far behind. Now that-for the first time ever-would make reality television worth watching!
Jade Goody, the real peoples' princess from Bermondsey (Diana who?) has faced her iminent demise with from cancer with dignity. Selflessly hogging the front pages, along with pages two, four, five six and seven...colour supplement to come later post mortem, when what does the jealous bitch, who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, Natasha Richardson go & do? But bang her head on a skiing trip, to out-death our Jade!
Well I'm not falling for that! Sunday is Mothers Day, & what could be more fitting for the saintly former ignorant racist bitch Miss Goody-two-shoes than croaking it before the kids have brought up the tea and toast on a tray? That should out-trump the upstart from the Redgrave clan. Jade wants her front page spotlight back!
Never mind Trafalgar Square. There's another empty plinth in London. Standing outside Rotherhithe library. There is nothing on it. Not anymore. Formerly a statue of'Bermondsey Boy' Tommy Steele, it was 'arf inched & melted down for scrap a couple of decades ago. how about a national campaign for our Jade to be erected there.... the only problem being who the fuck is actually going to contribute to it? (Oh, shit! I'm starting to get serious here!) Yes, it is terribly sad that she is dying so young from cancer, but who on earth is she that warrants so many column inches? Heart of gold though. She's 'doing it for the kids'. Scraping together every single penny so that they can have a future. Not to mention her new husband & her mum are looked after too. I wonder how long the money will last with them? He's a mockney-cockney wideboy thug, & her mum....well! There's a saying that you can only judge as you find, and I've never met her, even though she lives in Bermondsey & I work in a public building in Bermondsey too. Until a few weeks ago. She popped in, with the two grandchildren in tow. Oh & accompanying camera crew from Live TV, who are somewhat ironically filming a documentary about Jade until she croaks it. Live until death eh? now in my line of work, where I deal with members of the public I have had to encounter some decidedly thick people to say the least, & Jade's old girl Jackie is up there with the worst. This woman is what the word stupid was invented for. It really wasn't Jade's fault that she didn't know where East Anglia was, or called Shipla Shitty (NOT a spelling mistake either!) racist names, because having now met her mother it's all clearly in her genes.
What hope her two 4 & 5 year old boys, with a nan like that? But there is 'hope'. Because it's been reported that the money Jade raises by dying will go towards their private education. If there was any shred of sympathy I had for Jade dying (& to be truthful I never had much anyway, I was just indifferent, as I don't know her. Why should I be anything else?) goes down the pan if she thinks 'looking after her kids' is buying them privilege. But if you're going to go for it let's not do it by halves. I'm quite looking forward to granny Jackie with her two grandsons at parents evening at Eton, with a Live TV camera crew not far behind. Now that-for the first time ever-would make reality television worth watching!
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Fucking bastard sobriety!
I don't actually want or need a drink at this very moment. But I am so envious of those who can!
Tonight Dulwich Hamlet lost at home to Woking in the quarter final of the Surrey Senior Cup. Which doesn't sound so bad when you bear in mind we play in the Ryman League Division One South & they are Conference National, which is the top rung of non-league football, and three divisions above us.
EXCEPT....
Woking are in a serious relegation battle, and sent a team of youngsters & assorted nobodies to fulfil the fixture. They even forgot to pack their shirts & had to borrow a green away strip from our Youth Team manager! But that wasn't the biggest shambles of the night. We are (un)comfortably mid table, no chance of promotion, the play-offs realistically out of reach since before Christmas, if everyone was honest. This cup would at least have been a decent end to the season, it would have been Merstham away in the semi, who are also from our division. Albeit above us. But it was winnable. Tonight. The semi final. The cup!
And that's what makes it so fucking frustrating. There's not a lot of good times supporting an average non-league football team, so you tend to grasp any tiny bit of hope that you can tentatively touch. 'Normal' people can unwind, release their anger, & calm down by knocking back a few pints by closing time. Maybe going home a bit tipsy, even drunk, but calmer. Alcohol is a downer of a drink, which brings on depression, but it can also lift moods at times like these. I won't even attempt to explain what I mean by 'times like these' for if you are a football fan there is no explanation needed. You understand.
But I can't do that. In sobriety I am unable to pick up one drink, for it is that first drink that will get me drunk. Not literally, though I doubt it would initially take too many pints, as I haven't had one for almost seven years! Because the first drink becomes a second, followed by a third, chased down with a fourth...and so on.
It would be great to be able to go out and have a few bevvies & get a bit mashed. Sometimes I hate not being able to, even though I know I don't want to. Maybe I'm wistfully looking back to how I imagine I used to drink after games, which is clearly nonsense, as I drank to get drunk and fuel my addiction. But still, in my head, I imagine my drinking like old people recall the 'good old days', when in truth they were shit!
