You see, being a Spurs fan means you are committed, totally and absolutely, to ‘entertainment’. Football is not for ‘winning’ in any normal sense, its there to ‘entertain the masses’. To provide neutral fans with ‘a match to remember’. Even if Spurs fans remember it even longer, until they finish therapy. I’m going to have – Read More-
What are you doing on Christmas Day? Eating turkey? Watching re-runs of a Queen’s Speech? Fun with the family? Well why not do the decent thing and invite Prince Andrew round as well? You’re supposed to find lonely, unloved people, who would otherwise be all alone, watching The Morecombe and Wise Christmas Special, eating a – Read More-
Ok, I’m over this government, they’ve done nothing! Nothing worth having, that is. They’ve put tax up, reduced growth, knackered the Christmas economy, fucked up the workforce, re-funded Hamas (ok, UNWRA, same difference), caved into the unions and negotiated with a terrorist state (Syria). So we’re going to get rid of them. Furthermore, Spurs are – Read More-
When I first heard about the coup in Serie-A, I thought it a bit unusual for a football league, even an Italian one, to be taken over by armed militia, but was thrilled by the prospect that the Premiere League might suffer a similar fate and then stop showing matches on (fucking) TNT. Then I – Read More-
There’s a bad man out there. His name is ‘H6’ and you’ll recognise him instantly because he’ll be walking around with a blurred face. He suffers from ‘chronic redaction disease’ but hopefully this week he’ll be cured and we can all learn what he looks like. Though we’re unlikely to see him over here because – Read More-
Richard played the guitar. He never won a Grammy. But he did achieve something which Bob Dylan didn’t, nor The Beatles, even Taylor Swift or Beyoncé. He won the talent contest at the Gants Hill Odeon, Saturday Morning Pictures, in about 1965. Saturday morning pictures was method for unloading noisy, destructive children into institutional care – Read More-
The eulogy. Richard Lawrence Conway was born in 1953. In 1958 he saved my life. After I’d had a fit of ‘terrible two-ness’ our saintly mother hooked my walking ‘reins’ over a garden gate and walked away. Leaving me. Possibly to a life of post-Dickensian alms houses, to the fate of a Fagin, who knows? – Read More-
The funniest thing about Syria is that Bashar al Assad is an ophthalmologist. Trained at no less than Moorfields Eye Hospital. You wouldn’t necessarily go to him to have your cataracts sorted, or with a glaucoma issue, but if you needed 20,000 people murdered, he’s your man. If you need a few Kurds bombed out – Read More-
I note that this is one of my favourite titles for my postings. Because I like changes. And I like David Bowie. And right now, although unfortunately there is no change in Bowie’s status (alas he’s still dead), the world is shape-shifting once more. France is crumbling. Arrogant, obnoxious tosser, Michel Barnier, the by now – Read More-
The problem is cows. Lots of them. They are basically machines for turning grass into milk and steak. I know, that’s not a very vegan attitude, but I’m not really very vegan. I’m more ‘the anti-vegan!’ And I know cows can look lubberly and cudderwy, but basically they are my food chain and I want – Read More-