The law I do is concerned with blood splatter patterns, bodily fluids and firearms residues as opposed to the more esoteric (and lucrative) commercial stuff. I am also a published novelist ('twentytwelve' published by Adonis and Abbey in 2006) which you should all order immediately in support of my desperate attempt to get its amazon.co.uk rating below half a million!
The death of J.D. Salinger has been widely reported. He was plainly a very strange man but I do owe him a debt of gratitude. I tooki O Level English Literature (that's GCSE young persons - and for overseas readers O Levels were exams taken at 16 by pupils deemed fit to take them - being a smartipants I took then at 15 but that's another story). I had three set texts: Macbeth - which is good fun, the poems of Robert Browning - which I developed an odd liking for. the one I particularly liked was My Last Duchess - we are in psycho central territrory there and David Fucking Copperfield - to give it its proper title. I can't tell you how much I hated that book. Every line was pure misery. I can't even remember why I hated it so much but I did. It's a bit like the worst job I ever had (with apologies to Derek and Clive) which was so awful all I can remember about it was that I stuck it for four days and didn't go back for the fifth, despite being rightly told by a co-worker 'never leave without your wages' - which were due on the fifth day - a Friday.
Anyway, after David Fucking Copperfield I just hated novels so much it was four years later when as an undergraduate I could bear to pick up a novel again. It was Catcher in the Rye. As a cure, it worked. I have rarely been without a novel on the go ever since. I mentioned Derek and Clive and The Worst Job I Ever Had. Oh all right then. If you insist... Warning: hugely not office friendly
As a parting shot on Salinger, one strange fact I didn't know until reading an obit today was that his first wife was a Nazi he was sent to arrest as such when he was an officer in Military Intelligence (a contradiction in terms - Boom! Boom!). They had eight months of vigorous nazisex and, thus sated, seperated. Heigh ho. After this, I promise no more Cameron posters (maybe back to dreadful album covers) but here is one helpfully amended by some wag on behalf of the good people of Hackney.
To which Beau Bo D'Or (link to left) adds for the sake of completeness...
The smouldering passion between British Foreign Secretary David Miliband and his US counterpart Hillary Clinton is well known after exclusive revelations by the rabbit here . Yesterday they were at it again while pretending to discuss Afghanistan (a likely story - you've got to think of better cover peeps!). WR has never had a caption competition before so go for it and come up with a suitable caption for the above pic. Nothing too filthy, thank you! Moderately filthy acceptable.
I confess myself increasingly amused despite my better judgement by Guido Fawkes - anyone Charon QC is on good terms with can't be all bad. The above clip - with Hat Tip to Charon for posting it and thus attracting my attention - has intrepid Guy TV reporter Emily No Mates questioning leader of UKIP Lord Pearson of Rannoch. By way of explanation Lord Pearson of Rannoch - or Malcolm Everard MacLaren Pearson, Baron Pearson of Rannoch, of Bridge of Gaur in the District of Perth and Kinross to give him his full name (and he's only a jumped up life peer) is leader of the United Kingdom Independence Party - a collection of, to quote 'Dave' Cameron in a rare moment of spot on-ness as 'fruitcakes', 'loonies' and 'closet racists'- which about covers the field - who principally want to withdraw from the European Union but have other equally bonkers policies. The rabbit has a view on the EU - I'm in favour of it. Deal with it. But I digress...
The latest bonkers UKIP policy is that they want to ban the burqa. Now I genuinely don't understand why anyone would want to wear the burqa but as a matter of individual freedom if someone voluntarily sees fit to wear one, I can't see how that is any business of the state or a suitable subject for a ban. What do the powers that be do? Go around removing the burqa from women having the temerity to wear them in public? Arrest them? Prosecute and imprison them (presumably sans burqa)? A ban on the burqa in public places is being contemplated in France but we're British. We don't do that sort of thing.
Well UKIP would us like to and they claim to be as British as British can be. Have a look at Emily - resplendent in burqa - interviewing Lord Pearson etc etc. It's 3.10 into clip and very bizarre stuff too.
