The Best....
Day: Visiting Denmark or perhaps meeting my new Bloom partner for the first time
Feeling: Having a purpose - finally
New person: Satara
Old person returned: Laura
Blog Post: ooh - they've all been so good - I liked my tribute to my Grandpa, and Saturdaysand I liked explaining Englishness through lard. But all of my posts have been works of genius to be honest with you.
Other Blog: It's close, but I must pay tribute to Tangential Ramblings for starting me off on this crazy journey
New song heard: The End, Nancy Sinatra or Numb / Encore by Jay Z & Linkin Park
New song: Release Me, by Laura or Foundations by Kate Nash
New album heard: Favourite Worst Nightmare, Arctic Monkeys
New album: Costello Music, The Fratellis
Best running music: 99 problems by Jay Z or Con te partiro by Andrea Bocelli
Song from TV: Business Time from Flight of the Conchords
TV programme: Big Brother and Californication
Comedy: Flight of the Conchords
Best sporting moment: Rugby World Cup. All of it. And beating Chelscum in the Champions League. Again.
Distinguished Achievement Award: Paul McCartney. For I love him still (see below).
Read of the Year: The Saturday Guardian
Journalist of the Year: Robert Crampton or Daniel Finkelstein
Best book: Kite Runner
Non fiction:Meaning Inc
Radio Station: Radio 5 Live
Sports star: Andrew Sheridan
Monday, 31 December 2007
Views of Christmas 2007
A lovely Danish forest
Magnificent London - Tower Bridge
Pretty Crimbo lights at Sloane Square
Home - Liverpool - Georgian splendour with earthy pragmatism and liberal helpings of genius. And some cars.
Heaven - Anfield - same thing
My Gran - Xmas Day - WHATEVVA
Magnificent London - Tower Bridge
Pretty Crimbo lights at Sloane Square
Home - Liverpool - Georgian splendour with earthy pragmatism and liberal helpings of genius. And some cars.
Heaven - Anfield - same thing
My Gran - Xmas Day - WHATEVVA
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Rotation Policy
Rafa Benitez has this year come under severe criticism for his rotation policy, whereby he rests players from one game to next seemingly irrespective of the form they are in.
I have just replaced my old Liverpool FC calendar, saying goodbye to Dirk Kujt, Liverpool's Dutch striker, and man of December.
My new calendar is now up in its place (I couldn't wait). And guess who is Mr January? That's right, Dirk Kujt.
Is this a subliminal message that Rafa will be rotating less this year and keeping the same team from one month to the next?
I have just replaced my old Liverpool FC calendar, saying goodbye to Dirk Kujt, Liverpool's Dutch striker, and man of December.
My new calendar is now up in its place (I couldn't wait). And guess who is Mr January? That's right, Dirk Kujt.
Is this a subliminal message that Rafa will be rotating less this year and keeping the same team from one month to the next?
Saturday, 29 December 2007
Thank you letters
Do any of today's ungrateful little shits say thank you any more? None of my little cousins do, the turds. Does anyone?
An article in yesterday's Times suggests that some do, though it is a struggle. I nearly peed my pants when the author persuaded her son to write his laborious thanks and gave him a formula to follow: “Thank you very much for the (blank). I like it very much.”
His aunt reported back that his card to her read, “Thank you very much for the £10. I like it very much.”
An article in yesterday's Times suggests that some do, though it is a struggle. I nearly peed my pants when the author persuaded her son to write his laborious thanks and gave him a formula to follow: “Thank you very much for the (blank). I like it very much.”
His aunt reported back that his card to her read, “Thank you very much for the £10. I like it very much.”
Thursday, 27 December 2007
Liverpool
Back in the 'pool. Went the match. Reds won 4-1. Had a pint with an old Scouser in a pub. Cost about a quid. Saw the folks. Talked about the neighbours caravan (really). Felt the urge to run back to London within about 5 minutes.
The problem with running from something is that it's not authentic. I fear ending up being back in Liverpool, but in the Liverpool of the early 1980s when unemployment was rife, my parents were screaming at each other and I was writing shit poetry about Claire Williams in my room.
But there isn't any chance of that (not the shit poetry - there's every chance of that). What I need to do is understand what role Liverpool plays in the narrative of my life, and acknowledge it.
My Mum was telling me a story about working in the libraries in Merseyside and Cheshire - places of great polarised wealth and opportunity. (Not the libraries so much as the counties). Bear with me on this one.
She was talking about serving the public and everyone was commenting on what a pain it must be. And I made a joke about some of the old bats that come in and say 'Gorrany Catherine Cooookson?' in a big Scouse accent, (cos I used to work there too and I met them). And my Mum laughed but then said 'Yes but I'd prefer them to the posh rude ones' and told us about a middle class woman who refused to pay her fine and was all rude.
And there it is. That's the bit of Liverpool's narrative that stays with me. I'd prefer that too, like my Mum. I'm on the side of the poor ones, the ones who'd give you a cup of tea with their last tea bag. The ones who like Catherine Cooookson.
