22-01-2012
This week oy av bin mostly buildin shelves for Imelda Marcos’s shoes! It isn’t the sort of work I encourage people to believe I can do, but in the current climate beggars can’t be choosers. Add to that, the customers quote from a company that specialise in fitted bedroom furniture, running in to four figures, and we have a marriage of convenience, and a purpose built cupboard and shelving which according to Lynne, whose shoes and hats will fill the finished article, surpass the fitted bedroom company’s design, which made me happy. Mostly though, it’s nice to know you’re back to work and paying your way in life, or earning my way at least for now. I was supposed to be helping a mate with some roofing, but they pulled the pin on the idea in fear of bad weather, so Tony and Lynnes job got moved forward, unfortunately I woke up with a cold the Tuesday I started, so was sneezing me tits off and getting through an unhealthy amount of hankees throughout the week. Right now I’m mentally hearing the old ‘Manflu’ bullshit term being raised in certain quarters, your office wallers may well pull a paid sickie in this situ, but not a self employed tradesman, I’d rather be working when I’m germ ridden anyway.
When Lynne told me what she wanted the space to give her, I had not the slightest notion of just how many shoes she could possibly own, so as I started talking shelf spacing, and how many tiers she might get in the quirky alcove we were designing around, it dawned on me that the doubtful look on Lynnes face was telling me something, “just how many pairs of shoes have you got then?”. She wasn’t sure, Tony had smiled and walked by now, he obviously knows his wife well enough not to have to hang around for the look of disbelief on my face when I hear her answer, which was, “eighty that I’ve counted so far”, and she thinks there are more in boxes not yet opened. I should explain that they’ve just recently moved into this new place, so boxes litter the house while they settle in, “I’m building a shoe emporium for Imelda bloody Marcos!”. For those that don’t know of Imelda, Google her name and all will become apparent.
There are a number of things I like about working after a lay off of any amount of time, such as the drive to work, it’s when I’m at my most relaxed and the mind ticks along with ideas, inspired by what’s around me as well as by any current schemes of interest I may have been thinking of writing about. Also listening to the radio, both for the music, and also for any comedic potential out there, so generally BBC radio 2 with Chris Evans, then Ken Bruce, and later in the day a bit of Mark Radcliff and Stuart Maconie over on BBC radio 6, I like to be kept amused and informed at the same time, which that lot achieve for the most part. And I always have my little snappy camera with me just in case I might spot something worth snapping away at, and a notepad to jot down any little nuggets that may pop into the space between me ears. All these things are somewhat self indulgent I know, but when you sandwich work in between them, then it all becomes validated by the fact you’ve achieved something real, produced a thing of value to whoever you’re doing it for, paid or otherwise, which allows you the opportunity to indulge your dreamworld existence. I’ve said before how I’m a bit of a dreamer, I can’t see that ever changing, but it’s nice to know I’m not on my own, the entertainment world is full of them, I’m much more in fear of becoming one of these hideous bores that are driven by personal gain, but let’s not go there right now eh.
It will be no secret to either of you that follow my blogs, that I’m not a big fan of politicians, especially those at the top end, and it was with a mix of incredulity and mirth, that I read about a certain American political something or other, called Newt Gingrich, (a name in itself seemingly invented for comic purpose), who according to an ex wife, “lacks morals”, no shit Sherlock!, but how the fuck is that news?, findind a politician that is even aware of what the word means would be news. The guy allegedly asked his second wife, Marianne, to agree to an ‘open relationship’, as he was already seeing someone else, she didn’t consent to the idea, and he is now married, for a third time, to the woman he had been seeing, Callista Bisek. Second wife, Marianne, puts this information out there for the American media to consume, and Mr Gingrich calls it “despicable” for its timing, which in fairness he may have a point about, news corporations seemingly more interested in tittle tattle than real news. However, it doesn’t change the fact that this is a man seriously going for the God botherers vote, in a country in the unhealthy grip of pious, worshipping, God botherers. Talking of his past indiscretions, he states that he has, “been very open about needing to go to God for reconcilliation”, which, dissected, basically means, ‘making sure that’s what the religious electorate believe in order to secure their votes’.
It’s much like a prosecuting lawyer would say to the jury regarding what he wants to paint as an, ‘unreliable witness’, “he lied before, so how can you be sure he isn’t lying now?”. How far do you take that way of thinking?, Gingrich has proven himself perfectly adept in the art of deception with those closest to him, why should he be trusted to be any different in a position of power?, why would he not seek to cover up any failings in order to get into, then hang onto, power. The idea that you can invoke some fictional deity that will forgive you all your sins is incredibly convenient, it reminds me of the joke where the little boy continually prays to God for a bike, but without success, then he hits on the idea of nicking one, and asking God for forgiveness afterwards, priceless childlike logic, but not what you might be hoping for from a potential world leader.