On a completely different topic - Valentine's Day is imminent and the ever diligent Mahal draws my attention to a suitable present for your lady love to celebrate this auspicious occasion - Just The Thing , I'm sure you'll agree!
A couple of parting shots, comments on older posts happen quite regularly but can get lost in the mists. An early White Rabbit post on Becky's Dive Bar has quite a 'tail' of comments made well after the posting (I blame drunken nostalgia and Mr Google - a febrile mix!). The laikin' t' scum postingis not that old (2 January 2010) but a comment just arrived on it that otherwise may be lost. I said that laiking was a Yorkshire dialect word for playing. What I didn't know was its origin. A commenter named sobriquet - to whom welcome to my humble blog - did. I copy and paste...
'Sitha, lad, laiking, it's from 't norsemen wha settled hereabouts. Ad Leikja, verb, to play. Still exists in Icelandic. leikhus=theatre, playhouse'.
Yorkshire dialect comments now! Sitha is a contraction of 'see thou' (I think!). I blogged on the Yorkshire Flag a long time ago and shall fly it again today. The link to that posting has a link to the posting which, if I had to nominate one posting from WR to survive for posterity, I would choose - Go ahead Warden, murder me...Take a look.
The Observer newspaper trumpets the following headline today...
'Iraq war was illegal, top lawyer will tell Chilcot inquiry'
Further sensational revelations are expected pertaining to the Pope's denominational allegiance and the sanitary arrangements of bears.
Antidote time: Here are the elderly gents with Attics Of My Life. Apparently they rarely did this song live so it's quite a collector's item. Visual quality poor (too dark) but it's a nice song. here's the (annotated) lyrics:
And all my lights grow old When I had no wings to fly You flew to me You flewto me In the secret space of dreams Where I dreaming lay amazed When the secrets all are told And the petals all unfold When there was no dream of mine You dreamed of me
Cartoonist Steve Bell surpasses even his usual standards in the Guardian this morning. For the terminally inattentive Jack Straw, Foreign Secretary at the time of the Iraq invasion, has informed the Chilcot Inquiry that he could have stopped British participation in the invasion by resigning.
He didn't though.
On a cheerier topic than Straw and allied dunderheads, photographs of snowflakes taken more than a hundred years ago by American farmer Wilson A. Bentley on primitive equipment are for sale. I somehow suspect they are out of my price range. Here is one. Isn't it lovely?
Yup, this is Beau Bo D'Or (link to left again). The context is that the Conservative opposition propose to give tax breaks for married couples, so as to encourage marriage as a general Good Thing. The people in the pic are the leader of the Conservative Party David 'Dave' Cameron and his stupefyingly wealthy wife. This policy is generally considered a dumb idea and particularly boneheaded piece of social engineering. There is as of yet no answer to the question as to how it is fair for a high earning husband to run off with a younger woman, divorce his long suffering (and lower earning) wife and marry the younger woman and have the benefit of a tax break in so doing where the ex-wife loses the benefit of the tax break. If Dave wants to pop in and explain, WR's comments box is as ever open.
The ever industrious Mahal has drawn my attention to a site called People of Wal-Mart. It is a collection of shots of Wal-Mart customers. They are not a pretty sight. Here are a couple to be going on with. Best not to laugh at the Americans, though. Wal-Mart, sub nom ASDA, is among us and the grotesques can't be far behind.
Here is a particularly weird one. Someone takes their monkey on the grocery shop??? Notice the banana dispenser.
Oh and while on the subject of monkeys, here is a little gem lifted from Charon QC...
The person in the pic is named Paul Chambers. During the recent heavy snow, he found his travel plans messed with. He sent a twitter round his mates. It read as follows:
'Robin Hood airport is closed. You've got a week and a bit to get your shit together, otherwise I'm blowing the airport sky high!!'
Not the wittiest thing in the universe, but not to be taken seriously by any sensible person. Robibn Hood airport, of which I was previously happily oblivious, is Britain's newest airport and also describes itself as Doncaster Sheffield airport.