If ever I allow the teasing dregs of alcoholic madness in my brain to allow me to pick up a drink then it won't be a 'drowning my sorrows' session, to clear cobwebs of footballing depression. I will be totally out of my depth & back on way to skid row. I was fortunate enough not to be a 'street drinker'. I always had a roof over my head, and kept my job. Ironically I came closest to losing my job in sobriety at the beginning of 2006, as readers of my old blog will know. But just as Dulwich Hamlet are semi professional footballers I was a 'part-time' street drinker. For more than once I didn't get home. Waking up at the end of the line at a deserted station, not able to get home. Or at the end of a bus route in the middle of knowhere. Or simply waking up on a bench, or on a bit of green, not knowing how I'd ended up there in alcoholic blackout. Not that often, over the years of my drinking. Maybe 'only' once every few months.
That's why I can't pick up another drink, which is why I said that I don't want or need a drink tonight. I just wish I could!
Tonight Dulwich Hamlet lost at home to Woking in the quarter final of the Surrey Senior Cup. Which doesn't sound so bad when you bear in mind we play in the Ryman League Division One South & they are Conference National, which is the top rung of non-league football, and three divisions above us.
EXCEPT....
Woking are in a serious relegation battle, and sent a team of youngsters & assorted nobodies to fulfil the fixture. They even forgot to pack their shirts & had to borrow a green away strip from our Youth Team manager! But that wasn't the biggest shambles of the night. We are (un)comfortably mid table, no chance of promotion, the play-offs realistically out of reach since before Christmas, if everyone was honest. This cup would at least have been a decent end to the season, it would have been Merstham away in the semi, who are also from our division. Albeit above us. But it was winnable. Tonight. The semi final. The cup!
And that's what makes it so fucking frustrating. There's not a lot of good times supporting an average non-league football team, so you tend to grasp any tiny bit of hope that you can tentatively touch. 'Normal' people can unwind, release their anger, & calm down by knocking back a few pints by closing time. Maybe going home a bit tipsy, even drunk, but calmer. Alcohol is a downer of a drink, which brings on depression, but it can also lift moods at times like these. I won't even attempt to explain what I mean by 'times like these' for if you are a football fan there is no explanation needed. You understand.
But I can't do that. In sobriety I am unable to pick up one drink, for it is that first drink that will get me drunk. Not literally, though I doubt it would initially take too many pints, as I haven't had one for almost seven years! Because the first drink becomes a second, followed by a third, chased down with a fourth...and so on.
It would be great to be able to go out and have a few bevvies & get a bit mashed. Sometimes I hate not being able to, even though I know I don't want to. Maybe I'm wistfully looking back to how I imagine I used to drink after games, which is clearly nonsense, as I drank to get drunk and fuel my addiction. But still, in my head, I imagine my drinking like old people recall the 'good old days', when in truth they were shit!
If ever I allow the teasing dregs of alcoholic madness in my brain to allow me to pick up a drink then it won't be a 'drowning my sorrows' session, to clear cobwebs of footballing depression. I will be totally out of my depth & back on way to skid row. I was fortunate enough not to be a 'street drinker'. I always had a roof over my head, and kept my job. Ironically I came closest to losing my job in sobriety at the beginning of 2006, as readers of my old blog will know. But just as Dulwich Hamlet are semi professional footballers I was a 'part-time' street drinker. For more than once I didn't get home. Waking up at the end of the line at a deserted station, not able to get home. Or at the end of a bus route in the middle of knowhere. Or simply waking up on a bench, or on a bit of green, not knowing how I'd ended up there in alcoholic blackout. Not that often, over the years of my drinking. Maybe 'only' once every few months.
That's why I can't pick up another drink, which is why I said that I don't want or need a drink tonight. I just wish I could!
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Seems a nice chap...
When it comes to music, and I've said this many a time, I'm a bit like an old fashioned High Court judge. "Erm...who exactly are the Beatles?" Well not quite, but music really isn't my forte. When it comes to popular music, and by popular I mean generally not just 'POP' music, I'm not very knowledgable to say the least. I know many of the more successful bands and artistes down the years, but know very few of the songs, even the ones that people always jump up to a weddings, and other awful social events.
It's not that I dislike music, I do listen to some, but usually as 'background' rather than real pleasure. My entire CD collection is either old, withdrawn (Ie: very cheap!) library stock, or freebies given away with newspapers. Of which I have three shoeboxes full, the vast majority unlistened to. Despite not having heard a lot of them I continue to buy a paper I wouldn't usually purchase if it's giving something away. At the weekend I bought the 'Sunday Times' for example because it included the disc 'The Dreams We Have As Children', which was a recording of Noel Gallagher live at the Royal Albert Hall. Not bad, considering I would have bought a paper anyway, I just 'juggle' my custom depending on what is on offer, if anything. It is a varied selection that is given away, as I was looking for the CD I jsut mentioned I also found two recent ones with it-a copy of the orginal soundtrack recording from 1965 of 'West Side Story' & 'Pet Shop Boys Story 25 years of hits'. I haven't counted how many CDs I amassed from the weekend papers, but it must be a couple of hundred at least.
