The new football season has finally started. About a month later than usual but in the circumstances, that ain’t bad. So I watched a bit of Liverpool against Leeds, possibly more than I would have normally because Leeds kept on equalising the score. Which is not the ‘Anfield script’ at all. The Anfield script reads very simply “YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING LOSE SO MIGHT AS WELL DO IT QUICK AND EASY AND JUST PLAY DEAD!!!!”

But then I got bored a bit so went over to a rockumentary of the Doobie Brothers. And (spoiler alert!!!!) they weren’t brothers and none of their names was Doobie. Shock. So you have to respect any band who were named for a euphemism for a joint. The brothers who like passing round a doobie. And I loved the band and their music and it was fab to watch. Long Train Running is one of the best tracks of all time. No debate. No arguments. It must be in everyone’s top 5. And if not, then that ‘everyone’ is actually a know-nothing no-one’.

Leeds pulled back for the third time. Holy Moly! No team scored 3 goals at Anfield in the entirety of last season, and here are Leeds, fresh up from, like Division 4, all northern and dressed in white, with the sheer impudence and audacity to do just that.

I took an early bath. Because we were going out for an early dinner and thus missed Liverpool’s late winner from a Mo Salah penalty. Tommy Doobie had just had a mental breakdown and left the band. Like, half an hour before a sellout show in Chicago. But bath time is bath time, right?

But when we came home from dinner, Match of the Day was on. The first of the season, obvs. Did I want to watch Arsenal beat Fulham? Did I? Well, I was saved from that particular hell by Jimi Hendrix. Well, by another Hendrix documentary, this one about the allegations that his ‘untimely death’ might have been murder. By a woman spy. Blah, blah, blah. A wonderful conspiracy theory that I wouldn’t give the time of day to. But for the old footage of Hendrix, it was worth a few minutes of stupid speculation.

Jimi arrived in London a complete unknown. Chas Chandler of the Animals dragged him across the Atlantic. A brilliant move for both men. And in London things were a bit more ‘free’ and ‘fluid’ that they perhaps are now. Not, ‘coronavirus now’ but any ‘now’. So Chandler took Hendrix to see ‘a band’ play and asked if he might be allowed to jam with them. On stage. At a live gig. And the band was Cream. The world’s first supergroup. It’s like me strolling up to Barcelona and asking if I can join their kickabout against Real Madrid. The difference being, no slur on my amazing footballing talent, that Hendrix was just so brilliant that, having agreed to let him join them, they were simply blown away by the man’s ability. Eric Clapton remembers being simply awestruck by Hendrix guitar prowess. Eric fucking Clapton.

Match of the day went on to West Ham against Newcastle and Hendrix girlfriend was accusing some other woman of stalking him. Definitely time for bed.

Good night

A xxxx