Fantastic headline in the paper: Sleepless nights linked to onset of Alzheimers. How brilliant is that? I’m so worried now I haven’t slept a wink since. Though as I only read it half an hour ago I suppose its not a major problem. Not yet. Its only when you forget you read it and can’t – Read More-
We won, we won, we bloody won. There’s dancing in the streets all over the world today. I love Villa Park (read: total shit-hole) and wish we could play there every week. I wasn’t there yesterday, though I’ve been there before and they stick away fans in a little cauldron under the ground and beat – Read More-
When you go to Melbourne they warn you: weather’s wierd, you get 4 seasons in one day. We had: summer, summer, summer and summer. All four. Most fab weather ever. Whingeing Aussies; they simply don’t appreciate what they’ve got. Whereas here this morning we had almost four plagues. The first being flooding. Holy shit but – Read More-
Gloria de Piero is a Labour MP. Not to be confused with Alessandro del Piero who was an Italian striker, diver and diva. As they all are. But Gloria was never any of those things. She was a breakfast tv bimbette now an MP for some godforsaken place somewhere in the wilds of Labourland. And – Read More-
Last night was ‘gay night’ the whole world over. What; you didn’t know? Shameful. There was a choice. You could go and buy Morrissey’s autobiography which came out yesterday and learn all about the whining Mancunian’s sordid little life, all written in an horrendously nasal, adenoidy and northern way, or you could go and see – Read More-
I must admit I was a bit upset at not being named Godfather to Prince George. I mean, I watched the wedding, didn’ I? I bought Pippa’s stupid party cookbook. Well, I googled it, same difference. They said it was ‘not fit for toilet paper’ so I saved my money. I’m a real royalist, love – Read More-
There’s a picture in the paper today of Valerie Trierweiler, the First Lady of France, or perhaps the First Mistress, as she hasn’t actually married Monsieur le President, and is unlikely to because he’s a silly little homme. She’s in Soweto, patronising a bunch of local kids. Sorry, I mean ‘visiting’ a bunch of kids. – Read More-
I’m sleeping badly. Wake up with that NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO… thought in my head, which is aching. I’m listless, a bit shaky, disorientated, flustered, nervous, irritable. The world is a little off-axis. And there’s no cure. Well, not until Saturday. It always happens when there’s no ‘proper’ football. No Premiership football. Just poxy internationals. They’re not the – Read More-
Twerking, in case you were wondering, is a form of artistic expression. Female artistic expression generally but I don’t think its one of those gender exclusive things like throwing a ball or parking a car or ironing a shirt or having a greater than 1 in 250 chance of chairing a Footsie 100 company. But – Read More-
My body’s a temple. And by all rights should actually look like one. Squat, solid, hefty, round and bulbous. But it doesn’t. I look like a god. Or a dog. Or any anagram of those three letters. By virtue of fortuitous genes, a high metabolism or both. Or that the medical profession are a lying – Read More-