I don't listen to the radio that often, but when I do it's almost always talk radio stations, LBC being my usual one, though I do twiddle the dial sometimes.
So as I say I do know of lots of musicians, but don't know them either. And tonight I discovered one on the televison after I'd got back from football. When I got indoors I turned the laptop on & looked at my favourite messageboards, with the old gogglebox on in the background. (Thought for the day: If a television set is a 'gogglebox' does that make a computer a 'googlebox'?) The 'South Bank Show' was on. Usually a high brow arts programme, but with a populist appeal. And this episode was one of those. It featured the gay singer Will Young. Four things struck me. How insecure he seemed, albeit with a huge self belief & confidence in himself at the same time. How great his voice was. How good looking he was. And how down to earth he came across as. I could quite easily have a crush on this man!
A lot of the time, when I see the 'South Bank Show', I'm put off by how snobby and up their own arse some of the pretentious media luvvie tosspots are, but there are episodes like tonight where I stop what I'm doing & concentrate on the programme itself. Not that I'm a regular viewer, I don't watch it that much, I couldn't tell you how often, or when, it's on the telly. But to seen one that holds my attention & captivates me is a rare pleasure. So for that Will Young I thank you! Phwoar!
It's not that I dislike music, I do listen to some, but usually as 'background' rather than real pleasure. My entire CD collection is either old, withdrawn (Ie: very cheap!) library stock, or freebies given away with newspapers. Of which I have three shoeboxes full, the vast majority unlistened to. Despite not having heard a lot of them I continue to buy a paper I wouldn't usually purchase if it's giving something away. At the weekend I bought the 'Sunday Times' for example because it included the disc 'The Dreams We Have As Children', which was a recording of Noel Gallagher live at the Royal Albert Hall. Not bad, considering I would have bought a paper anyway, I just 'juggle' my custom depending on what is on offer, if anything. It is a varied selection that is given away, as I was looking for the CD I jsut mentioned I also found two recent ones with it-a copy of the orginal soundtrack recording from 1965 of 'West Side Story' & 'Pet Shop Boys Story 25 years of hits'. I haven't counted how many CDs I amassed from the weekend papers, but it must be a couple of hundred at least.
I don't listen to the radio that often, but when I do it's almost always talk radio stations, LBC being my usual one, though I do twiddle the dial sometimes.
So as I say I do know of lots of musicians, but don't know them either. And tonight I discovered one on the televison after I'd got back from football. When I got indoors I turned the laptop on & looked at my favourite messageboards, with the old gogglebox on in the background. (Thought for the day: If a television set is a 'gogglebox' does that make a computer a 'googlebox'?) The 'South Bank Show' was on. Usually a high brow arts programme, but with a populist appeal. And this episode was one of those. It featured the gay singer Will Young. Four things struck me. How insecure he seemed, albeit with a huge self belief & confidence in himself at the same time. How great his voice was. How good looking he was. And how down to earth he came across as. I could quite easily have a crush on this man!
A lot of the time, when I see the 'South Bank Show', I'm put off by how snobby and up their own arse some of the pretentious media luvvie tosspots are, but there are episodes like tonight where I stop what I'm doing & concentrate on the programme itself. Not that I'm a regular viewer, I don't watch it that much, I couldn't tell you how often, or when, it's on the telly. But to seen one that holds my attention & captivates me is a rare pleasure. So for that Will Young I thank you! Phwoar!
Just out of interest...
as my memory may be going, I was wondering about those 'wildcat' strikes a while ago at various power plants up and down the country. I didn't follow the disputes in detail, but it appeared to be some sort of 'British jobs for British workers' thing, after some foreign company won some tenders, but then planned to bring in people from other parts of Europe to do the job. Which didn't go down too well, espcecially as jobs are being lost left, right and centre.
As I said I wasn't sure of the ins and outs of the dispute, but I might have had more sympathy for them if there were similar demos over here in the early eighties. You know, when half of the collpased British building industry seemed to emigrate to Germany, or West Germany as was, even spawning 'Auf Wiedersehen Pet!'. It's just that I can't recall power workers walking out on wildcat strikes in support of their Teutonic comrades, picketing the airports, asking the British builders to down tools, waving banners that said 'German jobs for German workers'...
As I said I wasn't sure of the ins and outs of the dispute, but I might have had more sympathy for them if there were similar demos over here in the early eighties. You know, when half of the collpased British building industry seemed to emigrate to Germany, or West Germany as was, even spawning 'Auf Wiedersehen Pet!'. It's just that I can't recall power workers walking out on wildcat strikes in support of their Teutonic comrades, picketing the airports, asking the British builders to down tools, waving banners that said 'German jobs for German workers'...
Monday, 16 March 2009
They know how to enjoy themselves...
