Wouldn't it be funny if Poland and Northern ireland were drawn in the same World Cup Group....

.....I said to my girlfriend on Saturday evening....

World Cup Draw - Sunday afternoon:

FIFA World Cup European Qualifying : Group Three Table

25 November 2007 16:35

		P	W	D	L	F	A	GD	PTS
1	Czech Republic	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
2	Northern Ireland	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
3	Poland	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
4	San Marino	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
5	Slovakia	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
6	Slovenia	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0

Bloody typical! Now it's gonna be a struggle for us both to qualify, although the games should be entertaining to watch. We initially thought of attending both games, until I remembered some clips of Polish football "fans" on You Tube, and given I'm the kind of guy who gets intimidated at a Charlton game, maybe I'll stick to trying to get some tickets for Windsor Park....

Congratulations to DH

Yes, another victory over a traditional European powerhouse team, and another goal for St David of Kilkeel. That's his 13th of the qualifying campaign, ensuring he is now the record scorer in Euro Championship qualifying history - taking the record from no less a luminary than Davor Suker of Croatia. If only we hadn't developed a tendency for scoring own goals in September, I'd be joining the scramble for flights to Austria next summer. As it is, the spineless Swedes did us no favours by folding against Spain last night, and the longest of shots will see me glued to the telly on Wednesday hoping Latvia pull off a shock and we somehow rediscover the spirit of '82. Hmmmm.

I'm off to see Arcade Fire this evening

Have to confess I don't know a huge number of their songs but I'm reliably informed by just about anyone with their finger on the musical pulse that it'll be a fantastic gig. And it's up the Ally Pally, which I've never been to, so I'm really looking forward to it. Of course, being 30 now, I'll probably end up stood at the back grumbling about not being able to have a nice seat for three hours.

T to the Chizzle steps out

yes, due to my being tied to the most rubbish and expensive tariff vodafone have to offer, coupled with a girlfriend in another city and no landline and resulting in a phone bill this month of a mere £160, I have taken my first step towards becoming a hustla.

I'll now have one phone for my everyday use, and one for my bitches (i.e. my girlfriend and my mum). J's on O2 meaning I can get a pay as you go sim card and 500 mins free to O2 and landlines for a mere tenner a month. Pity I didn't think of it, oh, about 30 days ago?

Welcome to the Slaughterhouse....

On return from my birthday tour of the northern United kingdom (of which more to follow), we were thrust straight back into London life with an invite to Helen's house's halloween party. We were both tired and fragile after two weeks on the go, so imagine our consternation as we wandered into deepest Nunhead to be confronted by a sign saying "welcome to the Slaughterhouse". Inside was like some kind of mass murder had taken place, except from what I could gather it seemed to be humans vs beasts. Good old London town, where pigs feet are available from all good corner shops...




The full pics are available here

If you're bored tomorrow evening

And are not irritated in the extreme by Graham Norton, why not watch "Who do you think you are" at 9pm on BBC1? He ends up in my mum's home village and visits the church where I was baptised and our local pub (in fact there's now a picture of him hanging on the wall in the pub, right next to one of Prince Charles pulling a pint).

How to be a writer

I was reading an interview with Douglas Copeland yesterday, and he was explaining how he got into writing... He'd been out in Japan being an illustrator for a magazine but got ill and had to return home to his bedsit in Vancouver. Whilst he was in Tokyo, he'd written his mate a postcard which she'd then stuck on her fridge - this happened to be read by a "magazine editor friend" of hers who immediately called him and asked him to write for his rag.

No disputing the guy's a talented writer, but really - how jammy is that? And what the hell did that postcard say?

"Hi Mavis, saw this postcard of a Japanese man in a giant nappy and thought of you. Hope the kids are well. Wish you were here."

Not exactly the voice of Generation X, is it?

Expect a flurry of postcards from London to arrive in the post over the next few weeks. Obviously only those of you with contacts in the industry need check your letter box.

Click on this

You could win the contents of a page of Woolworths' new Big Red Book, simply by firing a real live catapult at a target. Kind of like Ant & Dec's Saturday night Takeaway, but better....

