Waiting for the last man -- and longer

Waiting for the last man -- and longer

Yes, it is the real thing. The uniform, I mean, but, I guess, I mean the bottle of wine, too. The uniform is mine, and dates from the U.S. Army of 1917. It has been in places like New York, California, Ireland, England, Belgium and France. It has crossed the Atlantic Ocean by ship, and America, England and Belgium by train. The wine is of more recent origin, having been purchased in 1934. It -- the wine, that is -- once was the property of a group of men who had fought in France during World War I and returned to their homes in Minnesota. Now, it is mine, in a sense. It still belongs to them but, through fate and accident of birth, I am entrusted with caring for it at this moment in time.

Our war to end all wars

At least one person noticed a subtle difference about the bottle in the center foreground of the photograph that accompanied the piece ("Pleasing memories & a drink to worship") two days ago in which I wrote about my developing taste for Benedictine. She sent me a note asking about it. The bottle appears to be a bit older than the others in the photo -- vintage, as people say when talking of antiques or wine.

Yes, it is old, I suppose, by some standards. This particular bottle was purchased in 1934 by a group of veterans of World War I who belonged to the American Legion.

The American Legion was born in the aftermath of World War I by returning veterans of that "war to end all wars" as a means to maintain the camaraderie established through the common experience of being soldiers fighting in a war far away from home on foreign shores. The next paragraph comes from the organization itself:

"A group of twenty officers who served in the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) in France in World War I is credited with planning the Legion. AEF Headquarters asked these officers to suggest ideas on how to improve troop morale. One officer, Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., proposed an organization of veterans. In 1919, this group formed a temporary committee and selected several hundred officers who had the confidence and respect of the whole army. When the first organization meeting took place in Paris in March, 1919, about 1,000 officers and enlisted men attended. The meeting, known as the Paris Caucus, adopted a temporary constitution and the name The American Legion. The Legion held a second organizing caucus in St. Louis, Missouri, in May 1919."

There probably is not a historian who can say with accuracy when the first "last man's club" was organized among veterans of wars. I know they existed among a few units which fought in the American Civil War. But, there almost certainly were such groups of men among Roman Legionnaires, Viking raiders and the remnants of Napoleon's ill-fated invasion of Russia.

In any event, by the early 1930s, American Legion clubs existed in cities and towns and villages across the United States. Some of them began their own versions of a "last man's club."

Some of these clubs obtained a bottle of expensive Scotch or a bottle of imported French wine. The concept was that this bottle would be held in trust until only one man remained alive among the members of the respective "last man's clubs." The bottle would become the property of that last survivor, who would open it and then drink a toast to his departed comrades.

In 1934, in my tiny, country village, the World War I veterans of the American Legion post bought a bottle of ordinary, inexpensive, American wine. No fabulous Scotch or imported French wine for these men who, at this time, were living in the midst of the "Great Depression" and were second- or third-generation descendants of Norwegian and German immigrants.

Well, I now have that bottle of wine in my possession. This container of "pleasant and refreshing Virginette Special Wine," bottled in the far away state of Ohio, was not opened by the last surviving member of World War I veterans in my home town. I have no idea why he did not open it. I did not even know the bottle existed until three or four years ago.

When the last man died, the bottle was kept by his widow. When she died, it moved along to her son. When he died, it came to me.

I doubt this bottle will ever be opened -- at least, not by me. My belief is that it still belongs to a group of American warriors whose era has come and gone. All that remains of them is one old bottle of wine, now held in perpetuity by me -- by a man who carries their blood and treasures their memory.

"Reincarnation"
by E. Wyndham Tennant
(Ramparts, Ypres, July 1916)

I too remember distant golden days
When even my soul was young; I see the sand
Whirl in a blinding pillar towards the band
Of orange sky-line 'neath a turquoise blaze -
Some burnt-out sky spread o'er a glistening land)
- And slim brown jargoning men in blue and gold,
I know it all so well, I understand

The ecstasy of worship ages-old.
Hear the first truth: The great far-seeing soul
Is ever in the humblest husk; I see
How each succeeding section takes its toll
In fading cycles of old memory.
And each new life the next life shall control
Until perfection reach eternity.

Déjà Vu

Déjà Vu
She came laughing out of the bowling alley. In a bright pink hoodie, she looked like the happy teenager she was. The light turned green, and the line of cars ahead of me started to move slowly. I caught her looking at me as I turned away. Enjoy it while you can, Life will get you I thought to myself. I saw myself in the teenager. Ten years ago, I looked as carefree as she did.

The teenager in the pink hoodie turned back to look at her friends. "Did you see that lady in the car? She looked so sophisticated, didn't she?".
"Oh yeah, like, totally..expensive car"
Why do I even bother? thought the teen, as she looked away into her future. She pictured herself in the car, looking almost exactly like the stranger she had just seen. And yet, she had seemed familiar.

I hope the teen doesn't make the same mistakes I did, Perhaps I could go and tell the girl to be more careful and less trusting. But it isn't my place to do so. I stopped at another light, and saw a pregnant young girl, perhaps a year or two older than the teen I had just seen. A gulp rose in my throat and I looked away. But I had met the girl's eyes for a split second.

The girl stuck her chin out. It was a natural defensive response whenever she felt judged for being a stupid, young, pregnant girl. I will survive, and I will make that bastard ex-boyfriend of mine regret this, she told herself. She was on track to put the baby up for adoption, and hoped to God she was doing the right thing. She felt like she had seen the lady in the car before.

I am not judging you, its just too painful to look at you little girl. I hoped the girl would understand why I looked away. Maybe someday she would.

I pulled into the parking lot and went in to sit on a park bench. I saw a woman in her thirties, looking longingly at a young family of four strolling nearby. She caught me looking, and lowered her eyes.

"I hope she doesn't think I am creepy for staring at that family" the woman thought as she bent down to blow on a marigold stem. She reminded her of herself, some years ago.

Is it despicable that I know exactly why and how that woman feels? She looks like me too. I didn't feel very much like empathy, so I got up and walked away. I almost banged into an old lady who was walking by herself. She had all the grace I had hoped for my own old age, but no help. I felt like I knew her from somewhere.

"Take care of yourself" the old woman whispered. The only advantage of failing health, hearing and sight, was the right to dole out free advice. The young lady looks very much like I did, not so long ago, she thought. How the time had passed. If only she had had the courage to do what was right for her when she was still young. I have to live with my mistakes. She hoped the younger one didn't have to as well.

I walked across the park, back to my car. I felt like I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. Am I dying soon? Its too early for that, there is so much I want to do! Live in Paris, see the Pyramids, the list is endless. Maybe it was time to change.

When he came home that evening, his bag was in the hall.

"You must leave" I said, to his disbelieving face.

I had to start somewhere.

Maybe I will move to Paris soon.

Always There

Always There
Meera burst into the room.

'So, what happened?' she asked.

We have been best friends since we were little. We went to the same school, stayed together in the same city while we went to different colleges. And now we work in the same city too.

When I didn't say anything, she sighed and sat down beside me on the bed.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Why do I pick the wrong guys?'. She knew better than to answer that one.

'He canceled the trip. Something came up at work, apparently. Like I am gonna believe that.'

'What are you going to do?' she prodded.

'I should leave him, shouldn't I?'

'I can't tell you what to do, Sparsha. You know that.'

We both laughed. Meera loved telling people what to do.

'Yes, I think you should break up with that idiot who doesn't value the gorgeous, smart person that you are. Now get your ass off that bed and get dressed.'

'That's more like it' I said, 'Where are we going?'

Rakesh has booked us a table at 'Le Cirque'.

'No waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay'

'Yes. Now will you please get dressed?'

Meera smiled to herself as she sat down. Rakesh was a wonderful guy, and he knew how much Sparsha meant to me. When he found out I was worried about Sparsha's date that day, he immediately thought of something that would make her feel better. She thought being in love meant you had to choose one guy over people you have loved always. He simply showed that it didn't have to be that way.

I walked out of our apartment, and waved at Rakesh. I fought to get that lump down my throat, as I realized something.

I cannot imagine life without her.

****To Be Continued****

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Monday, June 21, 2010
World Cup at Starbucks!


Posted by Eric at 10:15 AM 1 comments Monday, June 14, 2010
Sugar Shortage?

Consumers and traders in several states have voiced their frustration in getting supply of sugar, describing the shortage as the "worst so far". According to The Star, a check at several grocery shops has revealed that no sugar had been on sale for over a week.


Lamented shopkeeper, Abu Hassan Kamal, 53 told The Star that his last stock came on may 12 and his suppliers have not aasured me of any new delivery in the next few days. He called the government to resolve the problem, particularly with Ramadhan approaching. "What is the use of a licence to sell sugar when there is no supply?" Abu asked, referring to the new regulation by the Domestic Trade, Consumerism and Cooperatives Ministry to make retailers apply for a licence to sell the price-controlled item.



In Penang, state Domestic Trade, Consumer Affairs and Religious Affairs Committee chairman Abdul Malik Abdul Kassim said there was no dearth of sugar, adding that it was monitoring the situation closely. FOMCA secretary general, Muhd Sha'ani Abdullah said it had received complaints in various areas including Kuantan, Muar, Klanf and Temerloh since a month ago.


He said the issue was not due to retailers hoarding sugar but the smuggling of the item to other countries. Federation of Sundry Goods Merchant president, Lean Hing Chuan said the shortage nationwide was caused by manufacturers dividing production, adding that its members started noticing slowdown in April.


He also said the federation had decided in a meeting yesterday to clear their stock of the three controlled items; sugar, flour and palm oil based cooking oil by June 15.
Posted by Eric at 9:32 AM 2 comments Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Urbanscapes'10 Event.


Posted by Eric at 9:46 AM 1 comments Tuesday, June 1, 2010
This is so cute...

DORMITORY:
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM

PRESBYTERIAN:
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER


ASTRONOMER:
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER


DESPERATION:
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT



THE EYES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE


GEORGE BUSH:
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE


THE MORSE CODE:
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS



SLOT MACHINES:
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME


ANIMOSITY:
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY


ELECTION RESULTS:
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES - LET’S RECOUNT


SNOOZE ALARMS:
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS! NO MORE Z ‘S


A DECIMAL POINT:
When you rearrange the letters:
IM A DOT IN PLACE


THE EARTHQUAKES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE


ELEVEN PLUS TWO:
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE


MOTHER-IN-LAW:
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER
Posted by Eric at 3:38 PM 2 comments Labels: blonde jokes, dirty jokes, funny jokes
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Capello content after Mexico experiment


While the English press took the opportunity to raise more questions than answers, Capello was happy to look at what he learnt from the exercise as the team played the first of two games before they fly out to South Africa. He was quick to praise the performance of Steven Gerrard, who showed his versatility in playing in a number of positions as Capello tested formations.


"Gerrard can play in midfield with Frank Lampard but we have to wait and see which players will be fit,'' said Capello, obviously referring to the availability of Gareth Barry for the finals. Barry, who suffered ankle ligament damage at the start of the month, is due to undergo crucial medical tests on Tuesday to determine his chances of being fit for the finals.


"I changed it after half-time and put Steven in the middle, where he played very well. He is a really good player and can play in midfield, as a number 10, in lots of different positions.


"I am not concerned [with the performance]. It was really important to know where we are now, physically and mentally after a long season. We have time to recover a lot of the spirit of the team and the qualities we have. "When we play counter-attacking, we are really dangerous. But I don't just want to play on the counter. I want more.''


What Capello doesn't want is to get sidetracked by reports linking him with jobs elsewhere, this time Inter Milan, who are about to lose Champions League-winning coach Jose Mourinho. "Juventus, Inter, Real Madrid, the other teams, AC Milan,'' he smiled. "It's good for me but I am focused on the World Cup.''
Posted by Eric at 2:16 AM 0 comments Labels: football moments
Thursday, May 20, 2010
German trading restrictions compound EURO's troubles


The fallout from Germany's announcement yesterday of the ban on shorting Eurozone government debt, associated CDS and German financial stocks has continued, although the impact is now being felt more squarely in European equity markets, which are down in the 2%-3% range, while EUR/USD has thus far only marginally extended yesterday's sizeable drop. However, we do not view EUR/USD's relative stability during the Asian and early European hours as indicative of the likely price action from here, and instead we would look for the currency pair to continue to move lower in the near-term.