& I'm hardly a fashion conscious person to say the least, but what is it about the Irish, the plastic paddies, and their assorted 'hangers on' who just want to get pissed, that makes them dress up like pillocks to 'celebrate' St. Patrick's Day at this time of year?
I popped along to Trafalgar Square this afternoon for a little while, as it was London celebrating Paddies Day, which is actually on Tuesday. Which is fair enough, as to do so then would clash with the BIG Ryman League Division One South match between Dulwich Hamlet & Walton Casuals, which is ADMISSION FREE for Comic Relief. Which I'm not complaining about, but I do object to the emotional blackmail that's put on you to contribute to the bucket collection at the ground. I may not want to give money to Comic Relief. And as it happens I don't. It's not as if I'm flush with spare cash anyway, but when I have got some I like to decide which charidee I support. And I prefer to give money to a single cause, rather than a general one where it's swallowed up & goes to some vague project, which may not be my preferred choice. And with home games on Thursday v. Woking in the Surrey Senior Cup, then Worthing on Saturday in another league fixture, charidee will most certainly begin at home, as I save the admission money from one of these. If we win those three I'll be laughing, which will make some Comic Relief for my pocket!
I didn't stay in the Square long. But might have done if there were more celebrating 'undressed' like this chap...
but the majority were like him...
To be honest the smell of alcohol was in the air everywhere, & it got a bit overpowering for me, which you might find hard to understand how it affects me, after almost seven years in sobriety. But it does. And weird as it may sound the 'fumes' of booze do give you a 'taste' for it! I wasn't actually tempted as such, but thought it safer to go elsewhere.
It was a bright sunny spring afternoon, with a couple of hours daylight still left, & wasn't really sure where I was off to. Just ambling really. But I ended up in Grosvenor Square, home of the American Embassy, & took a few snaps of the building, and associated statues in the vicinity, for publishing in one of my photoblogs at a later date. For my troubles I got stopped by the Old Bill, and questioned under the Prevention of Terrorism Act!
AL-QUAEDA LOOK AWAY NOW!
To be fair to them they were polite, and not at all stroppy, like some coppers can be. They were polite, & I said what they were doing was crap, but I understood they were doing their jobs. One of them actually agreed it was all bollocks really, and used that word! I told them I like taking photos around London, and that I think it's the greatest city in the world, London born & bred. He was surprised, and said most Londoners were trying to get out of the place! Hmm..bit of a generalisation there,but then he probably reads the Daily Mail in his tea breaks.
After that I went home, had a sexy young man waiting at my door....
And now I'm blogging before I go to bed, no need to have a wank before I turn the light off tonight! ;-)
I popped along to Trafalgar Square this afternoon for a little while, as it was London celebrating Paddies Day, which is actually on Tuesday. Which is fair enough, as to do so then would clash with the BIG Ryman League Division One South match between Dulwich Hamlet & Walton Casuals, which is ADMISSION FREE for Comic Relief. Which I'm not complaining about, but I do object to the emotional blackmail that's put on you to contribute to the bucket collection at the ground. I may not want to give money to Comic Relief. And as it happens I don't. It's not as if I'm flush with spare cash anyway, but when I have got some I like to decide which charidee I support. And I prefer to give money to a single cause, rather than a general one where it's swallowed up & goes to some vague project, which may not be my preferred choice. And with home games on Thursday v. Woking in the Surrey Senior Cup, then Worthing on Saturday in another league fixture, charidee will most certainly begin at home, as I save the admission money from one of these. If we win those three I'll be laughing, which will make some Comic Relief for my pocket!
I didn't stay in the Square long. But might have done if there were more celebrating 'undressed' like this chap...
but the majority were like him...
To be honest the smell of alcohol was in the air everywhere, & it got a bit overpowering for me, which you might find hard to understand how it affects me, after almost seven years in sobriety. But it does. And weird as it may sound the 'fumes' of booze do give you a 'taste' for it! I wasn't actually tempted as such, but thought it safer to go elsewhere.
It was a bright sunny spring afternoon, with a couple of hours daylight still left, & wasn't really sure where I was off to. Just ambling really. But I ended up in Grosvenor Square, home of the American Embassy, & took a few snaps of the building, and associated statues in the vicinity, for publishing in one of my photoblogs at a later date. For my troubles I got stopped by the Old Bill, and questioned under the Prevention of Terrorism Act!
AL-QUAEDA LOOK AWAY NOW!
To be fair to them they were polite, and not at all stroppy, like some coppers can be. They were polite, & I said what they were doing was crap, but I understood they were doing their jobs. One of them actually agreed it was all bollocks really, and used that word! I told them I like taking photos around London, and that I think it's the greatest city in the world, London born & bred. He was surprised, and said most Londoners were trying to get out of the place! Hmm..bit of a generalisation there,but then he probably reads the Daily Mail in his tea breaks.
