England footy players should be paid in chips

England gave an abysmal performance against Algeria last night. To say they were lacklustre would be an understatement. For someone who doesn’t actually follow football, watching this game was for patriotic reasons. However, I can only come to one conclusion those players were not patriots, they were aplysia in the depth of an ocean. There was no gumption, no bull-dog spirit, no passion of pride in country. It looked like each and everyone of them had been out on the booze the night before and were suffering from hangovers. England’s football team were no better than the morning after the night before when they had all been shit-faced cuddling the pan waiting for their next wretch of vomit.

If footy skills were calculated on wages then these good-for-nothing two legged representatives of England wouldn’t have enough money to by a portion of chips between them. Wayne Rooney made a remark as he left the pitch in a sarcastic tone, of how good it was to have England supporters in South Africa so they could boo them. This team deserves to be put back on a plane and made to walk a tunnel of humiliation. When Gerard was asked what was missing from the game all he could say was goals. Goals! Bloody goals! How wrong could he be? What was missing was pride and passion. These players can not be said to truly represent our country. I would be incredibly proud to have been a North Korean when considering how they played and even lost their match. They were without doubt, respectful to authority, passionate, energetic and gave it every ounce of their being on the field. The scorn England players and management will get in today’s papers will be monumental. Maybe as monumental as their real salaries. If they continue to play like this, when they come back to club football the fans will want their guts for garters. I am ashamed, ashamed to be English. If I could divorce this team and become Algerian I would. If I were north Korean I would hold nothing but pride. Lets hope someone gets a vuvuzela and sticks in a place where the sun don’t shine, eleven times, or twelve if you include the manager. Maybe then they will be motivated, maybe then they will see how they have let down their country, their fans, their families. Today they hold heads in shame. If they don’t then their ignorance and hubris knows no bounds.

Beware of the bar stool Witch

The old Witch sat where she always sat. At the bar with her pint of Stella, trying to verbally barge into any conversation she could. I sat with my back to her, the though this could be another one of my deranged family members flitted across my mind. I didn't want to imagine it for it gave me a dizzy spell and the need for fresh air. Mr Cashier man sat opposite me while I concentrated in half conversation with him and half reading today's broadsheet. At one point he said I was being patronising when I related an article about the painter Caravaggio. It just must be the way I have with words, some people think it, whilst I was being genuine. In the end I come to the conclusion I don't give a damn how they take me, but I do admire honesty, so replied in an honest way how my comments were not to be taken as patronising. Meanwhile a cackle from the Old Witch cut through my body like the scythe of Thanatos. I starred at my companion and then quietly made a suggestion to him.

“you see the Old Witch at the bar?”
“yes” came his reply as his eyes glanced in her direction but in a way so as not to draw attention.
“Why don’t you go and ask her out? I know you get on OK with her, I’ve seen you chat to her before. And do it about this time of day, when I come in the pub.”

There then was a moment. Possibly two or three moments as I watched his body language. A slight head turn to the left and the right, he bought his hand up to his face and held it for a second as though in thought. Took his hand away. Readied himself as though about to make a brave statement. Glanced left then right and then eventually addressed me. Saying:

“you want me to ask her out? About this time of the evening, when you come in?”
“yes” and I nodded my head, we were talking quietly in secret squirrel fashion.
“How much are you willing to pay me?” Now was a moment of my own time to think about it. The thought of an evening without the Witch was so exciting, one of peace to drink my Guinness and chat to less mentally disturbed individuals. I replied:
“I’ll go to a tenner.” Mr Cashier looked at me in contemplation saying.
“I would, but I don’t think the offer would be accepted.” He was right. The Old Witch would probably make a voodoo doll in his image and stick it a few times. I wouldn’t mind but poor Mr Cashier had only just come back to work after 8 months off with a broken leg and still he wasn’t right. Groaning about how his good leg now hurt.

I finished my pint and left. It seems freedom from the insane is a luxury to have. It even stops my enjoyment of a pint. Well as the saying goes, ‘there’s more out than in’.

Sparkling's anaphylactic shock

I recevied a text message from Sparkling while I was in the pub. Catching up with an fish who used to manage me. The text was difficult to fully comprehend on account of the spelling and text lingo she used. However, it was quite clear in another sense, something very serious had happened. Sparkling had to call the emergency services because she had a severe reaction to a burger and began to show the symptons of anaphylactic shock. Hives, followed by a swelling of the tongue and inability to talk, she rang up for an ambulance and the operator asked her to stay on the line because if she collapsed then the operator would of known. The ambulance arrived, she was then pumped with adrenaline and taken to hospital. The docs have her the once over and then pumped more drugs into her. She's starting to feel a lot more chilled out and the symptons are subsiding. Except for the hives. They wanted to keep her in the hospital for observation, whilst Sparkling wanted to get home. Sparkling one out. I rushed home and then rang up Sparkling. I was aghast at what Sparkling had gone through. It's the first time she had ever taken such a reaction. Then I asked how come she didn't go next door to see her neighbour and I got distracted in the thought of poor Sparkling with a swollen tongue standing on her neighbour's door step waiting for the door to open. Then when it did making a funny noise because she could no longer talk properly.