On the German trading restrictions, it is important to note that other European countries have not followed the ban on shorting Eurozone government bonds and associated CDS, meaning that investors can still conduct those types of transactions and highlighting the lack of unity among Eurozone policy makers. And it appears that Germany's move was designed in large part to appease domestic lawmakers and garner their support in advance of the opening of parliamentary debate on Germany's contribution to the EU/IMF EUR750 bln debt backstop agreed to earlier this month.


While such populist measures may resonate with some lawmakers, financial market participants make an entirely different assessment. Banning short selling in some securities has, in the most basic terms, encouraged traders to short a proxy for those securities, and the EUR fits that simple criteria most easily. And that is only the knee-jerk, initial response. The longer term ramifications/implications could be even more damaging to the EUR.


Among the key attributes of a 'reserve currency' are deep, liquid and transparent money and bond markets. However, these measures, banning short selling of Eurozone government debt, run directly contrary to that critical criterium which reserve managers look for in assessing where to invest their funds. And while some could argue that removing the short selling ban on Eurozone debt will alleviate such concerns (assuming it happens), the fact that it has been imposed once will be taken to mean that it could happen again, and potentially on an even broader scale (i.e. if other countries join in). Hence, these actions represent not only a short term risk to the EUR's reserve currency status, but could damage its longer term appeal as well.
Posted by Eric at 9:58 AM 0 comments Labels: EURO
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
1MDB, Malton to redevelop RMAF base.


The cabinet has agreed in principle to entrust the task of redeveloping the Sungai Besi Royal Malaysian Air Force (RMAF) base to a consortium of companies that include 1Malaysia Development Bhd (1MDB), sources say. The other members of the consortium are Lembaga Tabung Angkatan Tentera (LTAT) and Datuk Desmond Lim of Malton Bhd, they say. It cannot be ascertained if Malton or Lim, through his private company, has a stake in the consortium.


It is learnt that the mandate of the consortium is to develop the 162-hectare site into a multi-billion-ringgit Islamic financial centre. This is in line with the government’s plans to enhance Malaysia as a regional Islamic financial centre.


The sources say the government will also ink an agreement with the Qatar government that will commit an undertaking for major investments in Malaysia. The investments will be jointly undertaken with 1MDB and may likely include the redevelopment of the Sungai Besi RMAF base. It is said that 1MDB would hold 30% interest in the consortium while Lim or Malton would hold 40%. LTAT would hold the remaining 30%.


The Sungai Besi airport, which served as the country’s first international airport from 1952 to 1965, was eyed by many parties as it is probably the last major tract of land that is located close to the city centre and has the potential for a multi-billion-ringgit redevelopment. It borders the Sungai Besi Highway at one end and Taman Seputeh and Istana Negara at the other.


“The decision to develop the base into an Islamic financial centre was made by the cabinet recently. It was with the view of promoting Malaysia as an Islamic finance hub in this region. It will ultimately create a platform for all Islamic finance-related institutions to set up base,” said a source.


It is learnt that the runway will be maintained so that private jets can fly in corporate big-wigs to do business in the financial district. There will also be a helipad. “The other areas inside the base such as the nine-hole golf course and existing quarters housing RMAF personnel will be redeveloped,” said a source.


Last month, it was reported that plans to redevelop the Sungai Besi airport had resurfaced but both Defence Minister Datuk Seri Ahmad Zahid Hamidi and Federal Territories and Urban Wellbeing Minister Datuk Raja Nong Chik Raja Zainal claimed they were not aware of any such plans. However, it is learnt that members of the golf club and the RMAF officials have been told to look for alternative sites. The cost of relocating the base and the golf course will be borne by the consortium undertaking the redevelopment of the base.


It is not clear if the project was tendered out but according to officials in the property development industry, they were not aware of any exercise by the government calling for expression of interest in the redevelopment of the base.


One of Prime Minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak’s plans to increase government revenue is to redevelop land held by government agencies. In this respect, he announced the development of the Rubber Research Institute land in Sungai Buloh by the Employees Provident Fund (EPF) last month. He had said that this was to pave the way for the EPF to be directly involved in the economic activities of the country.


It has been reported that apart from the RMAF, the Sungai Besi base also houses the police air wing, the air unit of the Fire and Rescue Department (Bomba) and the Royal Selangor Flying Club. The RMAF units housed in the base include the 10th Squadron, which maintains the Nuri and Blackhawk helicopters for utility and other purposes. The other RMAF operations there are the Aerospace Medical Institute as well as the RMAF museum.
Posted by Eric at 1:34 AM 0 comments Thursday, May 13, 2010
Debt crisis won't lead to Asian recession.

The European debt crisis, which is a looming concern to many nations worldwide, is not expected to drag Asia into recession, according to an economist from a foreign bank. Standard Chartered Bank regional head of research for South-East Asia Tai Hui said the economic recovery in the region in the past six months was largely driven by domestic demand and intra-regional trade while the US and Europe played a limited role in the recovery.


“Although Europe is among the top three destinations for Asia, nonetheless, due to the above reason, I don't foresee it dragging the regional economies down. Asian economies, including Malaysia, are in a resilient position and the crisis will not derail the economic recovery,” he said at a press briefing. He added that the crisis at the same time would not affect European banks to reduce its lending to Asian companies as Asian banks, including Malaysian ones, had already stepped up lending and necessary liquidity to businesses.


Furthermore, he added, continental European banks were still quite slow in re-entering the Asian banking market while the Japanese and US banks were already making strong recovery which bodes well for the region. Tai said the situation in Europe may delay the recovery of European banks lending to emerging markets but would not negatively affect Asian economies.


On Asian investments in Europe, he said they were mostly in developed parts of Europe such as in Germany and France while its exposure to Greece was relatively low. In addition, he noted Asian investments in Europe was not into complex structured assets but more on plain vanila government bonds or equities and the potential mark to market loss for such investment were insignificant compared with 2008 and 2009 during the financial crisis where toxic assets were involved.


Tai said there were some countries that may be vulnerable to the European crisis, especially those with high level of fiscal deficit/debt and low level of foreign exchange like Vietnam, Pakistan and Sri Lanka but overall, Asia was in good shape and had strong fundamentals.


For Malaysia, the bank is expecting the country's gross domestic product (GDP) growth to be 6.5% for the first quarter of this year and 5% for the full year driven mainly by government spending and consumption. He said exports were gradually improving and expected it to further improve in the second half of the year.


Despite the European crisis, it gives plenty of reasons for Bank Negara to hike up the overnight policy rate (OPR) in its announcement today. Tai said he expected the OPR to increase by another 25 basis points to 2.50% and expect another 25-basis point rise to 2.75% for the full year to reflect the normalisation of rates. He said the central bank would most likely pause the rate hike after that and only start raising it next year as economic growth started to take on a firmer footing.


On the currency front, due to the risk aversion, he said the ringgit had recently weakened against the greenback but, given the attraction of the Asian markets including Malaysia, he foresaw the ringgit strengthening in the second half.


Posted by Eric at 2:25 PM 1 comments Thursday, May 6, 2010
Malaysia's proposed nuclear plant comes under fire.

Malaysian environmentalists and opposition leaders on Wednesday slammed the government's plan to build a nuclear power plant, calling it a risky venture and saying the country has sufficient energy output to meet future needs.


Energy Minister Peter Chin announced Tuesday the government has approved in principle a nuclear plant, which would start operating from 2021, as an efficient and cost-effective means to fuel economic growth. Malaysia will join neighboring Thailand and Vietnam, which have unveiled plans to operate their first nuclear power plants by 2020, while Indonesia plans to build its own on Java island by 2015.


The opposition Democratic Action Party said there was no need for nuclear power because Malaysia has a 40 percent energy reserve margin, double the government's target of 20 percent reserves. Malaysia's power usage now stands at 14,000 megawatts, out of a total capacity of 23,000 megawatts.


In addition, it said, several large hydroelectric dams are being built on Borneo island to cater to future demands. "Clearly Malaysia has more energy than it needs ... why then does Malaysia need a nuclear power plant?" the party's secretary-general, Lim Guan Eng, said in a statement.


He also expressed concerns for safety and the environment, citing the 1986 Chernobyl reactor explosion that sent a cloud of radiation over much of Europe and left some 2 million people ill. Malaysian officials maintain the plan is crucial for the country's long-term energy security in view of a growing population and future economic expansion, but say they will conduct feasibility studies before deciding whether to proceed.


Malaysia uses coal and natural gas to generate most of its electricity supply, and the government has repeatedly warned the cost of relying on both commodities is expected to spiral in the decades ahead.


The Center for Environment, Technology and Development, a local think-tank, warned that nuclear power was capital intensive and risky because it generates radioactive waste that has to be discarded. The center's chairman, Gurmit Singh, said there is a lot of energy wastage in the country because gasoline, diesel and electricity are subsidized. He urged the government to instead bolster energy efficiency and turn to other renewable sources like wind and solar power.


According to the International Atomic Energy Agency, there are more than 430 nuclear power plants operating in some 30 countries worldwide, accounting for about 15 percent of global electricity output.
Posted by Eric at 2:37 PM 1 comments Thursday, April 29, 2010
TimeOUT KL Presents...



Palate Palette Restaurant & Bar
21 Jalan Mesui, off Jalan Nagasari, 50200 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
T : +603 2142 2148 F : +603 2143 2148 www.palatepalette.com
Posted by Eric at 3:36 PM 1 comments Friday, April 23, 2010
#iTalk WHOA! Launch at Borneo Rainforest!

Remember my post on iTalk WHOA! the other day?


Sorry that I forgot to mention that I was invited for the launch event too!!! It was held at Borneo Rainforest - The social media portal that we've all been looking forward to and been so excited about was officially launched the other day. iTalk Whoa! is in fact, a platform service - or I would say, a all-in-one multi purpose portal which helps you to manage your emails, social media accounts, calendars, while allowing you to place international and local calls and sms! Of course, you will need to create an account and purchase some credits either via credit card or per top up card from vendors.


I didnt bring my camera the other day - but here are some pictures that I have conveniently taken from some of my friends' blogs!



Picture courtesy of Blushberry.info.


Meet the pretty chics Blushberry, Bangsar Babe and MyHorng.



Picture courtesy of TheJessicaT.com


They had laptops all set up and iTalk ready - it was really fun to try out the portal together with my friends. In fact, I got to learn many new things that you can do with the iTalk Whoa! that I had previously didnt know about!



Picture courtesy of Wingz.


There were some games that went on - one of which was to pick up ice cubes from one glass to another using chopsticks! The winner takes home a cordless phone!!! WHOOAA!!!!



Picture courtesy of Amanda Choe.


Here's the picture of the pretty lady Jaclyn who invited me to the launch!


Wow.. I hope that I can go to more events in the future!!! I really enjoyed myself there!!


Thank you TM!!!


Anyways - there was also an article in Business Times on iTalkWhoa - for those of you who missed it, here it goes...


TELEKOM Malaysia Bhd (TM) (4863) targets to have 500,000 active iTalk calling card users by the year-end, up from 300,000 currently. The target is achievable as TM makes enhancements to the service, said TM executive vice-president of consumer Jeremy Kung.


Yesterday, TM unveiled a new social networking and communications portal called iTalk Whoa, as part of a product improvement for its iTalk users. The portal can be accessed via www.italkwhoa.com. Kung said the portal is a next-generation enhancement for iTalk users and other prepaid customers who want to communicate through other channels of popular usage.


"With the introduction of iTalk Whoa, iTalk is moving into a whole new dimension and is no longer just a prepaid calling card. "With iTalk Whoa, users will be able to use the portal as their new all-in-one site for all their communication needs," Kung said at the launch in Petaling Jaya, Selangor, yesterday.


Via iTalk Whoa, users will also be able to check emails, utilise instant messaging and make voice calls. In addition to having a portal with various elements of email, chat and other forms of communication available, iTalk Whoa also offers iTalk customers low voice call rates.
Posted by Eric at 2:57 PM 3 comments Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Weekly Set Menu at La Bodega.

This Week's Set Menu
19th - 25th April
Available from 12pm - 8pm daily



~STARTERS~

Crispy cheese balls with tomato and chili chutney
or
Cream of chicken and mushroom soup
or
Smoked butterfish salad with citrus salsa


~MAIN COURSES~

Roasted quail with orange couscous and buttered french beans
or
Beef schnitzel with potato wedges and brown sauce
or
Asian style garlic prawns with fried rice


Starters @ RM17++
Mains @ RM22++

Starter + Main
RM35++
(Inclusive of a soft drink, illy caffe or tea)

For an additional RM7.50++ choose a cake on display at the Deli




La Bodega
16, Jalan Telawi 2,
Bangsar Baru
For reservations, call +03 2287 8318

Posted by Eric at 9:52 AM 1 comments Friday, April 16, 2010
Icelandic volcano eruption intensifies!