After that I went home, had a sexy young man waiting at my door....
And now I'm blogging before I go to bed, no need to have a wank before I turn the light off tonight! ;-)
Sunday, 15 March 2009
What to do today?
I woke up 'late' this morning. After ten o'clock. I say 'late' because it meant I wouldn't have time to go to watch the Youth Team. But that's not the end of the world. It appears sunny outside, though I haven't actually got through the front door yet. Which is just as well as I'm sitting in my armchair, stark bollock naked, playing with my...laptop! ;-)
Last weekend I saw them play & it was sunny, but it was windy & bloody cold, so I'm hoping the temperature is a few degrees higher when I go out in an hour or so. I could stay in of course, I could tidy, blog, surf the net, read...whatever. Won't have a wank mind, as a bloke is popping round this evening for some fun, no strings attached, just messing about sexily, who I met on a gay contact site. He's a lot younger than me, late twenties, & likes dressing up in a leather skirt & top! Which is fine by me, not my scene, but each to his own, and if it gets him horny i'm not complaining! This will be the fourth time he's popped round in a few months, & it's certainly not a relationship or anything like that, but I enjoy it! ;-) You know what? I couldn't even tell you his name! I haven't worked out if he's straight or bi, he does talk about women too, but i don't know if that's just because he's 'pretending' he's 'normal'!
Whatever! I'm looking forward to it!
In the meantime I'll probably go out later when I've finished on here, & had some breakfast/lunch, just to wander, and take some snaps. It's going to be packed up town, as it's the London St. Patricks Day Festival, two days early, around Trafalgar Square. Somehow I'd don't think the once agin active Continuity IRA will be making that the target of a mainland bombing campaign! I'm undecided what to think about the taking up of arms again. I've always been pro-Republican in my beliefs, though I've got no Irish background at all. I've always believed the end justifies the means if the cuase is right, and I think there should be a United Ireland. One country, one Parliament, one name. The British have no place over there, despite the claims of the protestants who say they are. I suppose the nearest 'solution' is as now, with a devolved Northern Ireland, as a totally independent country, from both the UK and Eire. But that hasn't happened, & if it did it would only cause a split country, albeit one probably in peace, like Belgium. Except in Northern Ireland it's not Belgium. And it's just one fucked up place. Belfast is split between protestants and catholics. Literally. The people generally don't mix, they keep apart, & the other side are 'demonised' as monsters! It's like the walls seperating the Palestinians from the Israelis, the only difference being that one side doesn't live in third world conditions. They really are fucked up in Belfast! There really is steel walls and barbed wire fences separating catholic streets from protestant ones. Politicians hark back to what a momentous occasion the fall of the Berlin Wall was, ignoring the fact that another one still exists in 2009 in Belfast, technically part of the democratic United Kingdom! Granted you can cross the Belfast 'peace' wall, and there aren't watch towers to murder you if you try, but realistically most people don't for their own safety.
Do I support the new killings? Truth is, & this surprises me, I'm not totally sure. The jury in my head is out. But I can see why there are some who are willing to continue the fight. The Irish War was unwinnable for both sides. But, as far as I'm concerned, the IRA/INLA won a moral victory with the peace process. The British Army presence was scaled down, as was the harrasment. But in many parts of Northern Ireland the catholic/republican population are still oprreseed, discriminated & second class citizens. The aim of a 'United Ireland' & 'British Troops Out' was never achieved, and Ireland is still occupied. So it comes as no surprise that some are taking up arms again. I can understand why. But if it actually achieves anything is another story.
You may think I am crazy, but ask yourself a hypothetical question....if Belfast became London, say, & the British Army wore French berets, & we were controlled from Paris, are you really telling me you wouldn't take up arms, or at the very least support the (English) Republican cause?
Last weekend I saw them play & it was sunny, but it was windy & bloody cold, so I'm hoping the temperature is a few degrees higher when I go out in an hour or so. I could stay in of course, I could tidy, blog, surf the net, read...whatever. Won't have a wank mind, as a bloke is popping round this evening for some fun, no strings attached, just messing about sexily, who I met on a gay contact site. He's a lot younger than me, late twenties, & likes dressing up in a leather skirt & top! Which is fine by me, not my scene, but each to his own, and if it gets him horny i'm not complaining! This will be the fourth time he's popped round in a few months, & it's certainly not a relationship or anything like that, but I enjoy it! ;-) You know what? I couldn't even tell you his name! I haven't worked out if he's straight or bi, he does talk about women too, but i don't know if that's just because he's 'pretending' he's 'normal'!
Whatever! I'm looking forward to it!