I couldn't help it. A silent laugh erupted. I kept it as best I could under control but Sparkling being her ever so sensitive self said she would put the phone down on me. A short second in time past, then the line went dead. Oh dear, I'd hit a raw nerve so soon but could not help myself. I know if it happened to me Sparkling would of been exactly the same. But as L & B man says "get over it." So I'd have no choice but to get over it pretty quickly. I was in shock myself though. I have never heard of a burger doing such a thing. It was only the weekend when I'd had a couple of burgers myself.

I'm up to Scotland in a few days time to see Sparkling. Then I'll have to make amends, tell her I love her. Rub feet, be a servant and above all avoid any meat products which might be a little bit suspect.

Sleeping like an alien abductee

I really do not know what is happening to me lately. Except I'm sleeping so heavily it's like I been abducted by an alien and put back in my bed every morning. Well if I am it must be some very strange alien, because I'd of thought they needed to start experiemnting on some other person by now. Though this theory probably doesn't hold water it's the only one I can think of for now which comes close to how heavily I am sleeping. OK I wake up maybe once, the time the bright light shines through the curtains and I hear this tapping noise on the window. Then there was the other moment when I'm sure I had a probe stuck into my head, or was it an egg whisk? No the egg whisk was another dream.

I go to bed, close my eyes and then wake up in practically the same postion I started off in. With very little disturbed. I then wonder if I actually had any sleep and maybe have been through some kind of time shift jumping thing. But as the light from the early morning comes through the window I know I have slept. As for dreams? Well, they are elusive. I must have a memory like a siv, because I can't remember a single aspect of dream reality either.

Maybe I just should not worry about such a thing. After all there's a lot of people out there who can't get any sleep at all. They have insomnia at the thought of an alien banging on the window. Well, maybe my alien is more chilled out and relaxed and has lost the guide book on how to make human's feel uncomfortable and give them nightmares. Fox and Scully look out coz here is one man who enjoys his alien abductions into slumber land. I just wish those little green men would pick up my dirty socks and stick them in the washing machine as well, or put some waffles on just as I wake up. I suppose then I would have a disturbed sleep, because aliens just don't have the faintest idea how to cook waffles.

Clean pipes and a very smooth Guinness

After a day of extra time in the Fish Factory, I needed a break. The cool taste of a pint and some time for myself. As I didn’t have any reading material I ended up buying about Team working and then searched for somewhere to read it in peace and quite. I checked out the usual pub, but on seeing the Witch and Troglodyte in there again I decided to give it a miss. There is just so much ignorance a person can deal with in any one week. I then went in search of another pub with my book. Except this other pub looked like a dive, as two shifty characters stood outside smoking a cigarette each with similar Neanderthal tendencies I had avoided from the Trog and associate dumb Witch. I then ventured towards a third pub, walked in and there saw one of the regulars I recognised I’ll call him Mr Belgium. On account this was where he was born. Anyway, Mr Belgium finished his pint and recommended a fourth pub which he said drew a very good pint of Guinness.

It’s odd what your taste buds get used to, my normal pub I knew really wasn’t much good when it came to a pint of the black stuff. I just have this feeling they are not cleaning out the pipes on a regular basis. My Guinness always has a strange tang to it. I endure this tang and in so doing spend about an hour supping. We entered this fourth pub, with Mr Belgium announcing this pub did the best Guinness he had ever tasted. O.K. Well you have to give these things a try.

The bar was big and pub seemed pretty big on the inside as well. Two flat screen TVs were on, there was some kind of football match on. I took a cursory glance at the game and wondered. Talking to Mr Belgium we walked to the bar and ordered the pints. Mr Belgium took my plastic bag with new book with him outside the pub to an area they had set aside for smokers. The bar staff seemed to be taking an eternity with the Guinness. I looked up again at the TVs and realised they were not playing football as one of the players picked up the ball and ran with it. Neither was it rugby. The ball was definitely round. The clientele of the pub had without doubt Irish accents. Maybe this was some kind of Irish footy I thought. The Guinness came and I took the pints outside to sit with Mr Belgium.