The eruption under the Eyjafjallajokull glacier continued to spew large amounts of ash and smoke into the air and showed no signs of abating after 40 hours of activity, said Pall Einarsson, a geophysicist at the University of Iceland.


"The seismographs are showing that since this morning the intensity of the eruption seems to be growing," he said. Hot fumes had melted up to a third of the glacial ice covering the crater, causing a nearby river to burst its banks, and frequent explosions on the floor of the crater sounded like bombs going off, he said.


The floods were abating, however, and some of those living in the sparsely populated area near the volcano had returned to their homes. Another scientist said the eruption was 10 times more powerful than one which occurred last month on the flank of the volcano, though the two were part of the same event.


Posted by Eric at 1:51 AM 0 comments Wednesday, April 7, 2010
iTALK WHOA!!!!!!!


I had been playing with this new iTalk WHOA! - a brand new awesome and fun-max portal provided by Telekom Malaysia. It is a portal that will let you stay connected to all your friends without the hassles of logging in and signing to several different websites - this means you will connect all your social networks into one, simple and fast.


So far.. I've been able to use the iTalk Whoa to check emails, send emails, check a friend’s status update, chatting, send sms and even make long distance calls on this portal, fantastic. Its damn good!!! Its like - right now I can call up an ex girlfriend from far far away overseas without my girlfriend knowing cos it will not SHOW IN THE BILLS!!!!!


I found something that caught my attention here, I can now write down all my schedules, meetings and appointments on the calendar which worked very handy for my hectic schedules. I mean, having 5-6 back-to-back meetings on a daily basis can be pretty killing.. The best part is this... I can share my calendar with my other buddies too and I can synchronize to my mobile phone. Its like having a Blackberry messenger chat group!



I can carry out my twitting too! Oh the best of all I can send out SMS from my iTalk Whoa account to any mobile phones and not forgetting I can also make calls from my account. So why wait come let’s explore iTalk Whoa now! Sign up now fast and get FREE RM5 credit right away!!!!!!!



Posted by Eric at 11:56 AM 2 comments Monday, March 29, 2010
Supermodel Amber Chia weds in Bali to her ‘true love’ businessman.

PETALING JAYA: Malaysian supermodel Amber Chia has secretly gotten married on the exotic resort island. The Daily Chilli website has learned from her confidante that the 28-year-old hot lass has said “I do” to her long-time friend-turned-boyfriend.


No, he is not the married businessman that she was once maliciously accused of dating. Or the old banker Tan Sri that she was rumoured to be seeing. “Amber believes in true love,” said the source.


“She doesn’t believe that money can buy her love. “This guy - who is just a regular businessman is genuinely nice and he really loves her for who she is. “They’ve known each other for a long, long time. He’s a very shy guy.”


Their top secret union was solemnised in Bali last Thursday. “It was a romantic beach wedding,” revealed the insider. Among Amber’s most trusted celebrity friends who flew in to Bali to witness the super private wedding were TV personality Daphne Iking, violinist Dennis Lau and catwalk guru, Benjamin Toong, the website said.


The East-meet-West ceremony was also witnessed by close family members from both sides, who were flown to the Indonesian island by the couple. When contacted via SMS, a discreet Amber, who is back in Malaysia and will fly overseas for her honeymoon in an undisclosed location soon, had only got this to say:


“Sorry dear.. Don’t worry.. we’ll talk when I come back from my honeymoon.”
Posted by Eric at 9:44 AM 2 comments Labels: amber chia
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Black Holes And Revelations

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Jun
27
20101 Tea and Biscuits

Raining outside, having Marie biscuits dipped in Sulaimani tea. Its not exactly this, but God it's good!
Posted by Kenny at 7:44 AM Links to this post
Jun
26
20101 FTW!!

I got my chemistry paper today and as I had so confidently predicted, I failed. Spectacularly. I got a 3.5 out of 20. Maybe it's time to drop out of science and start my own astrology shop lol. Anyway I'm not depressed. Wait that's a lie. I'm a little disappointed. However not overly suicidal because just three people got above 10 in the paper and out of the remaining people, 90% of them failed with a score of less than 6. Another plus factor is that these exams arn't counted and this could be a wake up call for me to study for the ones that ARE counted. Speaking of waking up and starting to work hard, this is the conversation I had with theLR of my class today.


LR: Kenny, what is this? You call these marks? You didn't study no?

Me: Yeah I know, I studied only one chapter *sad face*

LR: Why Kenny? Why? Why did you not study?

Me: Hmm I dont know...mumble mumble..I just wasted my time I guess.

Gitanjali: Ask me! All this time I told him to study but all he did was watch football and go to play on the beach! #yeah thanks for backing me up here. NOT!#

LR: See? Atleast listen to her! Anyway now forget all this, study hard from now on OK? Resolve this paper and give it up to KP on Monday. And don't just copy the answers from the text book, really solve the paper. That's the only way you'll learn. Don't regret about this now. These exams aren't counted so don't be worried. Just promise me you'll study hard from now onwards. Just imagine what your parents will go through if they come to know about these marks. Won't they be disappointed?They had such high expectations Kenny... *this goes on for some more time*

Me*thinking to myself*:OMG! Am I on Punk'd? Who are you, my mom?? Just leave me alone!

Thinking back on it though I shouldn't have been so rough on her. At least she gave a shit.

I got a 9/10 on my first psychology test yesterday so that is a good thing but I'm not really that elated because the test was chicken feed. *Inner conscience- "STFU Kenny! Learn to count your blessings!" I showed the psycho test to my parents but I dodged their questions about the other marks. Ignorance is bliss I guess.

On other stuff, I've taken up learning sign language (yeah the type that the vocally and auditorily challenged people use) and its really really cool! ASL University offers really nice and easy lessons online. My br
I was horribly, horribly sick today. Massive headache on the way home and a throw up fest at home to finish it off. I really have to take care of my health I guess but I hardly seem to have the time to do anything. If I die a premature death, St. Xavier's Higher Secondary will be hearing from my attorney/solicitor! Another thing is I can't go to play on the beach nowadays so I hardly get to exercise. My body rots between home and St. Xavier's. And this weather doesn't exactly help either. Sure, I love the rains and all but it's really not sponsoring my health and you have no idea how difficult it is to get out of my warm, comfortable bed and unwrap myself from my soft and amazing blanket when its freezing cold and raining outside to haul my ass to Xavier's. Also I just learned that my bio teacher comes to Mapuca all the way from Margao so I have no reason to complain.


Brazil vs Portugal on right now!

Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain - Little Wonders, Rob Thomas

Posted by Kenny at 10:10 AM Links to this post
Jun
20
20103 Hats Off! #1 Ankur AKA Enkore

I'm starting this series about the people I have met in my life who really worked hard, swam against the current and produced the extraordinary.





To start off this series I'm going to talk about Ankur Johar AKA Enkore of Munky Rhymz.



I've known Ankur since he was a kid in school. I'm pretty sure he doesn't remember this but he is the reason I broke my tooth in the 1st Std (no hard feelings lol). He was one of my best friends in school and there are a lot of memories I really cherish about the shit we used to do in school. When we were kids Ankur never showed any inclination in moving towards the uber rapper he would turn out to be many years later. In fact our greatest verbal achievements were swearing about everything under the sun in the most colourful and vibrant swear words created by man. After the 7th std. Ankur left our school and moved to a different state so we lost contact. We got back in touch much later through Facebook and then onto Twitter and it was through Twitter itself that I found out about his blog and what a crazy rapper he had developed himself into.

Rapping isn't a joke and for those who live outside of India, you must know that rap in India is still at it's lowest level with hardly any sponsors, few professional recording studios and even fewer record companies and deals. Indian society, though gradually adapting to the western way of life, still find it hard to accept rap for what it is. An art form. Another contributing factor to the blockage of progress in rap is the current education. With demanding hours, fierce and cut throat competition and a huge load of exams all piling the pressure on, there is hardly any time for a youngster writing rhymes. Many parents too are reluctant to push their children into this field thinking that it has no scope and instead make their children study hard to become a doctotor or an engineer. To top it off India has no semi-decent music school and no proper courses to follow even if your parents DO agree to this career option.

Despite all of these setbacks Ankur has remained a fighter, often proving his critics wrong by spewing dope rhyme after dope rhyme with an uncanny consistency. He's been hit, but never stayed down. His pen name 'Enkore' is now famous in the underground rap scene here in India. He's won numerous battles and much aclaim from fellow rappers. His blog showcases his tunes and his rhymes and though there was talk of him shutting shop and stopping rapping I don't think that is ever going to happen because writting lyrics is a part of him that will never die no matter what.

As of today Enkore has been featured in 6 mixtapes and has made a compilation of his own called The Calling. He has released more than 50 songs and written rhymes for a gazillion others. He is an active crew member of the hot Munky Rhymz along with Hustler. He is a pioneer of the field. A lion in a sea of gazelles. A decade ago people would have laughed if they knew Ankur was Enkore. Now they look on in awe, for even if he doesn't get into mainstream commercial rap with a record deal, he will always be the one who followed a path many would have dared not. And no matter what, he will always, always, be a winner.

To get your fill of Enkore and his verses check out his blog at http://thisisenkore.blogspot.com/


#Respect
Posted by Kenny at 9:32 AM Links to this post
Jun
16
20101 Monotone

4 interesting things happened in college today:


1) Answered my chem paper. Failing for sure. The first 4 questions were so easy they were like laughing gas and they put me in a relaxed and calm state.

The rest of the paper shot me in the head with a .44 Magnum. Point blank.



2) In the second lecture I had an eight second long yawn. This is a personal best for me so I guess there is something to cheer about in my life after all.



3) Our CR (class representative) and LR (Ladies representative) were elected today. I have nothing more to say on this other than both of them had equal sized moustaches.



4) I just discovered that my physics lab partner is a brain eating, blood sucking parasite. With a mouth that goes a 1000 words/second.



And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Posted by Kenny at 5:52 AM Links to this post
Jun
15
20100 This is A Tribute

to the most amazing person I have met in my life.

So here's to Gitanjali Kerkar, Miss Awesome.






Edit: No matter what happens, this blog post will not be edited, deleted or rewritten for the rest of my life.
Posted by Kenny at 5:01 AM Links to this post
Jun
14
20101 Scared ,Disappointed, Mindfucked?

First, sorry about the spew of sad language in the title itself but if you were in my place you would have done the same.



Second, if your in a good mood, don't read this post. This post doesnt exist. Come back later when you are in a bad mood. Misery loves company.




Ok now it starts. I'm scared. Yes, go ahead laugh but I am seriously scared. now you may ask the question what scares the great and awesome Kenny Silveira? Well there isnt one, but many things that intimidate me right now.



First of the many, my exams. There used to be a time when I was actually Kenny Silveira, the happy-go-lucky, come-what-may-im-going-to-have-fun, live for the moment guy, but that guy died somewhere during the repeated year and what you are looking at now is just the empty shell of what Kenny Silveira once used to be. I had my biology premidterm exam today and it was the most disappointing day of my life. I studied enough to get atleast a 15/20, or atleast I thought so anyway but destiny isnt like that I guess. The questions in my paper were from the very furthest corners of the book and I think I could be getting anything between 7-9 at the most. When I was in the 11th I bought a bio text book 2 days before the exam and studied just one chapter and answered. I got 16.

This time I slog my ass of (mostly) and what is the use? The answers I've written in today's paper are fecking shite. I was so disappointed with myself after the exam I thought I was dying. Biology is one area where I pride myself on being good. It's my element, my ballpark and I take to it like a duck takes to water, but there I was expecting less than average marks in a subject where I should have got full marks. I was gutted, absolutely gutted. It took all the will power I could muster to put on a brave face and laugh about it in school. I came home and stood under the shower for about 45 minutes with my forehead resting on the wall, completely wrecked.(kind of like Kai in Beyblade but I didn't realize it at that time)

And you want to know the best part? I have a chemistry exam day after tommorow with the portion for the exam so large it makes a blue whale look like a male sperm cell. And I haven't even started yet! And it's definitely not my ballpark now. I could have taken the day off from college tommorow since I dropped math but still more bad news, our practicals have started so I can't even stay at home and study anymore. AND I have 3 fecking hours of tutions! I dont know when I'm going to study, I don't know what I'm going to write and I don't know how the hell I'm going to lie to my dad telling him the paper was good.