Anyway, what you do is register for the launch (geddit) of the catalogue, then if you're lucky enough you get to fire a real catapult, somewhere in a field in Rutland or somewhere, whereby you choose your numbers of catapulters, direction etc - then if you hit a target you win whatever's on it - if you hit the one with the catalogue on it then that's where your page number comes in. There's a handy link here to premium page numbers here....

Give it a shot (ha ha! see what i did there?!)

I'm going for page p487 - 6 laptops....

Big red book launch



PS - sorry about the talking sheep - maybe better with the sound off, eh?

Happy anniversary

As I sit here polishing off my second can of lager and stubbing out my 6th fag, it's hard to believe that this time last year I was the healthiest I've been since being a stalwart (i.e. occasional substitute) of the most mediocre rugby team my school had seen for years.

Yes, last Sunday marked the first anniversary of "the 10K". The reason for the blog, the proof that even a couch potato can drag himself round Hyde Park if the notion takes him. It all seems very long ago - the hot summer and routine of jogging.... I kind of miss it as I sit here shivering, wheezing and still drying out from being caught in the pissing rain this afternoon....

Just noticed I only posted 5 times in September

Rubbish.

To be fair I was moving house, but this time last year I don't think that got in the way. So to my army of two readers, I apologise. It won't happen again.

So, err, here's another post. Just to get the numbers up.

Poland

So, Poland....






Unfortunately my camera is currently knackered, so the only photos I managed to take myself whilst behind the iron curtain were these two - summing up how grim the place really is. I truly felt like a spy as I sat on the terrace, eating fish and chips and looking out at ships sailing past on the Baltic.... I'm starting to think that during the Cold War, all the leaders of the Western nations were actually coming to places like Prague and Gdansk for their holidays, and just making up shit about them to stop the tourist hordes descending and shattering their tranquility...

The main reason for our visit was to attend the wedding of Justyna's schoolfriend, and as previously mentioned I was kind of pooing myself at the prospect.

But, of course, I shouldn't have worried. The first part of the day was a bit weird, what with me never having been at a catholic church service before, never mind one in Polish with a priest who was so old, when he stopped mid-sentence at one point, I thought he might have had a funny turn. After an initial bit of confusion right at the beginning when everyone crossed themselves and I, taken by surprise, tried to do the same before realising my only knowledge of what to do comes from "nuns on the run" (spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch) and looking round at Justyna panicking - only to be told that it "wasn't compulsory" - I settled back to sit, stand, sit, stand, mumble along to some kind of incantation, sit, stand, repeat for an hour. It was all very cool though - the fact that it was in a foreign language meant I didn't get the usual cold sweats i normally do in church and just observed the whole thing like some kind of low budget Michael Palin. It helped that everyone was pre-warned that i was the "British person" and therefore they probably assumed I was a heretic, thereby excusing me from even having to pretend to get involved in the proceedings. But, as with all weddings, it was all very lovely and emotional at the vital moments, and we stepped outside into the sunshine to queue up and pay our regards to the happy couple.

This involved lining up with your gift outside the church and taking it in turns to go up, give your present, offer your congratulations etc etc.... I spent the entire wait trying to learn the correct number of times to kiss the bride on the cheek, how to say "congratulations" in Polish and trying desperately to stop my hands sweating profusely. All of which, of course, went out the window as we reached the front and I mumbled "hi" before kind of stumbling sideways and out of the way....

Onto the reception, in an amazing stately home next to the chapel. I thought perhaps I could just sit there and be silent and eat my dinner, but it's not that simple when you can't even react appropriately to what everyone else is saying due to the language barrier. We were at the table with the friends of the bride and groom, so there was a fair bit of banter, and guests were actually rolling with laughter at times.... whilst I sat there stoically prodding at my pate looking like the least fun person in the world.

Thankfully, vodka came to my rescue, as the rest of the table realised how much fun it would be to make the Irish guy drink as many shots as possible. To be fair, it's not so much they were deliberately trying to make me drink lots, it's just that they seized any opportunity to toast the bride and groom. Still, gave me an opportunity to use my one word of Polish (or is that two words?) - na zdrowie!

Ahh, the disco - a merciful respite from the vodka.... The bride and groom had their first dance, which they'd obviously practised, as they swirled around in perfect harmony. I retired after that to the safety of the front hall to observe everyone else taking the floor. Except, of course, the next dance was "ladies choice", and the next thing I know I have the Bride's mother staring at me before leading me out into the middle of the dancefloor. The only thing I do less well than drinking vodka or speaking Polish is dance, and so it was that we stumbled around for a few minutes, not saying a word, with me making quizzical expressions at her in an attempt to communicate interspersed with looks of desperation at Justyna who was pissing herself and watching the whole thing....