Mr Belgium admired his pint and said it was exactly how a real Guinness should look. Myself, well I thought it might of looked a little darker than normal, and they hadn’t put a leaf on top. With a little scepticism I drank my first sip. Hmmm. It was different. It was more silk and smooth than I had tasted before. Then I found, it went down so much easier. There was no one hour or more slow sipping. This beautiful elixir must of lasted a half hour maybe less. We had a second and I was then beginning to feel slightly intoxicated. I took it a little slower. The conversation was good and I really enjoyed the afternoon.

The moral of the story? Make sure the pipes are clean before pouring a pint otherwise your punters will just not drink it.

A Witch and a Trogladyke sup their drinks

After a day in the Fish Factory and having one of the fellow fishes get stressed out because of the size of bubbles they were asked to blow, I deserved a pint in the pub. It's what I give myself for having endured and mostly remained calm in the face of big bubbles. I got there and the usual bunch were sitting together, so I found a seat on the end and joined them. Someone had spent a lot of coins feeding the music box and so various tunes were being played out. They were a mix of 80s music and I quite liked them. The group conversation led onto the up and coming World Cup football so I found myself not participating. The intricacies of why certain team members were picked and how the England coach(who is Italian) was going back on his word. Inevitably it sounds like we have another team who have been picked for failure and because of their own prima donna self belief are really going to do nothing for the national team. But I digress. For the subject should be two other characters at the bar.

There sits a crazy old woman, dressed like a Witch and who says she is a Witch. Well if this is her belief I'm not going to state otherwise. Except she is potty without a doubt, I know because many of the other regulars have said so and because I have witnessed her behaviour myself. She's one of these people who likes others to hear her opinion no matter how bigoted she is, and then proclaims it's not her who is the bigot but the rest of the world. At which point she then makes a mortal enemy of the individual who states an alternative view and whispers a spell under her breath. Scarey or what. Mind it always makes me check my Guinness just incase there happens to be a newt's tail in the bottom.

Anyway, I learnt today when she was commenting on one of the other regulars she said something along the lines of "I don't care for him and I wish he were dead," when he had actually just died and the funeral was taking place the next day. The misguided Witch, consequently decided not to frequent the pub for a couple of evenings. What a relief. Then it makes sense after a bloomer of this kind. Her insensitivity knows no bounds we all thought. The days while the witch was absent were conspicuous by our conversations not being littered with interjections from the old girl. Opinions which were pleasant by their absence. So today when I entered, there she was sat at the bar, in her usual seat. Next to her was a one of her family. A man who doesn't look like the Witch at all. However, I am sure he has some genetic connection with a Troglodyte from H. G. Wells Time Machine. Except he is bald and in the film they had longish white hair. The other family trait of being ignorant, opinionated and of dubious intent is also instilled in Mr Trog. It must be a genetic marker, it is the only reason I can come up with the character similarity. Anyway, to cut a long story to a slightly shorter story, it was about this time I realised maybe this was why people would frequent different pubs. For simply, if going to one pub highlights the miscreants in there, going to another there may well be slightly fewer abnormal personalities.

Hence the term "pub crawl." Then again it could just be me, and my abnormal preferrence of quiet pubs, and people who can string one or two sentences together without their knuckles scraping the floor, or some spell being cast. There sure are some eccentric people out there, at a pub near you, so why not visit one I say.

Magpie chases a squirrel

I saw an amazing sight this morning after leaving home. I have never seen it before and may never see it again in my life. But it was absolutely stunning. It involved a squirrel and a magpie. Not far from where I live there is a family of magpies. They have resided in a specific tree for years. Over these years I've seen them out and about and learnt a little bit about their behaviour. They are like other birds pretty territorial. But there is an added intelligence. They seem to go about in pairs or groups. Where one bird will sit up high on a lamp post and watch down as it's mates go hoping about on the ground. Then if there is danger, the one on the lampost will begin to squark a bit like a crow and warn the other.

Squirrels have ventured away from the woods and now there are a few who go in gardens. One time I even saw a squirrel climb up the side of a house as though it were spiderman. It was absolutely no effort at all. Just imagine how sharp those claws must be, and how strong they are as a climbing animal.

I walked up the road and there was a squirrel bounding along, jumping as if it were on hot coals from one place to another. Following closely behind was this magpie. The magpie was bullying the squirrel to move on, to go into a different area. When the little fat squirrel stopped after the odd bound, the magpie would get annoyed jump up and flap it's wings a little until the squirrel got a bit pissed off and carried on bouding away. Away from the territory of the magpie. I took out my phone and by the time I had put it into video mode the squirrel and magpie had dissappeared from sight. Maybe the squirrel turned round at some point and said to the magpie those invevitable words "blimey, your nuts mate."