This is another thing I'm disappointed about, my dad has done everything possible to help me get a good education. He put me in the best private school in the state so that it would be easier in for me in college but a repeated year and these horrible marks isn't a way to pay him back. My parents doesn't deserve this. They have never held back on anything when it came to my studies and I want to do them proud but somehow its just not happening.

I remember a time when I could just study one day before my exam and get a distinction(not study at all and get slightly more than average marks) infact for my board exams I used to get up early and play DOTA! I've just lost that power now. Our high and mighty institution chose the worst time in the world to host these premidterm exams. Amazing movies are releasing right now (see: the karate kid), the damn FIFA world cup (which I wanted to blog about but havn't had the time) two new shows on Star World (Glee and White Collar) and the rain! You have absolutely no idea how much it hurts to stay inside and study in these rains while my friends are out there revelling in it while playing football on the beach. I'm heartbroken in the worst possible way. I would happily go through 10 break ups than go through this living hell. It's that bad.

I'll post about the next of many fears some other time. *gets up and goes on a quest to find some Valium*
I don't know if you can feel my misery...It's just so damn hard to convey it in words.


This post was not written by Kenny Silveira, the guy who never feared an exam, who never studied hard enough, even for his boards which were worth 100 marks, but always got them with the littlest of efforts. This post is writtten by a guy who was scared shitless about a premidterm exam of 20 marks, which isn't counted for the boards and which he got raped in.
Posted by Kenny at 3:24 AM Links to this post
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All rights reserved Black Holes And Revelations o had actually gotten me to think about it a month back I was blasting some music in my room and he said it was raping his eardrums. He asked me how the hell was I going to talk to him again if he turned deaf lol. I'm not really good at it, IMO but I'm pleased with my progress so far (which is hardly anything)

Also I'm turning 18 in less than a month. I'm finding it hard to think about something more depressing.
Posted by Kenny at 7:46 AM Links to this post
Jun
24
20103 A Man Of Small Things

I am a man of small things. Small pleasures have the power to make my day. Just a few days ago I was walking down the St Xavier's slope in a really really bad mood with my old jacket on when it suddenly started raining cats and dogs. Bad mood was kicked in the backside.


I didn't pull up my hood and walked down the entire slope slowly, soaking myself in the rainwater. At the bottom of the slope I bought an Appy and sipped it like it was Elixir as I walked my drenched body to the bus stand without a care in the world. This is pretty high up in the rankings of one of the greatest feelings of my life. Some people need large jewels, while others want pots of cash, while still others want all the power in the world. Me? All I need is an old jacket, processed apple juice and water falling from the heavens.

aloo well ı am

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Spangly Princess "Let others complain that our age is evil; my complaint is that it is paltry. For it is without passion." (Kierkegaard, Either/Or, 1843)
Thursday, 24 June 2010
Moving...
SO I am shifting operations, such as they are, to www.spanglyprincess.com


it's still a work in progress at the moment but bear with me as I paint the place pink, put up some curtains, throw some scatter cushions around and so forth. I think it will be nice when it's done.
Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 12:01 AM 1 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: blogging
Monday, 14 June 2010
Italy 1 - 1 Paraguay
As one-all draws go that was pretty encouraging. I was expecting something a lot more static, less exciting and generally less positive than that. Recently we have looked old (well, we are), lacking in ideas and grinta, short on fitness and liable to confirm all the worst stereotypes about the Italian style of play. Instead tonight we looked pretty lively, determined and what I want to call propositive but I know it's not a word in English, so let's move swiftly on. Paraguay offered a bit less going forward than I had expected but actual this was one of the most interesting games so far I reckon.

Some player comments: De Rossi was the Danielino of old rather than the imposter he's been for Roma for much of this season; Montolivo played really well, perhaps unexpectedly transferring his club form to the nazionale which he has often struggled to do in the past; Pepe I thought was great, and Marchisio and especially Criscito both made useful contributions. Camoranesi actually made a difference when he came on, so I will admit I was wrong in my feeling that it was a mistake to take him. Once again the forwards were a little disappointing, though not dreadful by any means. Apart from the error (shared with De Rossi) for the goal, Cannavaro looked much better than I'd expected too, and the defence looked fine if not amazing.

In fact I am much happier with this performance than I remotely expected to be, and I think I would take this over the stale and defensive 1-0 I was mostly anticipating. I celebrated by washing the bathroom floor - let's not get too excited, hey?
Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 11:28 PM 2 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: football, World Cup
Friday, 11 June 2010
emotional manipulation
I have just sunk to possibly a new low, an unimagined and unsuspected moment of patheticness: I have just teared up in a Shakira video. Feel free to cancel me from your list of acquaintances, blogs you read, close family members etc.


In mitigation, it wasn't at all Shakira-related, but instead the opening clip of the World Cup song, which shows Grosso taking his penalty. I hate penalties, always have done, transfixed by that can't-watch-must-watch agony, peering through my fingers like a kid watching a horror film.


Actually just seeing the patented and unmistakeable pre-penalty shorts-hitching manouvre of Fabien Barthez gives me a head-rush of nostalgia. Of course we'd seen it in plenty of other contexts, but now for me it means that penalty shoot-out and no other. You know I hate penalties, right? Did I say that yet? Standing in the Circo Massimo on 9 July 2006 I cried when Grosso scored that final penalty (just, like, a few discreet tears, not big snotty sobbing or anything - I'm not a total freak) and this footage / memory apparently retains some kind of embarrassing emotional hold which Shakira can now wheel out 4 years later in a weird corporate-sponsored FIFA video.


This is what football reduces me too.
Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 11:01 PM 4 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: football, World Cup
Sunday, 6 June 2010
Cisco Roma 4 - 0 Catanzaro
Much can be forgiven to a team whose fans sing 'The Final Countdown' and the theme from the A-Team as well as a chant set to 'I will survive': (solo per te io canterò, fino al novantesimo minuto griderò.... etc) which I rather liked. On the other hand, losing 4-0 in a play-off final is pretty poor and no amount of nice tunes make up for it.


What football, you may wonder (if you haven't read the post header) could possibly still be going on as late as 6 June? It's the playoffs, obviously, and to be precise the Serie C2 playoff final, first leg, which offered a chance to enjoy the belated arrival of summer sunshine and catch a last game of the season Or to put it another way, to spend the afternoon surrounded by topless men, some of whom were too drunk to stand. So Cisco - Catanzaro at the Stadio Flaminio, then. Several thousand Catanzaresi had come over 600km to be there, as against less than a thousand home supporters. We were in with the Catanzaro fans - convieniently giallorosso - and if you need to know why, a convenient summary is that Cisco Roma are the MK Dons of Italy and should not, therefore, be promoted.


Unfortunately although the fans had travelled in numbers, and with great enthusiasm, the players appeared not to have. Their energy, ability and tactical awareness were perhaps still in a motorway service station the wrong side of Napoli, since they certainly weren't here in Rome. It took Cisco a whole 17 minutes to score, by which point the Catanzaro keeper had already been forced into a couple of decent saves. After 35' it was 3-0 and on the stroke of half-time the Calabresi managed to get a man sent off for good measure. To add insult to injury they'd missed a penalty when it was still 2-0; if they'd taken it to 2-1 perhaps it could still have been turned around. It was not to be: Cisco had a couple of great players - their right-winger and one of their forwards ran rings round the giallorosso defence - and to describe the game as dismal, dreary and disappointing is frankly an insult to dismal, dreary and disappointing things the world over. Ah well.


In the curva things were a little better, at least before half-time. In the second half, which was very much more of the same, the visiting fans grew understandably disheartened and only the 100-strong ultras group were still singing by the end. On a critical note, they need to work on their lyrics, which were weak and detracted from a nice range of tunes. They also have a truly hilarious (and substantially incomprehensible) dialect, only I'm probably not allowed to laugh at it under Italian football's regulations about 'manifestazioni di discriminazione territoriale'.


I can't imagine that even the most optimistic of Catanzaresi - currently sat in a slow train south, or possibly stuck on the notoriously awful Salerno-Reggio Calabria road, an ongoing national scandal - think that they can possibly win promotion now. The fact they've failed to win promotion in no fewer than 5 playoffs in the period 1996-7 to 2008-9 possibly means that they weren't that optimistic in the first place. In fact lots of them were wearing tshirts saying "I hate playoffs". So it looks like Cisco will be going up into C1 (sorry, the Lega Pro 1 - fucking horrible pointless rebranding exercise that is - everyone still says C1 & C2). And that's that, I imagine, for another season. Next Sunday: the beach.






Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 11:14 PM 2 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: football
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
The Huntress
I wake slowly and lie in bed wondering why. The half-light coming in through the uncovered window tells me it's still early, before dawn even. Then I identify the reason for my wakefulness: it's the zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz in my ear of a mosquito.


CURSES


I am instantly wide awake. I spring out of bed and turn on the light. I espy my quarry resting nonchalantly on the wall -its delicate legs and tell-tale tiny shadow - just above the head of the sleeping Chelsea Boy, who seems oblivious to the light, the springing or the whine of the insect.


I seize the first weapon which comes to hand. It is a Penguin paperback, one of those colour-coded horizontal grid ones from the inter-war years: orange for general fiction, red for drama, pink for travel, blue for non-fiction and so on. This is green for crime, and to be precise is Agatha Christie's Parker Pyne Investigates, a mediocre collection of short stories which I picked up for €0.50 from a street stall in Piazza Sonnino. Parker Pyne Investigates in hand, I climb stealthily onto the bed and advance carefully towards my prey.


Splat: a swift swipe and it is done. Blood spills forth, possibly mine, possibly Chelsea Boy's, and I think of John Donne's The Flea (1633):

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deny'st me is;
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;


Cruel and sudden, I have Purpled in the blood of innocence the front cover of Parker Pyne Investigates, to which also adheres a stray leg. My glorious victory is acclaimed with a sort of grunt from the sleeper at my feet. But wait! I am poised, motionless, balanced on the bed. Still the whining zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz continues.


CURSES AND YET MORE CURSES


there is another one.



Diana, on her nocturnal hunting expeditions, favoured the bow and arrows as a weapon over the collection of short detective stories and who is to gainsay her choice? However the bow & arrows might not prove wholly useful against the mosquito, so with Parker Pyne Investigates in one hand I equip myself with a can of doubtless highly environmentally unfriendly mosquito spray in the other and prowl about the room. Diana also favoured, we are given to understand, some form of abundant rather impractical white drapery. The modern Diana is better served by cotton pyjamas and an old 'Italia Campioni del Mondo 2006' t-shirt, admittedly a little faded from washing, but less liable to trip one up as one balances on the edge of the bed scanning the room for tiny flying prey at 4.10am. What the modern Diana lacks in glamour she hopes to make up in effectiveness.


The hunt, alas, is slow. It requires patience as well as stealth. At one point the quarry alights on top of Chelsea Boy's slumbering form but I pause, uncertain as to whether he would be more displeased to be awoken by Agatha Christie or a squirt of toxic gas, and miss my chance. But determination, persistence and inflexible will are mine and so too eventually is victory.


sleep is slow in returning, though. Chances are Diana liked a lie-in.
Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 11:05 AM 3 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: life in Italy
Monday, 17 May 2010
Chievo 0 -2 Roma
My sleep patterns have been fucked lately so when it was no surprise to awake with a start at 5.20am. I lay in bed waiting for the alarm to go off and took advantage of the time to try to mentally prepare myself. Since the Samp game I have been studiedly not deluding myself, and in all honesty I never really believed - on an intellectual level - that we were going to win the league, even when we went top. The heart is disobedient though.

We took the 8.05 Eurostar to Verona (having, to the unvoiced disapproval of ultra friends, actually booked & paid for our tickets). The train was 95% full of romanisti: lots of families with small children and nicely dressed chaps in their 40s and 50s. Not the usual away crowd, in short. This was a rare mass exodus of the fans who usually sit in the expensive seats and watch the away games on the TV. Roma's home gates have been massively up all through the second half of the season, too. The Curva Sud sings 'il tifoso occasionale alla Roma porta male' at them. As the most occasional of away fans I should probably pass no comment here.