Last Wednesday 'after apparently receiving a tip-off from a member of the public' police arrived at Mr Chambers' place of work and arrested him under the Terrorism Act! I can almost hear the flat footfall of plod from here. He is then questioned for seven hours, a great deal of the time being taken up by Mr Chambers explaining Twitter to the bemused constabulary who had never heard of it. A lot of personal questioning followed with the lead investigator enquiring 'Do you understand why this is happening?' and announcing, 'It is the world we live in'. He has now been bailed and had his iPhone, laptop and home computer confiscated.
Mr Chambers was suspended from work and banned for life from Robin Hood airport (a ban most people would view with equanimity).
Okay - he hasn't covered himself in glory. Not the brightest thing to do. But how long does it take to work out that this was a lame joke and not a serious terrorist incident?
Several seconds, I would imagine. About the same time as it would take to tell him this was less than inspired and best not to do it again.
Or even a serious bomb hoax, which Mr Chambers may yet be prosecuted for.
Clunking, boneheaded authoritarianism by numbers!
Hat Tip to Jailhouse Lawyer
A quick blast of Maggie's Farm seems appropriate
On a completely different topic, here is an informative sign with Hat Tip to Sarcastic Bastard.
Explanation for overseas readers: David 'Dave' Cameron is leader of the Conservative Party. He is an old Etonian and considers his (very wealthy) wife unconventional because she went to day school. He's sort of like a Tory Blair and that is not a compliment. He is likely to be Prime Minister by summer. It has been made public that his photo in various billboard posters has been airbrushed.
Oh dear! Never underestimate the British capacity for mockery. The original poster said 'We can't go on like this. I'll cut the deficit not the NHS'. Once the cat was out of the bag as regards the airbrushing of our hero's apparently not smooth enough features all sorts of naughty people (including the wonderful Beau Bo D'Or - link to left) got going producing parodies. here are some of the best gathered at My David Cameron
As a little bonus, here are the Dead with I Know You Rider. At 2 minutes 20 seconds Garcia seems hugely amused at singing the line I wish I was a headlight on a northbound train. I must be missing something here. There is an annotated Dead lyrics thing that may cast light on this (as it were) but I'm not putting my electronic finger on it. Anyone know? Here are the lyrics in full (it's traditional in origin so versions vary)..
I know you rider, gonna miss me when I'm gone
I know you rider, gonna miss me when I'm gone
Gonna miss your baby, from rolling in your arms
Lay down last night, Lord, I could not take my rest
Lay down last night, Lord, I could not take my rest
My mind was wandering like the wild geese in the West
At the risk of appearing slow out of the blocks, I confess I have only just discovered Uncyclopedia, a parody of Wikipedia. I strongly suspect that the discovery is going to provide me with many hours of innocent pleasure. For a starter, here is the beginning of the entry on Prince Charles
'HRH Prince Charles wearing the official crown of Wales and a rarther gharstly dress shirt
The first-born of English Queen-head Liz Windsor and her consort Prince Philip the Asshole, The Guggenshit, HRH Prince Charles, Prince of Wales, Duke of Rothesay, Duke of Cornwall, Hater of Modern Architecture, Lord of the Flies, Flatulent Hermit of Lindisfarne, Chief Hermit of Westmorland, Clone of Prince Philip, also known as The King of Late Night, is an unemployed professional gimp, wine connoisseur, and television personality who currently hosts the British late-night television show The Rather Late Programme. As you read this article you may feel a mild sensation of arousal. Don't worry, everybody loves a bit of bat-eared mediocrity'.
At this point the rabbit corpsed. His composure was not helped by a subsequent reference to someone called Camilla Parker-Bollocks. At this point mild hysteria set in. Only the discovery that England were 48/3 brought him back to earth with a bump. Bloody Sooth Effricans.
Also from Uncyclopedia is someone described as 'Miss BNP 2007'. Note the ears.
With Hat Tip to Tony (link to left) here is a clip featuring Neil Young's After The Goldrush. It is so weird it has me strangely fascinated.
