Republican News

Today I was in Whitehall, waiting for a bus to take me to work when the street suddenly filled with Police motorcycles whistling and beeping, stopping traffic right and left. For what?
A black limousine sleeks past all the stalled traffic, big flag on the bonnet, elderly lady on the back seat. Age has its privileges but they wouldn't stop the West End traffic for my mum or for auntie Jean.
They're not The Queen, you see.
Queens, Princesses, Duchesses, Lord High Groom of The Royal Stool... can't we at last GROW UP as a society and send these people back where they belong?

38 Days To Go!

Feeding my inner nerd - hattrick.org

The Geek Inside told me to sign-up to hattrick.org, and at the end of last week I got a team. I've called it "Bad Smells"(#7536), 'we' play at "The Drains", and so far we've played 1, lost 1.
I am very excited about my new Greek striker (good grief man, listen to yourself!). We've a friendly against a French team tonight and the Greek is on the bench.
If any other "HatTrickers" out there fancy a morale-boosting friendly win, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.
I am not sad.

Pevsner (o.g.): 1

I Am A Bad Man

I am "the worst step-dad in the world". I also stink, apparently. And all because while we're still debating whether we should walk her to school (see below) or let her go by herself, I insist on walking with her.

I Know What I Like, etc.

Today's Guardian article about a new exhibition touches on old prejudices and insecurities about what constitutes art. (BTW, I seem to be turning into a bit of a fan)!)
We're hoodwinked - "Oh! it's the Virgin Mary! And Ronald MacDonald! They're having it off! And they're made out of shit! That's really got me thinking! I'm also very shocked!" - by art that is only art because someone with whom we don't know how to argue says it is and because the artist went to the right school and "networked" with the right people. After a while, any activity undertaken by the successful "artist" is designated "art", and we all disappear up our own arses in a flurry of unmade beds. I think Picasso may have started this "everything I do is art" thing but he had talent: good luck to 'em, but don't expect me to clap like a seal.
The Being Present exhibition looks interesting. See you there, with the rest of us Philistines.

Walking To School

Today's question:

Each school day my beloved or I walk her loinfruit (8, soon 9) to school. On the way we pick up friend Latifah (OK, OK, not her). We cross one busy main road to get to Latifah, then there's another with a Zebra crossing. After that it's mainly one-way urban side streets: the whole walk takes about 10 minutes or so.

I'm under pressure from them to let them walk to school without me. I know I was doing it at that age, but times have seemingly changed. We have to let go a bit, give them the autonomy they need - but if they get run over or abducted I'll want to kill myself.

Any thoughts, anyone?

1st post after the makeover

My material is on tblog at the moment, but if I can have commenting (comments (0) as always, but it's nice to have), and a Zeldman template I'm sorely tempted... I like the redesign so far.

Why I still love football, but don't go any more...

Reading this prompted some thoughts:

I haven't been to a football game since the end of the 1999/2000 season. My marriage finally ended in summer 2000 and I was living in a little flat on my own. I woke up one morning meaning to go to a pre-season friendly - chance to check out new players, kit etc. - and found, for the first time, that I just couldn't be arsed. Soon after that I went on holiday: soon after that I met the woman I'm going to marry, and I haven't been back to Underhill since.

That season (2000/1) BFC were relegated. That felt bad, but not as bad as it would have felt if I'd been there, involved.
The next season I made plans to go a few times. I wasn't about to be one of those Fair-weather fans who only turn up when the going is good.
Never went. There was always too much on. I had the girls every other weekend; always seemed to coincide with home games. Sometimes I forgot to check the scores. I'd be sure to go next season.
Never went. We bought a house. When I didn't have the girls I was busy: repairs, decorating, blah blah. When I was free I had no money. There were fewer and fewer players whose names I knew. Still followed the scores, and the news on the websites. Maybe next season...
Never went. The Bees had a useful season, with a real goalscorer again. They reached the playoffs, and I was genuinely quite upset when they lost on penalties in the semi-final.
I miss the pre-match drink in the Queens Arms. I miss talking to people with whom I have only one interest in common. I miss being part of a disparate crowd of people with a common purpose. I miss having license to hurl abuse at someone for no good reason (referee, tubby midfielder, dodgy 'keeper). I miss buying a freshly-minted program. I miss the first day of the season when the grass is still intact and everything is possible. I even miss Enfield. Whatever happened to them?
Next season, back in the Queens with the Guardian and a pint of dodgy lager.
Promise.
Get Nicky On!

Mundanity And Crapness

I embrace it! Mundanity and crapness! Comments (0)! I agree with nearly all this (Thanks to this man for the link and the title), but I and thousands of others keep on doing it. Why? What do I expect to get out of it? Is it only somewhere to store good links? Or am I just a sad fool?

Just A Bit Of Diary

Took the kids on the London Eye on Sunday, and got really lucky on what was generally a miserable wet weekend. I highly recommend this attraction to anyone who quite likes that sort of thing. Christened the new Barbeque on Monday; no reports of any poisonings yet.
Kicked off on Martin Chuzzlewit this morning but may "shelve" it, har har, until later. Sometimes the mood's not quite there.