The weather in Rome has been dreadful this spring, and had been aggressively raining without pause since Friday, but Verona was bathed in very warm spring sunshine when we arrived. It's a short walk into the city centre from the train station, and the Piazza by the Arena was full of romanisti, mostly sitting in outdoor cafés having belated breakfasts or drinking a quiet beer. The local newspaper, L'Arena, proclaimed: 15,000 Romanisti. Città sotto assedio [City under siege]. Under siege? The citizens of prosperous, right-wing Verona must have been shaking with fear as giallorossi terrifyingly admired their landmarks, aggressively ate ice-creams in the sunshine, and most alarmingly of all, unrestrainedly spent money in their restaurants. Scary stuff. Actually they got the number wrong too, according to most estimates there were 20,000-23,000 away fans present. The ground holds just over 30,000 and was fully sold out, which tells you all you need to know.

So we had our lunch and admired the town, and walked back out of the city centre to the ground. Here's where the story gets less fun. Let's imagine that you're in charge of the stewarding & ground management at the Stadio Bentegodi. For days the papers have been full of stories about the huge numbers of romanisti coming to Verona for the game. Chievo's ticket office tell you that the entire Curva Nord (the away end) is sold out, and in fact the last few tickets for the side stands have also sold on Sunday morning. You know that unprecedented numbers of families will be part of the visiting crowd, and that many of them have never been to your stadium before. You know that it will be relatively hot for the time of year, and that the crowd will be good-humoured but anxious.

How many turnstiles do you open to admit the 20,000+ travelling fans?

a) let's open as many as possible to get the fans easily & safely into the ground, avoiding potential crushes against the inexplicable iron barriers everywhere and minimising the amount of time spent trapped in large metal cages under the mid-day sun, especially given that there are lots of children here. After all, you've read the Taylor report, you know how important it is to manage entry to the ground in a safe & responsible manner.

b) 2

If you chose option B, congratulations, you have a career in Italian stadium management ahead of you.

So getting into the ground was quite remarkably unpleasant and your correspondent nearly had a full-on panic attack, of the hyperventilating kind, and narrowly avoided swooning, like a missish Victorian lady, into the heavily tattooed arms of an irate gentleman pressed uncomfortably close in what can only be described as a giant cage. Lovely times. Note to authorities: if you want to bring families back to football, rather than compulsory ID cards you might care to take a look at your appalling public order arrangements.

So, the game. We won. We lost. The end.


foto from lamiaroma.it
I am holding up the lower banner, behind the second 'e' in perde!

Great atmosphere in the ground. Sunshine, smoke bombs, flags, singing. Great goals from Vucinic, who has had a super season, and De Rossi, who has not. At half time, with us 2-0 up and Inter still drawing 0-0 with Siena, I had to give myself a stern talking to about hope and realism. Behave, unruly heart. The Italian media like to use phrases like 'Champions at half-time' which mean nothing, but to be 45 minutes from the title... well. After 2008 I had hoped to never feel like this again.



fotos from lamiaroma.it

A note on the home support: behind their 'North Side' banner the couple of hundred home ultras (should there be, perhaps, inverted commas around that?) supported creditably through most of the game. They put up a striscione proclaiming that for the last 10 years they have 'realised the dreams of this city', giving me frankly a poor impression of the imaginative capacity of the people of Verona. They also put up a banner addressed to their own fans inviting them to gather in 'Piazza Chievo' after the game - who knows, perhaps to celebrate triumphantly staying up for another year? This was greeted with a resounding chorus of 'We'll come too' from the Roma curva - free barbecue, anyone? There's no real aggro between the two sets of fans or particularly strong feelings either way, so when news of Inter's goal came through and they all began cheering and celebrating our general reaction was one of fury and outrage (expressed in the time-honoured medium of whistling, of course). Petty provincial schadenfreude at its most small-time.

So yes, Inter won - of course. I never expected anything else. Our win was for nothing but pride, in the end, but that, I think, we can all have in abundance. Considering our size, our budget, above all the way our season started, we came further than we ever dreamed of doing at the start of the year, and we had a great time along the way. Yesterday was amazing and heartbreaking and exactly what I expected, and now we have to pick ourselves up and wait until next year and do it all over again.


Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 10:56 AM 4 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: AS Roma, despair, football, happiness, Serie A
Friday, 7 May 2010
Roma 0 -1 Inter
I really, really, really wanted this. Partly because I fucking hate Inter, partly because of the debacle of Sunday's nights Lazio game, partly because it would be kinda cool to wrap up Coppa Italia no. 10 and be the first team to get the little silver star on our shirts, partly because I have the rather English notion that cups matter. (Oh yeah, and to make sure that unutterably bloody Mourinho doesn't win the treble, something no Italian team has ever done as the media never ceases to breathlessly inform us). But mostly because since we're no longer realistically likely to win the league I was hoping that we would at least win some kind of trophy in recognition of a really phenomenal season.

When we came out of the ground it had started to rain and we walked through the lines of riot police in damp silence. I felt angry, fed up and faintly nauseated. And you know what? not about what happened on the pitch - though that was infuriating, frustrating, and ultimately unsurprising.

No, what ruined my night on Wednesday was something which I haven't seen mentioned anywhere in the press coverage: it was the racist chanting in the Curva Sud. From a few isolated monkey chants here and there, it grew steadily as Balotelli became more and more provoking, right in front of the Sud. I think I won't repeat the comments /chanting from the people directly around me, they made me feel sick enough at the time. The stuff directed at Chivu wasn't much better.

Now I know that Balotelli is a nasty little wanker, and Chivu was out of line and annoying, and I am has happy as the next irate fan to insult them, I just wish that Italian fans weren't stuck in the 19fucking80s where angry people search for the most inflammatory thing they can think of to shout and let rip with no thought for the consequences. It was noticeable that from 'inoffensive' insults, people descended into racism as tempers frayed - as though it was this latent force ready to burst out under sufficient provocation. I hate it, it makes me feel sick & dirty and in the end I stopped caring about losing the cup. I don't have any answers to offer right now, just a kind of nausea & despair.

sorry, btw, if you were hoping for a cheery welcome back post.
Pubblicato da Spangly Princess a 8:16 PM 6 commenti Link a questo post
Etichette: AS Roma, coppa italia, despair, racism
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London Millers
We don't live in Rotherham, we don't even play football in Rotherham, but we still have a good time!

Tuesday, 25 May 2010
The Secret Is To Stand In The Paddock...

Ah, Sky! On the one hand, they decide to televise your games and give you some money for the privilege. On the other hand, they decide to televise your games and move them to bizarre times, like six o’clock on a Saturday night. Which is why a somewhat depleted London Millers party (Jenny, Julia and myself) are metting at Waterloo at two in the afternoon. Clarkey has a decent excuse – he’s up in Crewe reliving (continuing?) his misspent youth at the Westworld weekender, a couple of people may be working, but most of the others would rather be watching in a local pub and fretting than actually going to the game and fretting.
A handful of Aldershot fans get on the train at Brookwood and Ash Vale, cans in hand and a little rowdy but not annoyingly so. They just seem more confident than we do, but as our record in the play-offs is pretty duff (getting relegated in the days when a play-off game could send you down as well as up and losing a semi-final to Leyton Orient on pens) it’s probably understandable.
Once we’ve arrived, Julia and I head for the White Lion while Jenny makes a detour to the ground to get a programme for Dave in Australia. When she joins us, she’s empty handed, as they won’t be going on sale till the programme sellers arrive at 4.30. There are seven or eight people watching the Cup Final in the main bar, but the smaller side room is screen-free and quiet, though Julia eventually wanders off to watch it once penalties start being missed and the excitement level cranks up.
As well as the White Lion’s regular dog, Millie, there’s another mutt with cracking ten-to-two paws soaking up the sunshine. When my brother arrives, I ask him to take a photo of said dog. This leads him into a conversation with the owner, who explains how the dog ruptured its cruciate ligament (it was run into by another dog during some boisterous play. This was an accident – it didn’t find itself being deliberately taken out by the canine equivalent of Roy Keane), necessitating £3000 of vet’s bills to fix it. The things you learn when you start photographing dogs!
Mick Walker is the last of our little party to arrive, having had another quiet drive over (presumably everyone’s watching the Cup Final). Jenny’s arranged to meet Steve Exley in the Royal Staff to hand over some tickets, so Mick gives us all a lift over there. Steve’s in, along with Martin Burton, the son of a friend who couldn’t make it to the game and Hugh Vaughan, sporting his new Alan Lee tribute teeshirt. We ask Steve if he had fun at the end of season dinner and whether his bread roll escaped unscathed. Apparently, he had a great time, ending up chatting to the legend that is Howard Webb until the bar closed. Photos of the event are up on the official site, including a photo of the whole squad which makes them look, as Gwenn remarked sagely, like one of the failed entries from Last Choir Standing. It’s no surprise at all to see big Drewey yet again wearing a suit that appears to be a size too small for him...
When we reach the ground, it’s to see that half-a-dozen flags are already on display in the away paddock. A couple we’ve seen before, including the much-travelled Tivoli Millers and the Scarborough Millers, but the rest have emerged from the woodwork. Still, we find a space and take up residence in the sunshine. We’re in a great position to be picked up by the cameras, and my dad later tells me we get a mention on Radio Sheffield. What shameless media tarts we are.
There’s a great atmosphere building up as the game gets close to kick-off. Some of the Aldershot fans have been given banners with the players’ faces on them to hold up, and the ball is brought out to the centre circle by a couple of members of the armed forces. There are about five hundred in the travelling Rotherham contingent, and one of them has a drum. We do wonder if it could be Miller Bear in mufti, though we have no idea whether he got his drumsticks back after he told us at the Cheltenham game someone had pinched them!
Having rested Alf last week, Ronnie’s restored him to the line-up alongside Ryan Taylor, but Harrison and Mills are preferred to Walker in midfield. However, the real tactical masterstroke comes when we win the toss. Knowing Aldershot like to kick uphill towards their fans in the second half, we make them do it in the first instead.
The game is tight and tense, as is probably to be expected. Aldershot fizz a shot across goal; Robert, Exley and co hurl coordinated invective at the assisant referee, convinced he should have given an offside decision. Alf collides with the Aldershot goalkeeper while contesting a ball, with the result that the keeper picks up some kind of injury and has to be subbed. That’s pretty much the height of the excitement until the very end of the half, when sub keeper Jaimez-Ruiz saves an admittedly tame shot from Alf, Aldershot immediately mount an attack and Don saves with his feet. The defence has looked solid, Nicky Law is having a good game and Clarkey would be impressed by the chants of ‘Ronnie Moore’s red army’, which must have gone on for fifteen minutes straight.
The Crossbar Challenge game is played at half-time, but without an away fan taking part this time. Instead, the contestants are the Shots’ phoenix mascot (who’s been busy handing out sweets throughout the first half, even to the photographers behind the goal) and what I’m sure the announcer describes as ‘a fat bloke, a Mexican and a nice bit of crumpet’, though I could have somehow wandered into an episode of Ashes To Ashes by mistake...
The second half progresses much the same as the first. Ryan Taylor, who’s certainly benefited from his time at Exeter, judging by his improving physical presence on the ball, curls a shot wide of the post. Aldershot have a couple of decent opportunities, but nothing on target. The longer the game goes on, the more it seems we’re going to be happy with a nil-nil draw. Then, with a couple of minutes to go, Brown in the Aldershot defence sends a rather casual backpass towards the keeper. Alf is on to it like a flash, but even as he’s charging on goal, we’re still convinced he’s somehow going to miss. He doesn’t, and comes dashing over to the corner flag to celebrate. We’re starting to think standing on the paddock is the secret to guaranteeing a Rotherham win, as this is where we were when we won courtesy of Reuben Reid’s spectacular lob last season.
The three minutes the ref adds on seem to last forever. When the whistle goes, the players come over to applaud us for our support, but they don’t over-celebrate, or do anything to suggest the tie is somehow now sewn up.
A few of the Aldershot supporters are hurling abuse – and, according to later stories, coins, though we don’t see any evidence of that – towards the away part of the terrace, so fans are being let out at the point furthest away from them, and when we’ve finally taken down the flag, we get safe passage courtesy of a police escort. Mick and Robert head straight for their cars, anxious to be away from any potential trouble near the ground. Walking back to the station, I’m more tense than if we’d lost, or if there’d been no score. Already, we’re thinking of all the ways Rotherham could mess this up in the second half.
I’m not going to the home leg – it’ll be my turn to fret in front of the TV – but as we say our goodnights at Waterloo, a faint hope glimmers that, this time, we might actually make it to Wembley...
Posted by London Millers at 07:00 0 comments Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Two Arabs, A Beermat And Some Bloke Out Of Zulu