The Guardian newspaper's critics produced a list of the top 50 TV dramas ever after much heated debate. Here it is in full (overseas readers please bear with it - there's a lot of British stuff in the list - it's a British newspaper!) On one level it is a meaningless exercise. In what sense is Brookside one place higher and therefore presumably better than 24, which is in turn one place higher and therefore presumably better than The Twilight Zone of blessed and very distant memory? A more extreme example of not comparing like with like is difficult to imagine.
Top of the list? The Sopranos and I'm not arguing. It just makes me purr with pleasure, wonderfully scripted, wonderfully acted, wonderfully filmed. Yup. That's as good as it gets. It also has the best opening titles of any TV series ever - see above - edgy, acutely observed. Sets the whole thing up perfectly.
Second place? Brideshead Revisited and again I'm not arguing. Et in Arcadia Ego indeed. I confess to being a total fan of Evelyn Waugh's writing - which is so good and so self revelatory as to mitigate his pretty dreadful personality. He manages the writer's holy grail of letting the reader deep inside his head - and it's an uncomfortable place. Damn, he's good. Having said this, in later life he hated Brideshead Revisited - too self revelatory of his early life in its homoerotic subtext. Less good was John Mortimer's script. He got the credit but in fact his script was not used and less known mortals wrote the actual script uncredited. Again, wonderful visually, wonderfully acted and wonderful music.
A few random comments. Buffy the Vampire Slayer at 22? All this proves I think is that middle aged men (as TV critics tend to be) should not watch that particular programme. Sarah Michelle Gellar just gets them overexcited. They then overpromote the programme in the list. Tsk!
Shameless creeping in at 49? Disgraceful! Should be a top ten hit surely? I'd stick a clip up but the irritating message 'embedding disabled by request' comes up. Heigh ho.
Otherwise I mention two contrasting cop dramas, Hill Street Blues - an absolute classic - too low at 33. The Sweeney a piece of mid-70s old rubbish very fortunate to figure at all - even at 47 (two places above Shameless - you get the drift of my complaint in this respect).
I could go on. But I'll confine myself to one further topic: the absentees.
It's not an original thought - indeed huge numbers of people were howling this complaint but how on earth did they miss out I Claudius while including - erm - Grange Hill? As a small consolation, here is John Hurt blowing the camping it up o-meter off the wall as Caligula before the Senate. Plus no non English language dramas and therefore no Heimat, a series that I found compulsive viewing even in subtitles. Or even Das Boot a German production addressing an obviously difficult period in German history - and doing it wonderfully well.
This is by a Brazilian heavy metal band called Selptura (Portugese for grave it turns out). It's traditional for Mr Satan to do one appearance in each instalment of the bizarre album covers thread so here he is again. he seems to have grown a second set of horns for some reason - all very odd. Wikipedia announces that
'their debut full-length album, Morbid Visions, which is widely considered as one of the first pure death metal albums was initially released in the United States on New Renaissance Records, a record label owned by Anne Boleyn' Huh? I thought she was decapitated in 1536. Different Anne Boleyn it turns out. Here is the original not getting decapitated yet from The Tudors...
Oh dear me! This is not good! Are they all drunk? They look to be very well equipped with large drinks - the men anyway. Plus the dog who featured in SongsFor Gay Dogs seems to have made a reappearance centre stage.
It is also traditional to have one gospel album cover on display per posting. The hairdos probably contravene some international convention prohibiting that sort of thing. Some wag comments it's also nice to see the young Stephen Fry in drag.
Okay - let's have a gospel double header this time. This is Tammy Fae Bakker - dodgy ex-wife of the equally dodgy Jim Bakker (she's dead now and he copped 45 years in the nick for fraud - they know how to dish out the bird those Americans). Why she is puckering up to snog the lion remains a mystery. The lion looks suitably unimpressed.
Is this not horrid? No, I have no idea why the upside down plastic doll. I don't want to know either.
If anything this is worse. Words fail me. Enough! I think I've grossed myself out here. Time to lie down or something...