We got to watch a sketch show by some famous comedians in the garden, which again seemed very entertaining - I was chuckling away, even if only at the visual gags....

After that it was karaoke all the way baby, although I missed out by a matter of seconds on popping my warbling cherry after they decided we didn't have time to perform our song (me and my new mate - I think it's probably a good thing the guests were spared a Polish-Irish collaboration on Wham's seminal hit "Wake me up before you go go").

And so it was, after 12 hours, 12 (ish) vodkas, and a bloody good time, I hit tipping point - the fabled shot that, despite downing them one after the other for hours and feeling fine, causes you to go over the edge. I think I did my people proud by lasting until 3am.... Unfortunately it was 4.30 by the time my still sober-ish girlfriend peeled me off the sofa I'd passed out on and helped me to a waiting taxi....

Greetings to my friends in Libya

And in Romania

Yes, bizarrely, I have had hits on my blog from such far-flung exotic locations as Tripoli, Bucharest and, erm, Brentford.

Speaking of football....

Had the pleasure of visiting the Emirates stadium last Tuesday for the Carling cup game between Arsenal and Newcastle. The Arsenal juniors destroyed the opposition without ever actually scoring a goal, at least until the final 10 minutes when they stuck two in right in front of us. The stadium is easily the best I've ever been in - it looks like a squat UFO as you approach it, and inside it's so compact it's hard to believe that you're sharing it with over 60,000 people. 60,003 on that particular evening, in fact.

Bouncy Bouncy Bouncy Bouncy

Yes, for once I'm not embarrassed to admit I'm a Rangers fan.... A quite stunning 3-0 demolition of French champions Lyon this evening in the Champions League...

As the Norn Irish purple patch comes to a sudden end, is it time for the other pish team i support to give me more nights of European glory?!

Pulling an all nighter

So, the countdown is on to another trip to Poland.... Now that I live in the sticks I have decided to splash out on a minicab to whisk me into Victoria, to pick up the coach to the airport at a very reasonable 2.40am. My flights at 6.10. Lovely.

Off to a wedding outside Gdansk which I'm nervous about to say the least. Not only do I have to meet the parents again, having reneged on my promise of January to have "learnt Polish" by the time I returned, I also have two days of mingling with people I don't know in a language I don't understand. Oh, with gallons of vodka thrown in. I don't know what I'm more concerned about - the language barrier or my ability to last the pace....

I'm sure it'll be fine - another step into the unknown but it's character building. And I get to be a date at a wedding for the first time ever which is nice. Maybe at some point I will manage to turn up to such a function with my girlfriend and the mutterings amongst the senior family members might die down.

I've taken the late night as an opportunity to sort out my room. It's massive, as previously mentioned, and I had this image in my head of some sort of studio apartment-style room displaying my interior designing, young professional bent. In reality, it looks like a living room that someone is using as a bedroom...

I've resisted the temptation to hook up the piece de resistance - the telly - and it is remaining in its box until Monday when I will have a whole day to savour it, seeing as I have to scrape my broken body onto the return flight at ten past nine on Monday morning after two days of toasting the happy couple. I'm impressed with my willpower on the telly front - one day I might try and direct it towards quitting the fags.

I've made a bed

I make that +10 Man points for me......?

Of course, the fact I have 9 screws left over, one of which isn't even in the inventory, only adds to the masculinity of the whole thing.

Can't wait to get into bed only to find it collapse around me like one of those clown cars from black and white movies.....

Hallo! Wie Gehts?

Bizarrely, since moving to my new house and hijacking Craig's internet connection, my blogger is now coming up in German. Which makes me think of lots more potentially common key words.

and we wondered why we always had allergies....

After four and a half years living in "edgy", "vibrant" and "alternative" Brixton, I have relocated to the suburbs, for a life more befitting a man who now has more grey hairs on his head than he can count.

Whilst cleaning my old bedroom, it became apparent there was a bit of dust about the place. In this case, a "bit" equating to "a lot".