When the fixture computer threw this one up, we joked that our first game back in League Two had been Hereford away, so it would be only fitting if our last game at this level was Hereford away. That was before we (along with Bury, Dagenham and Cheaterfield) decided to spend the second half of the season blowing our shot at automatic promotion. That relative disappointment (and everything’s relative when you live with someone whose team has just been relegated into the Blue Square Prem) does little to dampen our enthusiasm for today’s main objective – partying!
There should be a big turn-out for this trip. Unfortunately, while Jenny, Joy, Julia, Clarkey, Tim, John Kirkland, Rob Maxfield and I are all present and correct, complete with the hats which are today’s official dress code, Andy Leng and Chris Turner are conspicuous by their absence. We have no choice but to leave without them, and it’s not long before Jenny gets a text to let her know they’ve both managed to oversleep. It has to be stressed that they were not in the same bed at the time, even though we now have an image of them in pyjamas and nightcaps à la Morecambe and Wise. More tragically, Chris now has 36 cocktail sausages sitting in his fridge which he was going to bring along today.
Not that we’re short of supplies. We have champagne, bagels, croissants and other nibbles, and there’s more than enough for Steve Czajewski, who joins us at Oxford, and my brother, who gets on at Worcester. Robert is wearing the Bombardier dragon hat he got at the GBBF a couple of years ago, but that’s discreet compared to the one John has for Chris, who’s joining us at Hereford – it’s in the shape of a lion’s head, which is kind of appropriate given the mane of hair he’s still attempting to cultivate. I’m wearing a more discreet plain black number, but I’m teaming it with Drewe Broughton tribute sweatbands because, frankly, it had to be done...
It’s a long journey (and involved a bleary-eyed eight a.m. meet-up at Paddington), but one through some very pretty countryside. Having met up with Chris and Chris at Hereford station, we make our way to the Barrels, flagship pub of the Wye Valley Brewery. Last time we were here, it was a sultry August day and we sat outside. Today, it feels twenty degrees cooler and we huddle inside. Phil Kyte arrives, with new girlfriend, Catherine, in tow. When he told her he’d be introducing her to the London Millers, I have no idea whether she realised we’d all be in novelty hats...
Nigel Hall and Steve Ducker make an appearance. Nigel has given Steve a lift because he’s been up till stupid o’clock the last couple of nights reporting on the election and its aftermath. The Devon Millers, Dave Bates and Andy, join us, and immediately make the rest of us feel underdressed in comparison by donning flowing Arabian robes and headdresses. They fit in beautifully when we get to the ground – plenty of people have come in fancy dress, and we spot monks, a bloke dressed as a beermat and a lad in a military jacket and pencilled-on moustache who appears to have escaped from the cast of Zulu. We’re squeezed in down one side because the stand behind the goal is condemned, making tatty old Millmoor look positively salubrious. There aren’t quite as many Rotherham fans as there would have been if we were still in with a chance of automatic promotion, but they’re in good voice, even if most of their songs are in tribute to Millers legend Alan Lee, who kept up his knack of scoring against Wednesday last week and helped ensure their relegation.
Sadly, we might have turned up but the team clearly hasn’t. Their performance reminds me of our game at Crewe a few years ago, when they still had a chance of relegating us and staying up themselves, but only if they overcame a goal difference of ten. Alfie has been rested, with Drewe Broughton taking his place, and no one seems to want to risk picking up an injury before next week. We’re playing in first gear, and Hereford are one up in five minutes, two up in twenty. In both cases, the defence simply goes missing.
Clarkey and Tim decide to amuse themselves by partying like it’s 1974. Cue chorus of ‘I was born under the Railway End’. At half-time, Catherine takes a team photo of us in our hats. My, how fetching we look. Meanwhile, I decide to plug myself into my radio to see if I can get some idea of the ups and downs in our league and the one above. Can Grimsby complete their unlikely resurrection? (No. After doing all the hard work and beating Barnet last week, they get stuffed by Burton and Barnet beat Rochdale, who seem to have lost interest since they actually got promoted.)
Will Hartlepool get relegated, appeal against their points deduction and cause mayhem for the fixture compilers. (No. Somehow Gillingham, the team everyone’s forgotten are still in the relegation scrap, go down, which means if we’re in League Two next season we can look forward to more dodgy decisions at the Priestfield.) And by the time the third Hereford goal goes in, right at the end of a second half in which Rotherham have played much better without carving out too many chances, Morecambe have scored against Aldershot. It means they finish fourth, and play Dagenham, who got the three points everyone expected they would at Darlington. We’ll be playing Aldershot on Saturday evening, which is a nice, easy trip if nothing else. The atmosphere is very flat as we leave the ground, but I’d rather we got a bad performance out of the way this weekend, rather than next.
There’s just time for a reviving drink in the Wetherspoon near Hereford station (coffee in my case, because it’s still freezing!). Clarkey and John K catch the train by the skin of their teeth and we trundle back as far as Worcester Foregate Street. Tim spots deer in a field, before he and Steve Cz start some London Underground-based trivia. (Example. Q: What letter starts the names of the most consecutive stations? A: H. Hounslow East, Hounslow Central, Hounslow West, Hatton Cross, the three stations round on the Heathrow loop and back to Hounslow East. Yes, I know it’s sneaky.) Steve gets the biggest laugh for naming all the stations in Ealing, including ‘Sexual Ealing’. It’s a shame we have to turf him off at Oxford, no, honestly it is...
As we get off, a couple sitting by us tell us they wish all travelling football fans were like us. Tell that to Mr Grumpy of Didcot!
At Worcester, we bid farewell to my brother and his daft hat, and pick up the train which will trundle us back to Paddington. Some rugby types behind us are playing a complicated drinking game, but we’re more concerned with trying to catch a glimpse of Wembley as London approaches, and keeping our fingers crossed for a more close-up view at the end of the month.
Posted by London Millers at 04:42 0 comments Down Came The Rain

The last home game of the season (possible appearance in the play-offs notwithstanding), and there’s a decent turn-out. Jenny, Joy, Clarkey, Chris T, Steve D and myself. The train’s pretty packed, it being a Bank Holiday, even though all the Championship games are taking place tomorrow – including the winner-takes-all Wednesday/Palace tie which probably 99.9% of Rotherham fans are hoping Palace win. (I’m keeping an open mind...)
At the station, we meet up with Phil in the Sheffield Tap. He tells us he was out leafleting for some cause the other day, and a couple of people came up to him and said, ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’, meaning celebrity chef James Martin. It’s strange – you couldn’t describe them as actual lookalikes, but for a long time we’ve thought that there is a certain resemblance in terms of appearance and mannerisms, and this just confirms it.
As is becoming usual for the last home game, we divert from the regular ‘straight to the Fat Cat’ pattern. Instead, our first stop is the Harlequin, where I’m delighted to see they have a cider festival on the go. Couple that with pork and stuffing rolls and some truly world-class crackling provided as bar nibbles and I could happily stay here all afternoon. Instead, we have one drink at the Harlequin then visit the Riverside, a few minutes’ walk away. It’s a big, airy pub with a bit of a café feel to it, and it’s warm enough to sit outside, admiring the river view.
The ladies make an early move, as Jenny has to pick up tickets for the Hereford game next week. Fortunately, the queue is very short, unlike the one to collect pre-ordered home shirts, which snakes impressively along the concourse. We spot Steve Exley, waiting to pick up a shirt for Kiran, who’s already taking a large adult size. Steve reckons he and I should have done some kind of deal, as I fit the largest junior size and therefore pay the junior price!
Robert has driven over for the game and is in his seat when I arrive. There’s a small but noisy Crewe following – there’s nothing for them to play for, and so no real inclination to travel in numbers. For us, the maths is simple – two more points will absolutely guarantee a play-off place, though a win today would be nice. We start with purpose, while Crewe seem content to play on the counter attac. The closest either side comes in the half is hitting the bar; apart from that, both keepers only have one shot to save.
Everything changes when the weather does. Richard Lee, rattling through the Fifty-fifty numbers and the answer to the ‘this was the top five, but in which year?’ competition, announces that the rain is on its way in minutes. When it does, it’s less rain and more a mini-monsoon. Water is soon standing on the pitch, and if it wasn’t so late in the season with no real opportunity to reschedule the game, there’s a good chance this would be called off. Walker (who still seems to be suffering from the knock he picked up last week) and Marshall are replaced by Bell-Baggie and Broughton. The change nearly pays off, but Alfie insists on shooting, hitting the side netting, when passing to an unmarked Broughton would surely have led to a goal, while Broughton himself loses his footing on the sodden turf when in on goal. Crewe also have chances, but the game has pretty much been reduced to a farce by the freak weather.
Despite requests not to, at the final whistle there’s a soggy pitch invasion. The players are due to come out for the traditional hundred yards of the track of honour but, collecting a flag which now weighs a good four pounds more than it did dry, we decide against staying to watch it. The London-bound party instead reconvene in the Sheffield Tap, where a large bouncer comes over and tells me they have a no colours policy. (I don’t usually wear a replica shirt on matchdays, but it was today’s unofficial dress code). As I’m removing the shirt, he asks me how we got on. ‘I’m Wednesday,’ he admits. ‘We’ll be playing you lot next year.’
The good news is that, thanks to other results, not only are we definitely in the play-offs, with Morecambe and Aldershot playing each other next week, we can’t finish any lower than fifth, meaning the home leg will be mid-week. However, things are so tight that our opposition could be any one of about seven clubs – either of the aforementioned teams, Dagenham, Cheaterfield, Bury, Port Vale or Northampton. Exciting, eh?
Back in London, Chris, Jenny and I meet Ted for a drink at the Betjeman. Darlo have beaten Macc and he’s already planning his trip back there next season – either with us if we don’t go up or, failing that, on a weekend when the Quakers are somewhere he doesn’t fancy visiting. We colonise the comfy sofas outside, which is pleasant until a group of Belgian schoolchildren fresh off the Eurostar start charging around. As with all such parties, their parents/teachers have sent them away to play so they can have a pint in peace. Zut alors!


Posted by London Millers at 03:20 0 comments Monday, 26 April 2010
Chris Kirkland Is A Very Angry Man