...it seems to annoy them. The pic below is pinched from Guido Fawkes. the caption is 'One is faked-up character using make-up to appear semi-human, the other is a popular character in Star Trek…' Assuming Lord Snooty and his pals get in at the next election,it will be interesting to see how Mr Fawkes reacts. My gut feeling is that those of us not sympathetic to his politics may be in for a pleasant surprise. If there really must be Tories, I confess a preference for the anarchist type over the dirigiste. Mr Fawkes comes, I think, into the former category...
Here is a - very temporary - parting shot. I'm working in London tomorrow so think I'll head down tonight to avoid travel grief tomorow morning given present conditions.
Jailhouse Lawyer - the source of so many goodies - comes up with the following gem of a news item:
"Man's penis removed from pipe
A man who went to casualty with his penis stuck in a steel pipe had to be cut free by firefighters using a metal grinder.
Medics at Southampton General Hospital could not get the man's penis out of the stainless steel pipe because the restricted blood flow had caused it to become aroused.
So they called in Hampshire Fire and Rescue Service.
They turned up with a special equipment unit from St Mary's station in Southampton and seven firefighters to help in what a spokesman said was a ''delicate operation''. The firefighters used the four-and-a-half-inch grinder to cut the pipe from around the man's penis and it took about 30 minutes. The patient was given an anaesthetic and his penis was left bruised and swollen but otherwise unharmed.
The anxious man aged about 40 gave hospital staff no explanation about how the pipe got stuck after he turned up on Tuesday morning".
I love the bit about the man giving staff no explanation as to how this penis got stuck in the pipe. I would have thought the answer was rather obvious...
Oh and as a variant on a theme - with hat Tip to Daily Obsessional - here is the White Rabbit. He wants following!
The story of Northern Irish First Minister Peter Robinson and his errant wife gets more bizarre by the day. For overseas readers and the terminally inattentive, it goes something like this: Peter Robinson has always struck me as an unpleasant, uptight Paisleyite. The Northern Irish peace process resulted in both communities voting for their most exteme political manifestations - fairly standard issue stuff so far in accordance with the theory that the extreme can deliver things the centrist can't as regards the resolution of intractable conflict. So the Democratic Unionists and Sinn Fein did the unthinkable and headed a joint administration. They settled down to attempt to address fairly standard issue Northern Irish type arguments such as policing in a more or less unremarkable way until very recently.
The appropriately named Mrs Robinson is 60 (note the age) and a member of the the Light and Life Free Methodist church in Belfast (it's a Northern Irish thing - bear with me). She had previously only shown significantly on the radar by pronouncing homosexuality an 'abomination' and that it made her 'nauseous'. As may be imagined, this was less than universally well received. There was a certain amount of muttering recently when it emerged that the Robinsons, who are both members of the Westminster Parliament as well as the Northern Irish assembly had between them trousered to £500,000 in public funds in the 'discharge' of their duties last year. That's not counting the £150,000 paid out of public funds for employing their children to assist them imn their public duties. I note without surprise that the Robinsons own a holiday home in Florida.
So far so tacky in a standard issue sort of way. Then comes the good bit. It emerges that Mrs Robinson has been having an affair (now concluded) with a 19 year old!
On one level, this might be seen as a private matter but what has made it less than private (apart from Mrs Robinson's censorious pronouncements on the 'failings' of others) is that money comes into it. The Robinson toyboy, a character by the name of Kirk McCambley, worked in his father's butcher's shop where our heroine would go to purchase supplies. As the affair developed she set him up in business running a cafe in a new development. She persuaded two property developers to part with £25,000 each which she handed over to the no doubt grateful Kirk who was to bung her £5,000 out of the money to pay some debts she had incurred (despite the family income as aforesaid!).
Then things get nasty. She wants the £45,000 back. The relationship breaks down. Mrs Robinson helpfully explains to her Pastor 'God's word was very clear on it'. Despite the belated appearance of God in the drama, it seems that the real cause of the end of the affair was the money - or McCambley's failure to give it back. Although the developers didn't get their money back initially, £20,000 was paid to the Free Methodist Tabernacle and another £20,000 to repay Mrs Robinson's debts. In fairness to the Pastor, he became very uncomfortable with these arrangements and at his insistence the money was sent back to the developers. Yes I know that leaves £5,000 unaccounted for. Its whereabouts is a mystery.