It's honestly the dustiest flat I've ever lived in - it's not just that we were clatty bastards, honest. Considering it was laminate flooring-tastic and there were virtually no soft furnishings, we remain at a loss to explain where the bloody stuff came from. My theory is that there was a cleaner who was murdered years ago in the flat and this is her revenge......

Moving time again

Not actually "moving time", you understand, in a weird Denzel Washington movie kind of way. Although that would be cool.

No, the time has come again for me to pack my knapsack with all my worldly possessions and mosey off into the sunset. Another year's lease expired, another change of postcode. I make it that this will be my 15th different address since leaving home at the age of 18 - any wonder I can't get any credit. That may or may not have much more to do with my rubbish financial acumen, but I'm willing to believe it's purely because I'm the residential equivalent of a ninja - as soon as you think you know where I live, I'm gone... The longest I've stayed in one place was 15 months, which ironically was also the shittest place I've lived, seeing as my room was about the size of a shoebox and the guy that lived behind me liked to take out his frustrations by hurling dinner plates out of the window.

But as of Saturday I'm off again, although this time it's to the pleasant suburban delights of West Dulwich (or thereabouts). No longer will I reside in "edgy" and "up and coming" Brixton - after four years I am moving to a more genteel environment with a garden and a conservatory. And a feckin massive bedroom, given that it is supposed to be the living room (as demonstrated by Craig in the picture). It might not be for very long due to the expiry of the lease on the house in November and uncertainty over who's doing what afterwards, so I may find myself on house number 16 before much longer. I also have to buy a bed which is a bit of an expense, but then I suppose it's the kind of thing I'm always likely to find useful.

I'm supposed to be packing at the moment but can't quite motivate myself. Oh, and I'm supposed to be buying the aforementioned bed. And booking a van to move me to South East London and J to Portsmouth (sniff). I might start tomorrow.

Next stop Christmas

Yes, the final bank holiday is past for another year. How was yours?

I took advantage of a summer spent stuck in work to take a few extra days off this year. Managed to fit in Get Loaded in the Park and a visit to Portsmouth, so also didn't feel like I'd wasted the time off.

Get Loaded was as good as always - yet again after a shit summer the weather was on its best behavious and we sweltered int he heat/the various tents all day. Unlike last year, we didn't spend 3 hours getting drunk in a pub in Clapham and actually made it through the gates about an hour after it opened. The highlights w ere Bonde do Role (in the video below) and 2 Many DJs, although the Streets weren't far behind, despite me being pretty unimpressed last year at Roskilde. The fact I was starting to get a hangover kicking in and it was 1am probably didn't help my mood in Denmark though. Bonde do role are your usual crazy Brazilians which made for the best atmosphere of any gig I've been at for a while.



Portsmouth is not a dump.

I was as surprised as you. Obviously there are certain parts of it that need a bit of work, like every town in the UK, and it helps if busy sea ports and ship yards make you wide eyed with child like wonder, but the whole area around Gunwharf Quay and Southsea is lovely. We were down flat hunting for 'er indoors' impending relocation for the university year, and we even managed to achieve our goal. Although considering the feature that clinched the room was a brick chimney, perhaps it wasn't as difficult as it could have been. The flat's in a really nice area near a nice local pub and about 5 minutes walk from the beach, so it couldn't be better. I'm glad I managed to see the room and the town before the move - I 'm now very likely to visit on a regular basis and know that she'll be happy down there. Meanwhile, I'm moving out to the suburbs, having admitted defeat at staying young. Nice tree-lined street, back garden, big room - a far cry from my current bachelor pad (which doesn't contain any bachelors). All change at Casa Tattie, that's for sure.

Before the move I have a bit of international jet-setting to do - Edinburgh next week for 3 days, then Poland for 4 days a fortnight later for a Polish wedding. By all accounts they last for 2 days and the 2nd day is where the leftover booze and food gets used up, so god knows what nick I'll be in upon my return. After that, it's a couple more weeks of work and then off to the motherland for birthday shenanigans and a wee trip to Glasgow to visit my spiritual home. All this and the rugby world cup. I have no idea how my liver or bank balance is going to come out the other side unscathed, but sure it's all about the thrill of the journey. Anyway, this time two months I'll officially be old and knackered and bits of me will start deteriorating, so at least I'm going out in style....