Friday, April 28, 2006


It's 3:15 in the morning here and, as somewhat of a departure for me I must admit, I have already been to bed.

The road to Budapest awaits...the first port of call on the journey to BDTBL and the last match of the season on Sunday.

A pre-match EuroBlades convention in the Sheaf View...a post-match BOM shindig in the Lord Nelson with a possible detour into the Sportsman and a ram raid on Sam's opticians.

Bloody long way to go for a party. And this really is an ungodly hour to be getting out of, as opposed to into, bed.

Now, what was the plan again? Oh yes...throw up on Hamburg, goose Barca and run off with Ams' wife. Now there's a bit of reverse psychology for you. One can only pray it works.

Hey ho and off we go.

Saturday, April 15, 2006


It's hard to say what it's really like, this thread that runs through my life. It was anchored there by my father and has spooled out behind me ever since, one of only a very few constants.

I could maybe liken it to a hunger, a thirst but then it is one that can never be fully assuaged. One feeds off scraps for the most part with only the occasional feast to remind one of the delights of the high table. And am I the consumer or the consumed? The gnawing inside reminds me of who I am and where I came from, the tug on the thread recalls a father's hand.

As it plays out horizontally into my past, the vertical movements trace highs and lows, more troughs than peaks it must be said and only rarely constant.

A love affair, then? Of a kind, maybe. But there is a certain lack of sudden intensity, of infatuation, it is certainly more comfy, old slippers than fuck me shoes. They share a lack of perspective even though, in this respect, they are polar opposites. One looks at a lover and is blind to their faults or, measuring them in the balance, finds they are out-weighed. This thread though is more a fault line, limned with disappointment, treachery and betrayal. Drawn with mostly honest endeavour and on a shoe-string budget.

Do the highs and lows follow my mood or do they define it? More the latter I would suspect. Even though my life is to a large extent independent of it, the thread forms a backdrop, an undercurrent, the base from which all other peaks and troughs must be measured.

A sad indictment maybe but right now, I find I do not care in the slightest. My senses are filled and today I shall dine on greasy chip butties.

The Blades are back.

Saturday, April 08, 2006


Flight EJ2582 will, no doubt, be inordinately pleased to whisk me away from home and hearth and I am sure the hired car with the dodgy bottom (apologies to Soapy but this is one Leopard who has indeed changed his spots)...that is, the cross between a VW Beetle and a Ford Anglia, the splendidly callipygian Renault Megane will quite spectacularly fail to breakdown as it transports me back oop to t'grim and I am equally confident that seat 116 on row WW of the Shoreham Street end of beautiful downtown Bramall Lane will be graced with a gift wrapped complimentary chocolate (and, quite possibly, an intimate wipe for my personal convenience and enjoyment), is with a heavy heart that I have to impart the grave and, it must be said, quite stupefyingly depressing news that my favourite hotel in Sheffield, the quite splendidly named Lindrick, has obviously been taken over by some absolutely hideous cohort of Bush, Rumsfeldt and Kinda Leezer and is henceforth to be known as 'Globe Line'.

And may the Lord have mercy on us all.