Then she attempts suicide. Mr Robinson is seen in the Northern Irish Assembly laughing and joking as she was in hospital (he hadn't called an ambulance 'on medical advice that she should sleep after her failed suicide attempt' he later helpfully explained). Such jollity was premature as he is in the poo as well now. She is in trouble for taking the admitted £5,000 and also helping one of the developers who had stumped up the money in relation to a building scheme in her constituency. He is in trouble for, on finding out about the money, advising her to pay the £5,000 back but not reporting the matter to the authorities. A QC is to investigate.
Otherwise words fail me...
Another dysfunctional family tale saw the light of day recently with the publication of a protracted rant from Murry Wilson, father of three of the Beach Boys and general evil old bastard. It doesn't bear repetition but here is one of the best pop songs ever, the deliciously trippy Wild Honey.
I conclude today's posts by noting without further comment that Lonely Planet has ranked Wolverhampton as the fifth worst place in the world (the worst is Detroit, it emerges). Okay, I said without comment but haven't these people heard of Stoke???
I can't find words to express my indifference to the announcement that Jonathan Ross is leaving the BBC. The only slight regret is that it probably will be that witless pillock Graham Norton taking over Ross's Friday evening slot by some arcane process of elimination. Above is Beau Bo D'Or strutting his stuff with Ross and Russell Brand as Brady and Hindley (a couple of notorious 1960s serial child killers overseas persons). With Hat Tip to Sarcastic Bastard, I can't help smiling at the pic below. Maybe the dog should get the 10.30pm Friday night BBC1 slot.
Oh and as a parting shot, here (nicked from Earl - link to - well you know) here is The Sandman, a short film done in the style of a German expressionist silent film. It is meant to illustrate Freud's theory of 'the uncanny' and is based on ETA Hoffmann's short story of the same name. Mostly, it's just seriously weird.
To crank up the legal content of this blog, here is the sinisterly named Minister of Justice, Jack Straw. I'm not quite sure what he's got there...
Hat Tip to Prisoners Families Voices via Jailhouse lawyer.
Also here is a meeting of the Jack Straw Fan Club. Notice how they are gazing adoringly up at him. Well you would, wouldn't you?
Hat Tip to Your Girlfriend is Ugly.
Okay, after the scaly fellows, I suppose you deserve a bonus. Explanations for overseas readers needed. Eddie Stobart is the name of a chain of trucks (okay it's the name of a person too - as in the person who set up the haulage business). Each truck has a distinct woman's name on the grille. Sad people make a hobby of spotting Eddie Stobart trucks, logging their registration plates and names. They post the details on Eddie Stobart Saddo websites. This is just too sad. The YouTube clip is funny, though. Enjoy!
Time for some more bizarre album covers. There is something not quite right about mom's lips here and the way the cream is dripping out of her apple pie is not nice either. I think there is a seriously not nice subtext going on here. Tsk!
Oh dear! When I first posted this, I merely had a suspicion something was not quite nice. Further researches discloses a close up of the - um - apple pie. I draw a discreet veil over this matter. Apparently, after word got out, retailers demanded that Capitol Records do something about it. They did. They filled the slice up with bricks, surrounded it with barbed wire, and raised the American Flag. Quite right too. Just for the record, Mom's Apple Pie was the name of the band as well as the album.
Talking of not quite nice, the mind boggles as regards what is going on here. The facial expressions of our hero and the woman with very large breasts are a treat. What is the matter with the woman in the black negligee and how did she get in that state? I think we should be told... Who Bobby Devroe is/was remains utterly obscure despite some googling.
It is not surprising that most bizarre album covers are by pretty obscure artistes (see Bobby Devroe) but this is yer actual Mothers of Invention - as in Frank Zappa. Not nice though...
Gay Dogs? Is this some sort of positive discrimination thing? And what are that bloke and the dog up to that they need to put the chair back between us and them? This is not a nice thought.