In the meantime I'll probably go out later when I've finished on here, & had some breakfast/lunch, just to wander, and take some snaps. It's going to be packed up town, as it's the London St. Patricks Day Festival, two days early, around Trafalgar Square. Somehow I'd don't think the once agin active Continuity IRA will be making that the target of a mainland bombing campaign! I'm undecided what to think about the taking up of arms again. I've always been pro-Republican in my beliefs, though I've got no Irish background at all. I've always believed the end justifies the means if the cuase is right, and I think there should be a United Ireland. One country, one Parliament, one name. The British have no place over there, despite the claims of the protestants who say they are. I suppose the nearest 'solution' is as now, with a devolved Northern Ireland, as a totally independent country, from both the UK and Eire. But that hasn't happened, & if it did it would only cause a split country, albeit one probably in peace, like Belgium. Except in Northern Ireland it's not Belgium. And it's just one fucked up place. Belfast is split between protestants and catholics. Literally. The people generally don't mix, they keep apart, & the other side are 'demonised' as monsters! It's like the walls seperating the Palestinians from the Israelis, the only difference being that one side doesn't live in third world conditions. They really are fucked up in Belfast! There really is steel walls and barbed wire fences separating catholic streets from protestant ones. Politicians hark back to what a momentous occasion the fall of the Berlin Wall was, ignoring the fact that another one still exists in 2009 in Belfast, technically part of the democratic United Kingdom! Granted you can cross the Belfast 'peace' wall, and there aren't watch towers to murder you if you try, but realistically most people don't for their own safety.
Do I support the new killings? Truth is, & this surprises me, I'm not totally sure. The jury in my head is out. But I can see why there are some who are willing to continue the fight. The Irish War was unwinnable for both sides. But, as far as I'm concerned, the IRA/INLA won a moral victory with the peace process. The British Army presence was scaled down, as was the harrasment. But in many parts of Northern Ireland the catholic/republican population are still oprreseed, discriminated & second class citizens. The aim of a 'United Ireland' & 'British Troops Out' was never achieved, and Ireland is still occupied. So it comes as no surprise that some are taking up arms again. I can understand why. But if it actually achieves anything is another story.
You may think I am crazy, but ask yourself a hypothetical question....if Belfast became London, say, & the British Army wore French berets, & we were controlled from Paris, are you really telling me you wouldn't take up arms, or at the very least support the (English) Republican cause?
Friday, 13 March 2009
Welcome...
To anyone who discovers me, and any old readers of mine!
'Wordy' blogging is something I've been struggling to do over the last few months. Take that as good news. As I think that's partly not just because I take up too much time doing my various photoblogs, but also because I'm happy doing them, which means I''m fairly content.
But as soon as I hit the keyboards I get all 'feelygoody' inside. It's something I enjoy. So over the next couple of weeks I'm going to try to get back into the habit of blogging again. So watch this space...and if I have got back into the swing of things there will be a lot more to read!
Chat to you all soon, hopefully!
'Wordy' blogging is something I've been struggling to do over the last few months. Take that as good news. As I think that's partly not just because I take up too much time doing my various photoblogs, but also because I'm happy doing them, which means I''m fairly content.
But as soon as I hit the keyboards I get all 'feelygoody' inside. It's something I enjoy. So over the next couple of weeks I'm going to try to get back into the habit of blogging again. So watch this space...and if I have got back into the swing of things there will be a lot more to read!
Chat to you all soon, hopefully!
Beware of your email!
I've always been honest with what I post, & am certainly not ashamed of what I do. I accept some people may think me, maybe, a 'bit strange', or is that my inferiority complex kicking in again? But I'm not here to dissect myself. More to warn you about the dangers of the internet, and how things can be used maliciously against you.
A bit of background, and I won't use actual names in case it's googled! There's a football club who I wound up when we played them by wearing a scarf of another club who they hate. Red rag to a bull, and yes, very childish & provocative. What I didn't expect was the backlash from some of their fans on their messageboards. I am a well known, high profile fan from my club, so I am well known. So they called me all sorts on their boards. Fine. I can cope with that. What I was not expecting was photos of both myself & my brother to be posted on there. Plus my street address, from my name in letters pages of my local paper, on line. They googled me everywhere, and included my brother's work details. And they also googled my email address, which they got from one of my footballing blogs. This linked to an adult gay website, where I had a very personal, intimate profile on; including full frontal snaps. I'm not embarrassed by them, it's a way I get sexual no strings meet ups now & again. But...this was traced through my email, which came up when they googled my email address! To see my profile, which they posted on their messageboards, they had to sign up to that site! As a result I got even more personal/homphobic abuse & I had to quickly pull the profile & leave the site. It was geting way too personal & I'd be lying if I didn't say I wasn't shaken up by all the 'attention' from them. Thankfully they are in a far higher division than us, this was a local cup game we played them in, & I'm hoping the 'fuss' will die down as they get bored. But sure to flare up if ever we play them again in future seasons. But I took the precaution of deleting my old blog, as it had a HUGE amount of personal information that they would twist against me once they found it. And I wasn't prepared to take that risk.