I don't want wealth if it means I've done nothing in my life to help the underdog. I'm on their side, like it or not. It is part of my narrative, part of me.
And if that doesn't stay with me meaningfully throughout life, if I don't struggle to do something about it, then I've failed utterly.
The problem with running from something is that it's not authentic. I fear ending up being back in Liverpool, but in the Liverpool of the early 1980s when unemployment was rife, my parents were screaming at each other and I was writing shit poetry about Claire Williams in my room.
But there isn't any chance of that (not the shit poetry - there's every chance of that). What I need to do is understand what role Liverpool plays in the narrative of my life, and acknowledge it.
My Mum was telling me a story about working in the libraries in Merseyside and Cheshire - places of great polarised wealth and opportunity. (Not the libraries so much as the counties). Bear with me on this one.
She was talking about serving the public and everyone was commenting on what a pain it must be. And I made a joke about some of the old bats that come in and say 'Gorrany Catherine Cooookson?' in a big Scouse accent, (cos I used to work there too and I met them). And my Mum laughed but then said 'Yes but I'd prefer them to the posh rude ones' and told us about a middle class woman who refused to pay her fine and was all rude.
And there it is. That's the bit of Liverpool's narrative that stays with me. I'd prefer that too, like my Mum. I'm on the side of the poor ones, the ones who'd give you a cup of tea with their last tea bag. The ones who like Catherine Cooookson.
I don't want wealth if it means I've done nothing in my life to help the underdog. I'm on their side, like it or not. It is part of my narrative, part of me.
And if that doesn't stay with me meaningfully throughout life, if I don't struggle to do something about it, then I've failed utterly.
Friday, 21 December 2007
Happy Christmas
So, I am off to Liverpool tomorrow, 'home' for Christmas. I'm going to see Liverpool play Portsmouth and then seeing my Mum and everyone and it will be good.
I love getting the train home to Liverpool. I love the guys who crack open the ales with a glint in their eye just outside Euston. I love the ones who sit near the toilets because it's inevitably packed out. I think they'd sit there anyway, complaining about British Rail even if it was empty. I love the north. I love Liverpool.
And once more I'll be going home as a sort of child-man. No family, not even a job at the moment; I'll get picked up at the station by my Step dad like I was 18 years ago. And I'll expect my Mum to cook for me and I'll barely lift a finger, I'll treat it like a holiday as though I don't know how much work goes into Christmas.
And I know my Mum won't even mind, and everyone will just be pleased to see me, to have me there, home. And I want to tell them how grateful I am, for everything.
Once again I won't.
But I am.
Happy Christmas everyone, back on 27th.
I love getting the train home to Liverpool. I love the guys who crack open the ales with a glint in their eye just outside Euston. I love the ones who sit near the toilets because it's inevitably packed out. I think they'd sit there anyway, complaining about British Rail even if it was empty. I love the north. I love Liverpool.
And once more I'll be going home as a sort of child-man. No family, not even a job at the moment; I'll get picked up at the station by my Step dad like I was 18 years ago. And I'll expect my Mum to cook for me and I'll barely lift a finger, I'll treat it like a holiday as though I don't know how much work goes into Christmas.
And I know my Mum won't even mind, and everyone will just be pleased to see me, to have me there, home. And I want to tell them how grateful I am, for everything.
Once again I won't.
But I am.
Happy Christmas everyone, back on 27th.
Christmas 2007
So, where have we got to? What is the world like this Christmas? In Britain it depends on what sort of mood you're in. I could easily argue that this nation has never had it so good. Decades of continuous growth. Rich. Free. Diverse. Meritocratic as never before.
Yet at the same time, I do sense a growing sense of unease at our health system, the way the major government departments are run, the sense of lawlessness despite falling crime. We are increasingly unequal. Are we happy? Not if the collective self loathing that is celebrity culture is anything to go by.
Maybe this confusion is just my own experience writ large. I found no meaning in my highly paid, secure comfortable job, yet the challenge of doing something I'll be proud of leaves me prone to depression and isolation.
The best conclusion I can reach for myself is that I am at least trying to do something different. It feels like a brave decision. Psychology shows that people don't regret brave decisions, but I'm not sure in my case.
Life's so complicated sometimes that the best conclusion is that if you're really thinking about your life and doing your best to reach your carefully selected goals then that's all you can do. Finally, I suppose I can say I am.
Are you?
Yet at the same time, I do sense a growing sense of unease at our health system, the way the major government departments are run, the sense of lawlessness despite falling crime. We are increasingly unequal. Are we happy? Not if the collective self loathing that is celebrity culture is anything to go by.
Maybe this confusion is just my own experience writ large. I found no meaning in my highly paid, secure comfortable job, yet the challenge of doing something I'll be proud of leaves me prone to depression and isolation.
The best conclusion I can reach for myself is that I am at least trying to do something different. It feels like a brave decision. Psychology shows that people don't regret brave decisions, but I'm not sure in my case.
Life's so complicated sometimes that the best conclusion is that if you're really thinking about your life and doing your best to reach your carefully selected goals then that's all you can do. Finally, I suppose I can say I am.
Are you?
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