As to what is going on here.... Recorded live at the Open Face Sandwich Club??? WHAT??? There is an Eddy Mack who is UK Fleet Support HSE Manager at Bombardier Transportation Limited. Probably a different Eddy Mack, though. Pity, that... Now after the previous lot, something nice and wholesome. Stupid, though. Or is there some subtext I'm missing out on here?
Mr Satan puts in another appearance, this time without the assistance of the Louvin Brothers. There is an online comment that 'if playing this album got anyone a girl I would be very suprised'. I'm not arguing.
That is just so bizarre - and not in a nice way - I'll stop for now! Tsk!
This pic is from Hank's Dreams (link to left). There's something fascinating about it. It gives me vertigo just looking at the guy's tie flapping about. And because it came to mind here is The Knack with My Sharona. It looks as if it was recorded in someone's back garden. Perhaps it was.
PS - Unbelievable - we did it!!! Manchester Utd. 0 Leeds Utd. 1
An explanation may be in order for overseas readers. You get your football team (as in soccer Americanpersons) with your DNA. Like your DNA, whatever happens subsequently it can't be changed. I got Leeds United. I was born there. I lived there till I was 15 and then moved just up the road. In my adolescence and early adulthood they played wonderful football. It was a source of great local pride. The local pride was reinforced with a seige mentality. It was suggested by some deluded souls that the footballing brilliance of the great Leeds teams was somewhat compromised by - erm - dirty play. Where this extraordinary idea came from is a mystery but it persisted (he wrote grinning from ear to ear).
Legaue championships, the FA Cup, European trophies followed. then the bubble slowly deflated. The beginning of the sort of end was the 'defeat' in the European Cup Final, the origin of the wac-coe thing (see WR 18 December 09). Relegation followed, then promotion and the last ever four division Football League Championship. Then financial lunacy chasing the dream, relegation, insolvency, points deduction for going into administration and a further points deduction for getting out of administration (don't ask, it's complicated), down to the third tier of English football for the first time ever.
The saving grace was the supporters. they kept coming through thin and thinner. Bare chested, twirling their shirts over their heads. They kept coming in their thousands. Now we are on the up again. Top of League One (as we are now to call the Third Division) by a country mile. I count no chickens but promotion looks a very likely bet. Then someone with a huge amount of money will realise what a potential goldmine the club is: one club big city, huge fanbase. Ker-ching!!!
And tomorrow we have the scum (official name: Manchester United) in the FA Cup. I can't describe how much we hate the strutting posing, braying, prawn sandwich eating, glory hunting - erm - tossers (I could have used much stronger language). We'll probably lose. We may lose badly. The team is still work in progress - a lot more progress will be needed to match the top Premiership clubs. I don't care. We're taking 9,000 tomorrow. Apparently we could have taken 30,000 if the tickets were available. Still bare chested, singing, chanting through thin and thinner.
There is only one objective this season: get promoted. But the diversion is delicious. But for a few hours more, I can dream of FA Cup glory
Oh, laiking? A Yorkshire dialect word for playing. T'? - The.
The death of J.D. Salinger has been widely reported. He was plainly a very strange man but I do owe him a debt of gratitude. I tooki O Level English Literature (that's GCSE young persons - and for overseas readers O Levels were exams taken at 16 by pupils deemed fit to take them - being a smartipants I took then at 15 but that's another story). I had three set texts: Macbeth - which is good fun, the poems of Robert Browning - which I developed an odd liking for. the one I particularly liked was My Last Duchess - we are in psycho central territrory there and David Fucking Copperfield - to give it its proper title. I can't tell you how much I hated that book. Every line was pure misery. I can't even remember why I hated it so much but I did. It's a bit like the worst job I ever had (with apologies to Derek and Clive) which was so awful all I can remember about it was that I stuck it for four days and didn't go back for the fifth, despite being rightly told by a co-worker 'never leave without your wages' - which were due on the fifth day - a Friday.
To which Beau Bo D'Or (link to left) adds for the sake of completeness...
