Getting Shirty

I noticed a man crossing the park this morning with his dearly beloved, he was wearing a Manchester United football shirt, this just before 9 am.  Here we are, 350 miles from Manchester, and a typical Man U fan is seen!  I'll bet this creature has never lowered himself to enter the local teams stadium to watch them in action.  A connection to the local side appears less welcome than following a side whose ground you have never visited!  

This irks me.

Some years ago, delivering post up the Ridgeway, I noticed a 10 year old wearing a similar shirt.  His dad told me he supported Ipswich, which makes sense as it is quite local and once was a top side, and he may well have originated from that area.  But the kid was influenced by tv as so many are.

My football influence came from my dad, reading about the Hearts and wanting to play football constantly, even if rubbish at it.  A dozen years of wandering about Scotland in all weathers, mostly wet, following a side with less hope of success than an ice cube in the Sahara.  But this is what the fan does, and they still do.  Those days have gone and the chances of ever seeing Edinburgh again diminish daily, but the club is still in my life.  Not so important as it once was, real life now dominates, but if they win or lose I feel it.  The long distance fan who has rarely seen his team in action cannot comprehend the life of a true fan, it is not possible.  Anyway, next year his shirt will change colour and he will follow another.

Which brings me to thankfulness for Scotland qualifying in marvellous fashion for the Euros in Germany next year.  Win, lose or draw matters not.  We are again amongst the elite, this is where we ought to be as only by playing amongst the best can we improve.  Steve Clark, much unsung by the Glasgow mafia, has led his side to success and looks good for more.  Congratulations and applause for him.

Hopefully he will take on the Heart of Midlothian job afterwards...

Football and Begg

 

It has been a tough day.  Beginning at noon I watched the awful poor Rangers v Celtic match.  While the SKY commentators build up these games I know not but as usual there was little football played.  Instead we had an hour and a half of huffing and puffing going nowhere.  One goal out of nothing leaving Rangers victors.  Now as we speak around 150 domestic incidents occur in the west of Scotland, the usual result when someone wins this game.    

Following this I managed to watch some of the English mediocrity that costs dazzling amounts of cash. What I saw of Burnley and Leeds made me worried for the future dementia of the Burnley players, not including the one or two who may already have this.  My niece, the best looking and most intelligent one, married a man from Burnley, which may disprove my claims about her.  With their son being born any day now I am doing my best to wean the boy from his dad and onto the Heart of Midlothian.  I have this worked out already.  By the time he is 16 he will be in Edinburgh playing for the Scotland under 17s because of his granddad, loving the life and awaiting a transfer to Real Madrid or Juventas.

I will be his agent...

I certainly will not allow him to play for Burnley, he will have a brain after all, and he will not join Wolves or Manchester United either, not after that dismal effort they put out tonight.  Dearie me the Pars game yesterday was more exciting, more football and better than anything this lot offered up today.  Big money does not produce big talent worth watching.

Not much time for anything else, though I did manage to listen to this in the morning....

 

 

Nothing!

Another Sunday comes near its end and my mind is empty.  I wore it out emoting today and there is little left once darkness falls and my plate of badly cooked leftovers rots inside.  It started the usual way, I spent several minutes wondering if I was awake or still dreaming.  The voices in my head turned out to be some plonker of 'Talksport' discussing fishing with a man on a mobile phone. As is normal with such calls he was either talking from inside a cardboard box or speaking Chittagonian, I know not which. Either way this did not interest and I scrambled wearily for the remote on the pillow, it being to far to reach out from under the blankets to the wireless, and changed to the early Radio 4, here the weather forecast threatened me. This ended and offered me uninteresting news so I moved to Radio 5's childish news service and quickly amended that to Radio 3.  At last something that did not prattle or irritate the early morning mind.  

'Choice' is one of those buzzwords politicians use when lying through their teeth, choice in hospitals, choice in schools, choice here there and everywhere, however the choice is limited and often unavailable. Radio and TV offer choice, you can tale what they offer or lump it!

Early morning radio is poor and I spend more time on Radio 3 with the music filling the space between my ears than the wool mill like noise that emanates from the morning news hubs.  One lying MP is up against another misinforming the nation or perhaps a supporter of Black faces a White fan and the debate gets nowhere much to some smug BBC voice's satisfaction (and £2-300,000 a year is satisfying!).  

The mind was awake during the wee talk by the minister in the Kirk at ten, or half past when he got around to speaking.  The week I had was not good, much was going wrong and this bugged me all week. The reminder of what we live for, or indeed who we live for was important.  How we respond to his call, opening ourselves to him personally and living it out all  rang bells in me.  I made a list of things to amend, it's about eight feet long, and have already added to it.  Tsk!  If I believed him whom I believe strangely enough difficulties might increase but I would cope better with them.  Life will always have problems.  He has never failed me yet, so I had better up my game I say. 