It was also nice to hear Radcliff and Maconie on Radio 6, committing the perceived herecy of stating their non affilliation to the Olympic movement, that hugely criminal waste of money arriving to our shores in a few months time, at something like triple the original estmated costs. So we will have the news filled with stories of who could throw some stick, ball, or disc, further than anyone else, or who could run in circles quicker than the other unhealthy looking nutters circumnavigating an empty space. Radcliff suggested some competitions which might be more relevant to us, such as an egg and spoon race, but the over riding emphasis was that there really are a lot of us out there that simply could not care less about the whole ridiculous waste of resources which are the Olympic games. The only benefits I’m aware of, are improved travel infrastuctures and stadia, but at what cost?, it’s all very well to say, “oh look, I’ve got a lovely driveway, pool, tennis court, and running track at my new place, but I’m now officially bankrupt for the next few lifetimes so I can’t use them anyway”. Look at Darlington football club for a small scale version of that problem, a 25,000 seater stadium built for a non league club that struggle to get a few hunderd fans through the turnstiles, they can’t even afford to run the stadium, so it will have to be knocked down and sold as real estate to allow them to survive. Why strive to own something you can’t even afford the rates on?, just madness, cut your cloth according to your means.
Having worked the week, and with my away ticket for the Peterborough game on my desk, I figured I’d earned a couple of after workers at the Waterside on Friday night, with the intention of not overdoing it in preparation for an early start Saturday morning. Well, ‘the best laid plans’, and all that, not being my strong point, I woke up feeling decidedly under the weather, and didn’t fancy the trip up to the Posh. It didn’t take me long to regret this negative train of thinking, and at the last minute I raced off to see if I could get up there in time, despite the fact that it would cost me an eye watering sixty three quid for the rail ticket, but I’d made my mind up by then, so sod the cost. I got to the station in good time to grab the fast train to Victoria, and though it was busy, it’s a great way to travel, especially as you cross the Thames, looking up and down this majestic river with its centuries of history and impressive bridges, something I never get tired of. Five stops on the underground and I’m at the incredible Kings Cross St Pancras station, a thing of beauty and marvel of engineering, it’s this kind of stuff that grabs you in London, the scale and maginificence of everything, as well as the history. Then I make my way to the mainline station, just in time to catch the fast train to Peterborough, with just a minute before it was leaving, seventy odd miles non stop, can’t beat that kind of luck, and what a train, smooth, comfortable, and even with plug sockets to charge up your lap tops or phones, it was like a technology convention on board, lap tops, iPads, iPhones, tablets, the first class carriages were rife with them as I walked through to the slightly less luxuriant peasant class further on, but still perfectly comfortable.
I made it in to Peterborough by 2.15, bloody amazing I thought, and an easy walk to the ground in plenty of time. The town centre itself is a nice peaceful, old looking collection of buildings with mainly pedestrian roads, and a feeling that centuries back this was a busy market town, with the best elements of its architecture now supporting the leisure and tourism aspect of the place. The ground itself harbours no such delusions of grandeur, looking like it’s been set in a post apocalyptic bomb site, this really was like travelling back in time, I’d say very little has been done the London Road stadium for a good thirty years by the look of it, with perhaps the exception of the hospitality section sandwiched between the tiers of the main stand, it’s a collection of patio doors, one after another, resembling some kind of Double Glazing company convention.
They have terraced stands behind the goals, so the Albion filled their East end with both numbers and noise from the off, while the rest of us occupying the seats in the adjoining North stand. It’s actually quite a nice little ground inside, even if the plastic seats feel as if they were sized for children, but once the game kicked off that was soon forgotten, especially as Brighton began so brightly, dominating possession for long periods, playing great football to watch, and attacking in waves, which eventually resulted in Buckleys opener after Adam El Abd had been scythed down by Sinclair near the by line, a good thirty yards out, Buckers curled in to to the far corner to huge cheers of derision at their keeper from the Albion fans behind his goal, “dodgy keeper, dodgy keeper”. The game wasn’t all Brighton, with the Posh having a spell of attacking play in the second half, led mainly by their impressive number 26, Taylor, he looked a worry everytime he went forward, going at pace and taking on our lads with no fear at all. Eventually their play got them an equaliser, and in fairness it had looked as if they might during that period, but Brighton soon regained control of the game, and Buckleys clinical winner was just desserts for a great performance away from home.
As I had travelled up on my own it was nice to be among a load of contented fellow Albion supporters on the way back, as well as sharing in the benefits of their technology as they called out the other results and stories of the day. I found myself sat next to a Peter Kay lookalike, Dan, who as it turns out, being only a few years younger than me, has been to many of the same big games as I have down the years, so the trip back was a nice mix of past and present, enjoying talking of the game just played, then tripping down memory lane to Brightons former glory years of the late seventies and early eighties. Back in London the Albion fans were giving renditions of the Will Buckley song, which is basically a reworking of the Heartbeat song, and theme tune, as we all made for the underground. Through the underground it’s everyone for yourself, but I would keep bumping into Dan, so by the time we got to Victoria he had introduced himself, and I had to ask him if he’d ever been likened to Peter Kay, “quite a few times”, he told me, then tells me how he bemoaned the fact to his wife, when they went to see the comedian, that he wasn’t as fat as Kay, but as the northern comic is a fair bit younger then he’ll take it as a compliment, good lad, look for the positives in life!
Tags: 2012, 2012 Olympics, Brighton and Hove Albion, Newt Gingrich, Peter Kay, Radcliff and Maconie
