TODAY'S A DAY TO CELEBRATE

...the foe have met their fate. And, in tribute to the mighty Blades and, in particular, messrs Morgan and Jagielka, so has my facial hair.



Altogether now...

"We all agree,
Jags is better than Lehmann.
Monty is better than Cesc Fabregas,
And Arsenal got what was coming."

I'm off to a New Year's Eve party tomorrow. And I am going like this.

THERE IS NO NUMBER THREE

There is no cause for either a rejoicing at a death or a celebration of a life this morning. All I can feel right now is a kind of despair. Both Margaret Beckett and Bush minor have added their wisdom on the event of early morning; a holding to account and an important milestone towards democracy apparently.

A serendipitous conjunction of opinion there certainly. It would appear that the more democratic one's system of governance, the less likely it is that anyone, anywhere will ever be held to account.

I feel sick.

LICENSED FOR DANCING

No 2

I'm sure he wouldn't have it any other way.











Papa's definitely got a brand new bag.

LICENSED FOR DANCING

No 1...in what hopefully, will be a very long series.

TRIBUTE

You may have noticed, have you ever been of a mind to explore my sidebar, links to both Byker Sink and Wor Man in Hanoi, blogs produced by the one individual.

I very nearly wrote 'one and the same person' there but, always a stickler for factual accuracy, decided that although he might well still be one, he most definitely is not the same.

For the past two and a half years he has been a part of the KOTO (Know One, Teach One) project in Hanoi, Vietnam, a volunteer in an organisation dedicated to providing street kids with education and work skills. A future in other words.

For the same period he has blogged of his experiences. With honesty, humility, wit, humour, an inexplicable devotion to Newcastle United and an overwhelming sense of love. In this short time, he has probably achieved more than most of us will manage in a lifetime. A lot of us can talk the talk, as they say. He not only walked but took us with him every step of the way. And it was quite a journey. Tears and laughter. Always love. Love of the country and its people. And especially for the KOTO kids. Many of us hope to find our reward in heaven. He has only to look at this photo.

Thank you, Steve.

I am indeed, not worthy.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

or

Bugger This for a Lark

Or perhaps that should be SCREW YOUR COURAGE TO THE STICKING PLACE or Pull Thissen Together. Maybe STAND NOT UPON THE ORDER OF YOUR GOING or Fuck Off.

And maybe this marvellous passage of Aeschylus'...

Near the heart the pointed sword
Waits; when Justice gives the word,
Through and through, sour edged and strong,
Strikes the blade. For none can long
Scorn regard of right and wrong,
Break the holy laws of heaven,
And hope to find his deed forgiven.

Justice plants her anvil; Fate
Forges keen the brazen knife.
Murder still will propogate
Murder; life must fall for life,
So the avenging Fiend, renowned
For long resolve and guile profound,
Now the wheel has turned with time,
Pays in blood the ancient crime.

...could be rendered as 'what goes around, comes around'.

And certainly would, if various publishers have their way. I remember being jolted out of a P G Wodehouse inspired Blandings reverie or it may have been a wistful idling away in the world of Mike and Psmith...but anyway, the start might not have been enough to send the bathwater swishing over the sides of the porcelain, yet my rhapsody was rudely truncated by a sudden reference to the cricketers Truman and Compton.

I mean, what!

No doubt that in the most recent editions even these names will have been replaced by those of Harmison and Flintoff which, given this morning's abject performance, just goes to show that any attempt to add relevancy is almost bound to detract from the intended meaning.

Just what were these fellows thinking? That the world of aunts, personal gentlemen's gentlemen, the Drones club and country house breakfasts would be made more relevant and palatable to a modern audience simply by updating the sporting references? It would appear that Krispin and Jocanta have forsaken advertising for the world of publishing.

We've had the abominable Disneyfication of Winnie the Pooh, a computer generated Noddy and now it would appear that even the books of Enid Blyton are to be brought kicking and screaming into 21st century relevance.

"The current publishers, Hodder, made a number of changes to the text this year to reflect changed uses of language. "I say" was replaced by "hey", "queer" with "odd" and "biscuits" with "cookies" - the latter to appeal to American readers."
The Independent

Now, although as a child I read Blyton, I always found her the literary equivalent to the aural wallpaper of easy listening. An unchallenging way of passing the hours of a long car journey for example. I was more a Richmael Crompton and Kipling boy myself. I recently picked up a copy of Five Go off in a Caravan for 50p from Save the Children and, having read it, am content in the knowledge that I have saved at least one child from the bother.

But I stray from my point.

In our ratings driven world there is a desire to make the world of 'the Arts' accessible to a wider audience. So we have this random 'up-dating' of literature, the New English Bible as opposed to the wondrous prose of the King James' Version and classical symphonies recorded and arranged with a 'modern' drum beat.

Bollocks the lot of it. Every book, piece of music, painting...in fact, any work of art is of its time and place, a reflection of its creator and his or her environment. Wherein lies the magic of Shakespeare? In his insight into the human condition? In his story telling? No. It is in the language, purely and simply.

They have it, as so often, completely arse about tit. Instead of modifying the Arts to make them more accessible to a wider audience, here's a radical thought. Why not make a wider audience more succeptible to the Arts through education?

Even then, there are always going to be people for whom the Arts will remain, as it were, a closed book. So what? They will rarely be brought to a greater appreciation by adding a rock beat to a symphony, re-writing Shakespeare in the modern vernacular or by any other kind of dilution. Are their lives any the poorer for it? Who can say? The question would not even arise were the subject say, sport for example.

Oh, well.

Good night, good night; parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night, till it be morrow.

Ah'll sithee.