Last night, I was at Sh!, the ‘women’s store’ in Hoxton, reading one of my short stories. Pink bubbly was on hand to lubricate the old vocal chords, so it’s nice to have a later start than usual. Even so, it’s a surprisingly warm day and I’m feeling the effort as I trudge up the hill from the tube station exit, weighed down by the flag. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) The South Norwood (And Addiscombe) Gentlemen’s Rambling Association have made an early detour to the Lord Nelson where, as we were when we visited before Darlo’s FA Cup game, they will more than likely be the youngest drinkers in the place. When I reach the Old Mitre, Jenny and her brother, John, fresh and tanned from their week in Cornwall, are already there, as are Joy and Frances. We thought Frances might have had enough of the Millers after seeing their lacklustre display at Aldershot the other week, but she’s been tempted over to Barnet purely on the strength of the pies served at the Old Mitre. It has to be said when they turn up they do look very nice, coming encased in a triangular wedge of pastry which would impress even Ted, who’s the fussiest man in the world when it comes to the whys and wherefores of the meat-and-shortcrust-based comestible. However, it’s taking roughly an hour for food orders to arrive (though you are warned of this when you order), so it’ll be the good old Underhill catering for me. Everyone is out in the beer garden, and the ‘stable bar’ is open, showing the Man U/Spurs game to a bunch of excitable drinkers.
Gradually, the hordes arrive – in no particular order, Rob Maxfield, Tim and Ian Armitage, Clarkey, who’s brought along Stephanie, nephew James and one of Stephanie’s friends who has somehow been persuaded that coming to see Rotherham will be fun (poor girl!), Nigel Hall, the Kettons and the Manchester axis of Chrises. The latter two are both dressed for the North-west at six-thirty a.m., which was clearly about twenty degrees colder than positively steamy North London. Chris K has even had a haircut. Well, I say ‘cut’ – attacked with shears might be a more accurate description. He tells me he’s working on the theory that his mother will think growing it long is the better option if it looks like this when it’s short. Finally, the SN(AA)GRA arrive, with my brother, Julia and Phil the darts ringer in tow. Apparently, there were shirtless workmen on the building next door to the Lord Nelson who they can all describe in rather more detail than is healthy. Not that I’m fussed about missing out on sights like that, oh, no.
There are enough London Millers in attendance to run a football card for fundraising purposes. Even the Burtons have a go, though both are complaining they’ve already been cleaned out by the price of a pint. If they will go drinking in the tourist traps of Camden first, what can they expect? The card is won by Gail, though Graham should take half as he actually picked her square for her.
When Brad arrives, the early party realise it’s time to wander off and put the flag up. There’s a better turn-out than I expected given recent results, but we find an empty stretch of crash barrier close to the corner flag. The others begin to drift in, having finished their pints and ambled down the hill (much easier than the opposite journey, I can tell you). Chris K is absolutely apoplectic about the fact concessions are only available in the stand, not the terrace, and he doesn’t do sitting down unless he absolutely has to. Steve Ducker ambles over from the stand to have a quick word with us – he’s got his father-in-law with him, so he’s sitting today. We can spot him from where we’re standing, looking rather tense, though that could just be because he’s obviously sitting fairly close to the woman who always screams ‘Gerrin!’ at obnoxiously loud volume whenever she thinks a Rotherham player should be making a challenge. Never mind that if they ‘gorrin’ as often as she’d like them to, we’d probably end every game with seven men...
Mind you, she’s like a church mouse in comparison to young master Kirkland, who’s been wound up by the ticketing arrangements and returns to them throughout the game. At one point late in the first half, he muses, ‘I wonder what Barnet are going to do if they need new players in the summer. After all, they DON’T DO TRANSFERS!’ He’s a seething cauldron of testosterone, and my brother and I decide we really, really need to find him a girlfriend.
All of which distracts from what’s actually a pretty good performance on the pitch. Like Aldershot, Barnet’s tactics rely on trying to use the sloping pitch to their advantage, but where the Shots have the sprightly Marvin Morgan leading the line, Barnet have the geriatric (in footballing terms) Paul Furlong. Add to that the fact we’re double-teaming the London Millers’ new best friend Kevin Ellison and Gavin Gunning on Barnet’s real threat, Albert Adomah (which sounds like it should have been the plot of one of the stories at the Sh! reading last night), and the opposition really don’t look like much. That said, we’re squandering some decent chances, the best of which comes when Josh Walker smacks a free kick against the post. We also get the opportunity to admire Walker’s overly elaborate tattoos when he comes to take a corner. They neatly avoid his elbow; perhaps that would have been too painful. Then Ellison gets a free kick fairly close to where we’re standing, which goes in without anyone else touching it, despite the protests of the Barnet players. Unlike the goal against Notts County, and even with a ref who clearly doesn’t want to give us anything, it stands.
There’s some kind of presentation at half-time which appears to involve a boxer, but the Barnet announcer, when he isn’t exhorting the fans to get behind the team for their most important game of the season, is fairly low key.
In the second half, we’re attacking down the slope. Ronnie has had to substitute Walker, who was on the end of a fairly hefty challenge and was forced off, with Bell-Baggie, and we’re very much in control of the game. Keeper Jake Cole has obviously decided looking like Manuel Almunia may not be best idea and has ditched the blond highlights, though he still almost makes a muff the Spaniard would be proud of when he tries to dribble the ball out of his area and is very nearly robbed – did he not see the Chelters highlights from last week? Barnet make changes, because with Grimsby beating Darlo, which would lower the gap between them to four points, they have to. They start bringing on more attackers, including Ryan O’Neill (no, not that one), and even push a defender up front. Despite the fact most of the play is now a lot closer to where we’re standing than most of us would like, we’re still standing firm. Ellison, who’s clearly been enjoying himself today, to the extent that he was even laughing when one of the Barnet players contrived to kick the ball out of play on the touchline by us, has a great chance to make it two, but he hits the post. Ronnie takes Bell-Baggie off and brings on Micky Cummins, on the surface a defensive move which has a few disgruntled Rotherham fans walking out, but Cummins actually helps to create a couple of shooting opportunities. Paul Warne comes on as a late sub, to a fantastic reception, and links up well with Cummins – indeed, we think Warney’s shot in for a moment, given the angle we have.
Even with five minutes added on, plus more for Warney’s appearance and whatever else the ref decides to add on, we hold out. John O’Flynn has a free kick very late on, but puts it over the bar. All Andy Warrington has really had to do is collect one cross, and Sharps had to stab the ball over the bar in the first half, but that was pretty much it. The back four of Lynch, Sharps, Fenton and Gunning have been superb, along with Mills and Ellison in front of them. At the final whistle, the team comes over and milks the applause, but it’s deserved. For the first time in all my many visits to Underhill, I’ve actually seen a team win here which wasn’t Barnet. The last time we were victorious here was in 1992, and I was out of London that day.
Our joy is not as unconfined as it might be, as Bournemouth have beaten Burton and taken the third automatic promotion place. People are already speculating – possibly not without justification – as to how many of the clubs who’ve gone up may start next season with points deductions, given their financially precarious positions. At the tube station, we go in various directions – Clarkey and family shoot off as he’s off to a gig, partying like it’s 1976, as ever. The SN(AA)GRA have plans to visit Kentish Town and all points south. Chris and Chris are on some tortuous route back to Manchester. Jenny, John, the Kettons, Joy, Frances, Tim, Ian A, Nigel, my brother and I head back to the Old Mitre. It’s a lot quieter now the sun’s gone down a little, and though the Arsenal/Man City game is showing, hardly anyone’s interested in watching it.
Ian forces himself to leave early by having a pint of Guinness, as nothing else sits easily on top of that. Robert and I have a leisurely pint (sparkling water in my case), then go to catch the Tube into town, leaving the others to plot the dress code for our trip to Hereford. As long as it doesn’t involve dressing as a cigarette, I don’t particularly mind.
Posted by London Millers at 10:29 0 comments Friday, 23 April 2010
View From The Posh Seats

St Pancras is mayhem as I arrive – with all flights grounded due to the cloud of volcanic ash spewing out of Iceland (personally, I blame ex-West Ham chairman Eggert Magnusson, last seen vainly trying to board a train at Sheffield station...), more people than usual are queuing for the Eurostar. Nipping swiftly up to the first floor level, I bypass the milling hordes to join those travelling up to enjoy the hospitality as today’s matchball and programme sponsors. On the train are me, Jenny, Clarkey, Steve Ducker, Chris Turner and Ian Armitage. Once in Sheffield, we’ll be meeting Tim (who should have been on the train with us but went up yesterday instead as his dad’s back in hospital), Tim’s mate Andy, my brother and Phil Kyte.
As the train goes through Chesterfield, most of the party get their first good look at the Spireites’ new stadium. It’s another one which is going to be a trek from the town centre, but apparently it’s only about as far out as Saltergate is in the other direction.
Andy joins us in the Sheffield Tap, though he makes the mistake of ordering a pint of the world’s most extreme chocolate stout, which is too chocolatey for people who really like stout, and way too stouty for people (like me) who really like chocolate. We’re supposed to be meeting Phil here, too, but he texts to let us know he’s running late and has gone straight to the DVS, so we pile into taxis and head over to find him. Tim arrives at roughly the same time as Andy, Jenny and myself. The others have spent a while taking team photos by the new fountains at Sheffield station (which only have the effect of making it look as though water is jetting out of Ian A’s head), and they roll up just as my brother’s car is pulling into the carpark.
Ronnie Moore, his relatively new wife and small daughter arrive just as we’re walking to the VIP entrance, so Clarkey goes over and wishes him good luck for the game. Let’s hope that’s not the kiss of death, given our less-than-sparkling record when it comes to the results of our sponsored games.
The meal is good (pate, beef stroganoff and apple crumble, since you ask), though Clarkey’s not impressed that I can’t manage to finish my main course. ‘What would Ted say if he saw you leaving food?’he asks. ‘Probably, “I’ll have that,”’ chips in Jenny. Ted himself rings to find out how we’re all getting on. I go to take the call on the balcony outside, which is an absolute sun trap on a glorious day like this. Just before I leave the room, they announce the winning team on the football card which has been doing the rounds. It was Man City. That’s clearly not an omen for the Manchester derby, as I walk back in the room to see Paul Scholes has scored the winner with seconds to go...
Jenny and I go to put the flag up. We’re hoping we won’t have to move Mr Broughton again, as he’s nowhere to be seen on the teamsheet. It turns out he’s actually been taken sick – though that’s more than likely sick of having the mickey taken out of him by us... We do, however, bump into Tony Stewart and our new, uber-smooth (but very successful, as the hospitality’s been sold out for ages) commercial director, so we briefly introduce ourselves as part of the London contingent. Meanwhile, most of the boys have gone down to take the matchball out to the centre spot and have their photo taken with the officials, team captains and Miller Bear. Tim has his Rotherham scarf round his neck, clashing beautifully with his Hawaiian shirt, and tells us later Ian Sharps asked him why he’s wearing a towel. (Ah, the endlessly witty banter footballers are so famed for!) Mind you, Sharps almost signed my mum’s coat once, having mistaken it for a Rotherham shirt, so he’s got previous with us. Nicky Law has a word with my brother as and the others are sauntering off the pitch like South Yorkshire’s answer to Reservoir Dogs. Unfortunately, Robert doesn’t, as I would have, tried to find out what’s actually tattooed on Law’s arm. We know it’s a football with writing round it; we just need to know whether the writing says, ‘This is a football. Kick it at the goal...’
The match is very similar to the one at Whaddon Road earlier in the season, in that we batter Cheltenham for most of the ninety minutes with very little reward. The best chance comes when Chelters’ keeper (Scott P Brown, the initial being to distinguish him from the other Scott Brown in their squad, in the same way that Yngwie J Malmsteen’s initial was to distinguish him from all the other famous Yngwie Malmsteens) tries to dribble the ball in his area. Alf robs him of it and passes to Kevin Ellison, who seems certain to score but slips at the vital moment. Alf has an overhead kick saved but is offside anyway, has another shot which he puts just wide and Brown redeems himself with a decent save or two. Meanwhile, Don has almost nothing to do in our goal except work on his tan.
From this vantage point, I can finally see the blokes who started the Alfie song (which still hasn’t caught on). One of Chelters’ players is down for a while (they’ve already started timewasting, which is a sign of how determined they are to get a point out of game), and when he gets to his feet and goes off the pitch at a snail’s pace, they shout, ‘Ouch!’ in unison with every step, which is quite funny. Jenny and Robert, sitting behind me, are getting fairly irate with the referee, whose last great moment was sending off both Broughton and David Stockdale at Shrewsbury last season, and it’s a competition to see which of them is actually going to explode first. At least Robert’s calmed down a bit compared to Notts County, where his furious bellowing of, ‘Linesman! Linesman!’ made me think he was channelling Graham Taylor.
At half-time, Robert and I go to see my dad, as I have some seed potatoes to pass on to him from Gwenn. (No, this is not a euphemism for anything. They both grow potatoes, all right?) The others have headed back to hospitality, so they miss a hapless female photographer getting absolutely drenched when the sprinkler system (for which, read hose with a hole in it) is turned on.
The second half is just as frustrating as the first. Chelters look a little bit more threatening but Pablo Mills has a shot cleared off the line and Ellison’s attempt is saved. Gunning and Walker go off, Walker still feeling the effects of a challenge in the first half, and Jamie Green and Bell-Baggie come on. Chelters retaliate with by substituting Barry Hayles with Julian Alsop, whose massive bulk is directly up against tiny Jamie Green. A thunderbolt from a Cheltenham player hits Nick Fenton smack in the face, but he’s made of tough stuff and carries on. Alsop may look as though he’s just on the pitch to block out the sun more effectively than any cloud of volcanic ash, but he makes a nuisance of himself and has one good opportunity to score, but the header is well over the bar. In stoppage time, Brown makes a great save from Craig McAllister and the away contingent (who could probably have come over from Gloucestershire in my brother’s car...) can go home happy.
Back in the sponsors’ lounge, it’s just a case of waiting for the man of the match, Kevin Ellison, to come in for the presentation. In the meantime, we have our photos taken with Miller Bear and I grab autographs from Marc Joseph and Paul Warne, who’ve both come in for a quick meet-and-greet. Warney is still as ridiculously handsome as he was when I presented him with the London Millers Player of the Season trophy before the first game of the 2001-02 season, though with rather less hair... At last Kevin Ellison appears. The boys go up for the matchball presentation, Jenny and I for the programme presentation. He’s affable and ludicrously tall, and nobody mentions to him we reckon his lookalike is Lord Voldemort out of Harry Potter. We get a signed shirt, which will become one of the prizes in next year’s raffle. As they’re obviously using up all the remaining stock they have before the new kit comes in next season, it turns out to be extra-large junior size, meaning it’ll fit the average 13-year-old boy, or me. Clarkey is charged with getting the matchball back to London safely – and deciphering all the signatures before he gets home! There’s just time to get Ronnie to sign my copy of You’ll Never Take Don Valley (aka the London Miller magazine), then it’s off for the tram. Tim shoots off to visit his dad, Phil leaves for the wilds of Barnsley and Robert gives Jenny a lift back to Rotherham as she’s off on holiday with her brother and sister. The rest of us say goodbye to Andy at Sheffield station and settle down for a quiet journey home.
That plan falls apart when a bunch of Palace fans get on at Derby. There’s no sign of the one we saw on Leicester station this morning, in replica shirt, combat pants and 14-hole cherry red DMs (‘He’s spent too long living in Leicester, obviously,’ was Clarkey’s comment), but the few there are certainly make their presence felt, going through their repertoire of songs. They have one about Alan Lee, but it’s not as good as our one about him, obviously. We just sit and admire the stunning volcanic ash-influenced sunset and reflect on what’s been a pretty good day out.
At St Pancras, Ian, Clarkey and Chris go to the Betjeman to finish off the festivities (and hopefully not lose the matchball). I go home to feed the cats and find out how Ted’s getting on in Bournemouth. Turns out he and his fellow DAFTS are in the same Bournemouth fish restaurant as the lovely Debbie McGee. But that’s still not as cool as meeting Miller Bear...
Posted by London Millers at 07:29 0 comments Friday, 16 April 2010
Going Downhill Fast