I spent some time around noon searching the fifty or so TV channels on offer for something to fill half an hour.  The set works fine, good picture, acceptable sound, colour OK.  The programmes consisted of mind blowing pap and little else!  Soaps, forty year old episodes of 'Columbo,' or comedies unwatched in the 70's. Did you watch 'On the Buses' more than once?  How come this is a favourite of so many?  Why is it repeated I ask?  PC stops some being repeated, usually those that had wit and humour, why is 'pap' allowed?  The shopping channels had more talent than that exposed elsewhere, and I do not mean the films so old their colour was fading.  Now there are millions of decent old documentaries hidden away somewhere in this world, some occasionally coming into view, but far too few for me.  Modern documentaries are too concerned to constantly keep moving, 'Locomotion' was so bad at this that to show speed Dan Snow chose to run frequently, why?  The cartoons were not allowed to be themselves, they were animated so that they too were constantly on the move! What sort of 13 year old mind produces this tripe?  Why not stand still and tell the story?
I was so glad when the football arrived!

However the Edinburgh Derby, when the Heart of Midlothian defeat Hibernian is an exciting gripping affair and this dilutes the feeble English efforts at this type of contest.  Watching Manchester City defeating weakened Manchester United was so boring I fell asleep for ten minutes in the second half.  My snoring woke me up and must have annoyed the rest of the house!  Later it was a much more interesting contest, Villa v Spurs, and while not as enjoyable as Spartans versus Clyde it kept my attention from sleep.  
However these games take away all my emotion.  The mind is worn out with stress and rest is required. You will guess that Bach is playing in the background.  Yes indeed Bach is my favourite Welsh composer. Typically the music ends as I write that, innit a game eh?  We now have Handel to use care on.  (Geddit? handle with care? oh forget it.)  
See, I told you I had nothing to say and nothing has been said.  Tomorrows list of things to do lies awaiting being ignored by my side, rain clouds gather above waiting for my early morn dash to Tesco to unleash their contents while others suffer sunburn and have the audacity to complain about the heat!  I had better go and prepare myself by having some beauty sleep, not that I require that of course....  


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Media, Man U, Haggis and Aussies

For over  a week now I have ignored the news for the most part.  Instead of rummaging through the papers each morning I listen to the headlines and have occasionally pursued one or two interesting items only.  This means I am no longer fearful of a million south east Europeans, possibly Muslim, stampeding into the UK stealing our jobs and living off the dole.  Nor do I worry that the apple I eat may give me cancer nor do I rejoice that the coffee I drink seven times a day will cure that illness.  The screaming headlines have not made it difficult to sleep at night through such fear simply by my choice to ignore them, life outside I notice mournfully  however has continued despite my absence.  

I have been tempted occasionally to turn on the radio desperate for a fix of the news but have manfully directed my attention elsewhere and survived.  The world did neither miss me nor change in any way.  I am oblivious to what she from the telly is doing with whom, not upset about the tree cut down by a neighbour, care little for the lies poured forth from Westminster and worry not about a court case featuring the high and mighty who have fallen on hard times.  I remain in the real world quite happily, the week has been quite good, and placing life's priorities before the screaming of the world has made me gentler, more considerate and relaxed enough to walk the streets without my chainsaw in hand.  I merely carry the small axe instead.

One thing that never changes about English newspapermen is their desperate desire to destroy someone.  The present target is David Moyes the incoming manager of Manchester United, a football team you may have heard off.  The previous incumbent, one Sir Alex Ferguson, managed to keep the job for 25 years, something unheard of today.  During his time he won the English title about a dozen time, the English Cup, the UEFA Cup and the Champions League Cup (the top trophy) and has now retired to travel the world and annoy the wife.  Interestingly when he began the job the media attacked him relentlessly as his first three years were far from a success. However once he began to win the media changed their tune and became scared to upset him, losing contact with Manchester United could lose them their job after all!  The attack on Moyes is less from a football perspective and merely the desire to knock someone down when he is down, also to use the Manchester United name to sell their papers and programmes. 
There is no doubt Moyes has a hard job on his hand.  many of the players at the club are past their best, one or two others are not 'top four' players and some players he wanted at the beginning of the season failed to appear.  On top of this Wayne Rooney and Van Persie are both missing through injury. These two men could win games by themselves, missing both is a huge loss for any club.  
In my mind Man U would possibly finish around seventh or eighth this season although is Rooney and Van Persie return in time they may yet finish in the top four, I suspect that is a real possibility myself. The manager has a tremendously difficult job ahead of him but I believe he will succeed and succeed well.  The naysayers will fill pages of uneducated pap to make money but the football fan knows this club is not dead and has too much going for it to fail now.

The wise amongst you will realise that this is Burns night, the night the great Rabbie is celebrated with Haggis, mash potatoes and mashed turnips (neeps to you!), washed down with a wee dram of whisky. Large gatherings are taking place tonight, the Haggis is carried in behind a piper, the 'address' is made and tales told, poems read and whisky imbibed.
I am poor and merely had a cheese sandwich myself.

     A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 

O my Luve's like the melodie, 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonie lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! 

And fare-thee-weel, a while! 

And I will come again, my Luve, 

Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Rabbie Burns 1794

Robert Burns Country

Tomorrow, or today if you are in Australia, is 'Australia Day!'  This is the day Aussies celebrate being, er Aussies.  Much celebration is happening as I write, lager is being swallowed (they do not appear to drink proper beer), 'Barbies' everywhere are burning lamb, chicken and sausage, all run by men naturally and the sun shines, the sky remains blue and people are eaten by great white sharks in Botany Bay. Today we celebrate their tomorrow unless you are in the US where yesterday has yet to finish while the Aussie tomorrow, which is their today, is almost over, and we share their delight in being Australian, a very good thing to be.
Even if they are all descended from English convicts.....  


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