This Saturday, Christine and I will attend the third Walkslow Charity Auction to raise money for the little Big Man, Ga Won. This is our first auction for him, but the ever generous Yoon has done this for three years to pay for Ga Won’s medical bills. He gives so much to the times when you meet him and though he won’t be able to attend on Saturday as he’s at home, his picture and cute smile will be with us as we flog goods (or ourself).
Credit to Steve R for sending me this. This is completely right. the article articulate exactly what more and more football fans are thinking. after all that money, where has he got? while managing middlesborough (the irony of having middle in the name shouldn’t be lost as i guess have the initials S&M, a byword for repressed people.) is not a glamour job, getting players there these days via waving the cheque book is more and more effective. But he just doesn’t inspire the team for the future. and if Sven is the tactician, what is McCarlen doing? The motivator (re: England v Brazil) or the new “Phil Yes Boss” Neal. Lets hope the FA see sense or I predict a riot.
I don’t know why I find this fascinating but since I first snatched an image a few years ago, I’ve been wanting to find out about the massive flood prevention scheme being built under to Tokyo to negate heavy rains and flooding. The project was started 12 years and the extensive underground jungle now includes 12,000watt turbines and the largest tunnels in the world. Only the Japanese would see this as feasible and only pork barrel politics makes it possible. Those LDPs…
Range Rover Commercial Filmed Down There.
I’ve been following coke-head Jon for the last few months. The coke, sorry i mean injury, delayed his comeback and then sent him scoring in the wrong direction for two months but now he has come through and scored at the right end. Cards, adultery, drinking, gambling, otherwise known as the England squad, here he comes.
I get nostalgic at times. It’s a great luxury of a single man. I have no fear of alienated my present equilibrium. I’ve always spent my conscious and sub-conscious thinking, dreaming, debating, wondering. Neither state makes much sense but only conscious thought allows me nostalgia without that certain weirdness. Day dreams on the bus or while walking are a habit of mine leading to a lack of practical thought at times, as Jeroem once said “we always knew that you were a little blond.”
That brought me to this blog. A swirling wondering at what might have been had circumstances been different (read: or had I not got so drunk). These aren’t regrets though. The way life has worked has been beneficial for me, my wrinkles and hopefully you, though not for the bank account. I may never have met the people I’ve laid claim to as friends
A few years back, a good friend Fat Andy persuaded me to go for a drink after work. Believe it or not I was reluctant as no wallet wants to be empty again. But alas after one request, I relented and the tight staircase led us down to a funky little bar; a bar I never particularly took to. But hey, you gotta take one for the team sometime, and those who know me, know how much I hate going to other bars.
On entering the dim place, cluttered with tables, I caught the eye of a new face and slightly shuddered. Her irises dilated and we both looked away. “Ahh shit”, I thought. She had long chestnut hair, wore a black jumper and a look that indicated, like mine, her night just got more interesting. Andy took a table nearby (thank the fatman Lord) and a dropped crisp later, we (her and friend) were all talking. We ended up in three bars, a singing room a final drink for the night. As we got closer throughout the evening, talking easily, Andy showed himself a deft hand at taking the others attention away. The irony of a cracking girl from Tamworth in a distant land with Dan forgotten.
The night slid to morning and we all shuffled home to get back for work. She didn’t live in this town and had to get home. I went on with my work and life and moved on soon. I saw one more time, 4 months later in the Big Smoke, her on the way to a club, me heading to another. The vividness fades but for a thinker like me, never dies. To a neurologist, learning is in the reprocessing of information, dreams are merely a reordering of the day’s thoughts, and nostalgia is a part of our complex decision-making methodology. But to me and maybe you, it’s just to get me by and onwards to the next bus with a tingle in my body.
Listened to the Manic Street Preachers today. I bought three albums in the 1990s, loved their sound but more importantly their attitude and causes. They aren’t flash attention seekers but wrote songs about things that matter or hurt. I’m glad I’ve rediscovered them somewhat, Enola Alone hasn’t left my head.
Kevin Carter, a tune about the photographer who highlighted poverty in Africa and the battles that surrounds it, was always a catchy number with its trumpet solo but the man himself, a Pultizer Prize winner at 34 and dead by suicide a week later, unable to digest the horrors that he witnessed, traumas that were ignored by the world, The song is a biography of a honest man, broken by his work. His photographs (which are linked above) along with the other 3 guys he worked with, leave you leaning on your hand, playing with your mouth. They don’t get any easier but are important viewing. Please look.