If you add your email to various things on-line then google it! Like me, you may be surprised by how easily we can all be traced on the internet.
Hence a new email, & a pretend name for me, totally different to my previous blogging monikers on here.
Which is a shame, as I really did like my old one!
But time to move on. As the title says...'Keep smiling through...'
And don't worry, the one person who's popped round a few times for some some fun from that site, well I emailed him to explain I was deleting my profile, & we still meet up occasionally. In fact you'll be pleased to know he was round earlier this evening.... :-)
A bit of background, and I won't use actual names in case it's googled! There's a football club who I wound up when we played them by wearing a scarf of another club who they hate. Red rag to a bull, and yes, very childish & provocative. What I didn't expect was the backlash from some of their fans on their messageboards. I am a well known, high profile fan from my club, so I am well known. So they called me all sorts on their boards. Fine. I can cope with that. What I was not expecting was photos of both myself & my brother to be posted on there. Plus my street address, from my name in letters pages of my local paper, on line. They googled me everywhere, and included my brother's work details. And they also googled my email address, which they got from one of my footballing blogs. This linked to an adult gay website, where I had a very personal, intimate profile on; including full frontal snaps. I'm not embarrassed by them, it's a way I get sexual no strings meet ups now & again. But...this was traced through my email, which came up when they googled my email address! To see my profile, which they posted on their messageboards, they had to sign up to that site! As a result I got even more personal/homphobic abuse & I had to quickly pull the profile & leave the site. It was geting way too personal & I'd be lying if I didn't say I wasn't shaken up by all the 'attention' from them. Thankfully they are in a far higher division than us, this was a local cup game we played them in, & I'm hoping the 'fuss' will die down as they get bored. But sure to flare up if ever we play them again in future seasons. But I took the precaution of deleting my old blog, as it had a HUGE amount of personal information that they would twist against me once they found it. And I wasn't prepared to take that risk.
If you add your email to various things on-line then google it! Like me, you may be surprised by how easily we can all be traced on the internet.
Hence a new email, & a pretend name for me, totally different to my previous blogging monikers on here.
Which is a shame, as I really did like my old one!
But time to move on. As the title says...'Keep smiling through...'
And don't worry, the one person who's popped round a few times for some some fun from that site, well I emailed him to explain I was deleting my profile, & we still meet up occasionally. In fact you'll be pleased to know he was round earlier this evening.... :-)
I would like to say 'Happy New Year'...
but that would be total bollocks! Now I know it's all relative, and I'm in a half-positive frame of mind at the moment, but 2009 has been a bloody disaster so far!Where to start? At the beginning I suppose. And ,for me, that'll be Friday 2nd January. I'd finished work at two, and then popped up town to take a few snaps,and just wander around. I got home just after six. So far so good...My telly is in the bedroom, but as I've got no heating, well one small electric fan type one, given to me by a mate. I very rarely use it, but we've had such a bad cold snap at thec start of the year, so I moved the telly into the front room, and heated the one spot. I also used my laptop in here, sitting on one of my armchairs. Anyway that Friday night I leant over to turn the power socket on, all the plugs being on an extension lead, and I caught my foot in one of the cables and the laptop slipped out of my hand, less than a foot to the floor, with a clunk & froze. Broken completely! Another casualty of my alcoholism. No I hadn't been drinking, but the reason I have no heating yet is down to my old drinking days. I simply never paid the bills, and owe quite a large sum to the gas board. For many years in alcoholism I simply never paid bills apart from the rent. But as I sorted myself out, eventually, in sobriety & when I almost lost my job & was seriously suicidal at the start of this very blog, I first paid off the electricity bill, and in a couple of months time my debts to the water board will be paid. Next up will be starting to make payments to the gas people, & getting the hot water put on at last as a result. So you see, I only dropped my computer as a result of the cold in my flat, which was a consequence of ignoring bills in my drinking days.When my computer broke my head exploded. Not literally, but it might well have done. It was like I'd had an arm chopped off. I got a huge amount of pleasure & positivity out of it. For a moment I felt worthless and useless again. It was my fault for thinking I was anything other than that. Getting ideas above my station! I asked friends for help, & they tired to reassure me it was fixable. But that wasn't helping me at that very moment. I went very quickly into a sort of depressed, worthless, what is the point of anything, type mode. I wanted to get out of my fly to try to clear my head, but I was actually too scared to. I wasn't one hundred per cent sure if I was able to be responsible for my actions. Thoughts were whizzing through my head with jumping in front of train prominent. Or going to Tower Bridge and getting ready to go for a 'swim' without paddling to the side. It's been a while since I've felt that way, & it does frighten me at times. It also confirms my belief that when I do die it will be by myself taking my own life.I felt crushed, and vulnerable. There was only one way I knew to get my head