When people picture groups of football fans gathering at a station ready for the day ahead, I’m sure they don’t think of a posse of nice, respectable-looking women. But that’s how today’s trip begins. Jenny, Joy, Frances, Julia and I are getting on the Aldershot train at Waterloo and the Kirklands, Chris Turner and Clarkey are joining us at Clapham Junction. Except when the men get on, Clarkey isn’t with them as he’s decided to get a later train. Never mind the fact we’ve arranged our itinerary today to reflect the fact Clarkey wanted to go drinking in the White Lion.
Still, the pub is as pleasant as ever when we get there, and their food menu has been beefed up (no pun intended) with the addition of burgers, bacon rolls and ham and cheese baps. Julia is joined by a Norwegian friend, Kjell, who, like so many Scandinavians, has a string of alliances to English clubs – in his case, Arsenal and Hartlepool (who’ve been owned by Norwegians for several years now) as well as the Millers. Over the years, he’s become a real ale drinker, and is keen to sample and detail as many different ones as he can on his trips over to the UK, but I’m sure he’s slightly thrown by drinking a pint of FFF’s Pressed Rat And Warthog. He can also forget about the level of today’s game being anything like Arsenal v Barcelona, which is the game he attended in mid-week. Although Alf and Lionel Messi are pretty much the same height and build...
Clarkey eventually turns up, as does my brother, who’s parked his car at the other pub we’d planned to visit, the Royal Staff. The rest of the LMs form the advance party to the Royal Staff, while I wait with Robert and Clarkey till they’ve supped up, then we follow on. The pub is nice and close to the away end, but there aren’t too many Rotherham fans in when we get there – there’s another pub even closer and they’re probably all in there. We catch the end of the Yeovil/Leeds game (with most people sneakily hoping Leeds will lose..), then head for the ground.
We hitch the flag to a crash barrier, where we’re joined by Mick Walker, looking very smug because it’s taken him less than forty minutes to drive from home to the ground. It’s a beautiful day by now, and Rotherham get off to a really promising start. We have David Wickes lookalike Kevin Friend refereeing, and for once we seem to be getting our share of decisions. Aldershot’s military-style drummer is nowhere to be heard, and we suspect he’s been called up since our last visit! For the first ten minutes or so we’re all over Aldershot, who are playing down the slope in the first half, until there’s some kind of mix-up between Mills and Gunning which lets Marvin Morgan break away to score.
Still, it looks as though we’re certain to get back in the game. Josh Walker finds himself clear on goal, but instead of shooting himself he squares it for Craig McAllister and the pass is cut out. Then Alf’s curling shot hits the bar, but there’s plenty of time to turn it round when we have the advantage of the slope in the second half.
At half-time, there’s a ‘crossbar challenge’ game between a Shots fan and a Rotherham fan, but neither of them manages to hit the bar (perhaps Alf should show them how it’s done?). The subs are having their usual kick-around: for some reason Drewe Broughton has got a teeshirt tucked down the back of his tracksuit bottoms, giving him a half-man, half-horse appearance. ‘Now I know what they mean by pin the tail on the donkey,’ my brother comments.
Just like the first half, we start the second much the better team. Alf has a shot in the first minute which the keeper somehow gets to. It’s the first of two or three good saves he has to make to keep Aldershot ahead. Again, they score against the run of play. Their strikers give every impression of being chosen for their sprinting ability ahead of any football skills, and their second comes when Morgan outpaces Pablo and shoots under Warrington. Sharps has to come off for some reason, Ronnie already having replaced Marshall, who’s had a decent game, and McAllister with Ellison and Pope, and is replaced by Broughton (now minus tail...). We’re still chasing the game, and Aldershot get the opportunity to add a very flattering third goal. The result hauls them up to just a point behind us, but Bury and Chesterfield are still doing their best to implode, too, so it’s not the disaster it otherwise might have been.
Back in the Royal Staff, we spot Martin Burton and his son, Arthur, who’s looking forward to being the mascot in a couple of weeks. He’s now convinced we’re going to meet Aldershot in the play-offs and it’s all going to end horribly. However, a couple of Shots fans come to chat with us and it’s clear they feel they were lucky today. ‘If it was a fight, you’d have beaten us on points,’ one says.
Clarkey and Chris T have gone to make an evening of it in Farnham, and my brother heads back to Gloucestershire. On Aldershot station, Julia spots Les Payne, the Sheffield Star’s Rotherham correspondent, and goes to have a chat with him. He tells her his report will reflect the fact it wasn’t a three-nil game.
We’re a little subdued on the way back to London, even though Joy offers us a swig from her trusty hip flask to cheer us up. Indeed, Chris K actually falls asleep, which is the quiestest he’s been all day.
People have work tomorrow, so we go our separate ways at Waterloo. I travel with Joy and Frances as far as Limehouse, where they have to throw themselves on the mercies of the C2C service. With no one planning to go to Morecambe next weekend, the next trip is the biggie – the sponsored game against Chelters...
Posted by London Millers at 07:30 0 comments Vale Of Tears

Today gets off to a strange start. I’m waiting for a DLR train on Canning Town station when a chap of German or Scandinavian extraction wanders over and asks me a question. I’ve got my headphones in and only catch the words, ‘Baker Street,’ so I assume he’s wanting directions – which, with half the Tube system shut for engineering works, may not be easy. When I ask him where he wants to go, he says, ‘No, in the Seventies there was a song called Baker Street. Can you tell me who is singing it?’ I let him know it was Gerry Rafferty, he thanks me and walks happily back to his friends. When I tell Jenny about this, she says I should have told him I’m far too young to remember the Seventies. I think I just walk round with a big sign over my head reading ‘Non-threatening’.

It’s just the two of us travelling today, and when we reach the Fat Cat there’s no sign of Phil, who’s apparently doing a spot of DIY, as is traditional over Easter. Instead, we bump into Joy and Frances. Frances is going off to Meadowhall, though she’s planning to come to the game at Aldershot on Monday (that part of the world not exactly being renowned for its world-class shopping facilities), and as she’s driving she drops the three of us off at the DVS. Jenny has to collect her order of tickets for the last game of the season at Hereford (which have already all but sold out, since they only gave us an allocation of six hundred). In the queue just ahead of her is a scout for Reading, who I assume has come to report on Abdulai Bell-Baggie, who we’re borrowing from them. Also wandering past is Howard Webb, who must be refeering one of tomorrow’s games.
It’s ‘kids for a quid’ day, and the children in the crowd have the opportunity to have their faces painted or acquire horns and drums. It’s very tempting to see if we can snaffle a horn for the next time we meet some miserable so-and-sos who take the concept of the quiet carriage just a little too far, but we resist. A small boy on the row in front of us has, however, got a plastic-topped tom tom which he’s banging enthusiastically. ‘That’ll look well as a top hat,’ my dad comments, miming bringing it down over the boy’s head.
Before the game, there’s a standing ovation for referee Mark Halsey, taking charge of his first game since recovering from throat cancer. The first half is a gentle introduction back for him, as it’s all pretty forgettable. Port Vale are on a decent run, but neither team really creates much in the way of chances.
Keeping with the Easter theme, local ‘celebrity’ Jive Bunny has been recruited to perform the half-time draw, before he and Miller Bear do the twist to one of the band’s hits. Forget all the silky, pretty football fans of teams like Arsenal expect to see, this is what we pay our money for: a grown man dressed as a bear dancing with a grown man dressed as a rabbit...
The second half picks up much where the first left off, and it looks like we might be destined for a dull draw. Then Port Vale take the lead when Pablo Mills, who’s been otherwise faultless in defence, slips and offers Vale an easy cross and tap-in. A couple of minutes later, they double their lead. The man sitting behind me has done nothing but moan from the moment the game began, and now he’s contemplating only going to away games for the rest of the season. Good. I may appear non-threatening, but these persistent moaners (of which Rotherham have more than their fair share) make me feel that smashing a plastic tom tom over their head might be a viable course of action, if only to shut them up. However, he suddenly perks up when Bell-Baggie comes on, though it’s hard not to as the tiny winger really does look like he might create an opening with every touch.
Josh Walker pulls a goal back with about ten minutes to go, in the form of a beautifully-stuck free kick which Port Vale keeper Chris Martin (he of the ginormous behind) can’t do anything about. We almost equalise in stoppage time, but Gunning’s header is cleared off the line.
Walking out of the ground, we bump into Steve Exley and Toddy, who is over from Switzerland. While Exley (yet again) gives up on the Millers for the season, while Toddy tells me about his latest exploits, which involve being at an Ivory Coast World Cup qualifier and hurling abuse at Didier Drogba from seventy-eight rows back in the crowd. ‘I was the only white face there,’ he says. ‘They must have thought I was the FIFA assessor.’ I’m sure they thought he was a few other things, too, but it’s safer not to go there.
Jenny and I go for a swift one in the Sheffield Tap, where we manage to get a seat next to a couple of lads who’ve been at the Sheff U-Barnsley game, and earwig as they check on various other scores. Ted will have had a good time in Burton – Darlo may have only beaten three teams all season, but they’ve now beaten all three of them twice!
After our recent eventful journeys home, today’s is very quiet, which makes a nice change. Now it’s just a matter of negotiating my way through the bits of the Tube system which are working to get back to East London...
Posted by London Millers at 06:39 0 comments Older Posts Home Subscribe to: Posts (Atom) About Us...

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Chris Kirkland Is A Very Angry ManView From The Posh SeatsGoing Downhill FastVale Of TearsTied Up In Notts
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Cutler, Callow And Cat MilkFlying The FlagRealising You're Just A Substitute For LeedsBrewer’s Droop
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Helen Chamberlain, Where Are You When We Need You?...Su Pollard And A Lesson In SpanishDar-lowThe Return Of Mission Aborted
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► September (3) Getting Away With ItBut What Is A Pellet Waggler, Anyway?I'm On Gardening Leave... Get Me Out Of Here!
► August (8) Sunday Bloody SundayBeside Ourselves At The SeasideHello, Hello, Good To Be Back!And Now, The End Is Near...Dinner Is ServedAcross Staffordshire With A Walnut WhipChampiones, Championes...Rob, It's Nothing Personal, But...
► July (3) Another Shot At WinningMad HattersAnother Fine Mess, Stanley
► June (1) Bury irritating
► April (2)
► March (5)
► February (3)
► January (4)
► 2008 (12)
► December (3)
► November (4)
► October (5)