screwed back on again, and that was to go to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I wanted to go out and get drunk, the only thing stopping me was the inevitable 'downer' I would be on afterwards, when I'd realise I'd thrown away over six and a half years sobriety. Go to the rooms of AA are wonderful. Look for the similarities in people sharing, and you always find something to take away. There's a saying that you take away the alcohol and you're still left with the 'isms'. I'm not sure what 'crazyisms' I've got but the meetings calm me down, when my thoughts need to be reigned in, & AA does this for me. It shows everyone has their own problmes, but the most important thing is that I don't pick up a drink. Not just at this moment, but many times insbriety I've said to myself if it wasn't for AA I'd be dead, and I doubt if there's truer words I could speak.Things picked up, when I spoke to my friend Cleopatra. Her fiance Geekie owns his own computer firm, and she's spoken to him & he will look at it & try to fix, at cost price for the parts! But not for a couple of weeks, which still seems like an eternity. But the clock ticks round, and I leave my laptop with her, when he's next due up in London from down the south coast where he lives. It turns out the hard drive was completely wrecked, so I lose whatever i had saved on it, including quite a few photos that I haven't saved anywhere. My loss, the most important thing is that for only forty quid it's fixed! (Well £63 or so actually!) When I picked it up after coming out of hospital I treated cleopatra, her little boy Natty & myself to a 'slap-up' meal at the local Wetherspoons!Did I mention hospital? The month only got better-not! And despite what you've just read it wasn't any self harm. I had, what I thought, was some sort of spot blowing up on the back of my neck. It was sore,& I couldn't move my neck properly. This was on a Friday. I was off work on the Saturday. So, first thing, I went to my doctors. Silly me! Expecting a doctors' surgery to be open on a Saturday, when half of the country go to work! I would have to wait until monday morning. I was in a fair bit of pain, not agony, but seriously irritating. I'd been to football that afternoon, practically every game in London was off due to the freezing weather, I ended up at Erith Town versus Croydon, at Thamesmead Town, where Erith groundshare. It's was one of the most awful nil nils I've ever seen! Not all bad, there were quite a few fans from other clubs there to chat to, a few fellow Hamlet fans, & I knew the half dozen or so Croydon faithful. On the way home I decided to make my way to A&E at Lewisham Hospital. I actually apologised for going to see them as I wasn't a 'real' emergency! But I still needed to see a doctor. As it happens I was only there for a couple of hours, which was no time at all for an A&E visit. I had some sort of folicle infection, with blistering on the back of my neck. I didn't ask exactly what it was, I was interested, I just wanted it treated. So I was more than happy to get a prescription for some antibiotics, and buy some pain killers over the counter. I wasn't so happy when I got to the bloody chemist! Seven quid for a fucking prescription! That's on the NHS! So why am i paying out as if I'm a queue jumping private patient! Outrageous charges!I was told it should start clearing up in 'three or four days', and if it didn't I was to go to see my GP. Well what should have happened didn't! My neck blew up badly, and although I was a bit concerned I wasn't too worried. With hindsight this was only due to the fact I couldn't see the back of my neck! As the 3 to 4 day 'deadline' approached I kidded myself it was getting better as I could move my neck a bit more. But the antibiotics were due to run out the following weekend, so I made an appointment with my quack at 4.30 on the Friday afternoon, convenient as I was finishing work at two. I went to see him & any hope of reassurance went out of the window when he looked at my neck & his exact response was: "Oh my goodness! I've not seen anything like this before! It's the size of a cricket ball!" He ordered me to return to Lewisham pronto.And that's how I came to be sitting in A&E again! I eventually had a doctor try to treat me but sticking syringes into my neck & draining puss out of it, but it was too difficult & too much, only about six millimetres drained, when she said if she could get around ten or twelve milimetres she would sent me home. While she was doing this all I was thinking was....Yes! I'm working the next day, & would have phoned in sick to catch the Hamlet away to Cray instead! But hopes were dashed, as she said they'd have to keep me in. Damn! By now it was gone eleven o'clock, I assumed they'd sort it out in the morning, but I wasn't sure how long it would take, so I asked if it was ok to go home, then come back. I had to get my phone, and-more importantly-some books to read. I wasn't feeling sick, so I would be awake, ans knew how bored I would be. The doctor saw me on his rounds on the Saturday morning, and said not to eat or drink anything, as I was going to have a small operation later that day. And LATER it was! As I was a non-essential op it kept on getting 'knocked back' & they eventually took me down to the theatre at ten at night! They knocked me out, and cut an incision into my neck ,and cleared all the shit out. I was then kept in yntil the Tuesday morning, having been on a drip & various medication. But it didn't end there. My neck was alright, but doing other routine tests on me they said I was type diabetes 2! It doesn't rain it pours! How I'll cope I don't know, I'm not sure what it involves, even now, over a month later. I could go on for a lot longer posting here, and tell you more about my time in hospital. But, to be honest, I want to get this post out of the way, & try to explain why I'm starting this new blog...
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