Anything, Anywhere But Under Sufferance

Funny how things turn around isn't it? It wasn't that long ago that I could have made this post bemoaning yet another season of athletic ineptitude by a Liverpool team. Then Jurgen Klopp came along, tinkered with a few things and one Champions League Trophy, one UEFA Club World Cup Trophy and one European Super Cup trophy later, we are looking at arguably the greatest ever season in English football history by a single team. At the time of writing, Liverpool have dropped 2 points out of the 72 they have had available to win. After 24 games, they have amassed 70 points. No team has ever won as many points at this stage of the competition in the history of the top division in English football. Or in European football's top divisions for that matter. Their nearest challengers, Manchester City, have 51 points from the same number of games. In total, if Manchester City were to win every single one of their 14 games remaining in the Premier League this season, they could...

It's generally rare that FIFA get anything right. In truth, whether it was Sepp Blatter and his dodgy dealings or not, the organisation is so corrupt, insidious and woeful that I am genuinely surprise that anybody would trust them to organise Boris Johnson's hair, let alone a World Cup or two. This week, FIFA announced their best player and team of the year and all that malarkey and of course, we are told that football is a game of opinions. Only, I am baffled by some of them. I'm not going to go into manager of the year, suffice to say that Jurgen Klopp won, Mauricio Pochettino was second and Pep Guardiola was third. As much as I love Klopp, Guardiola should have won and as for Pochettino beating Guardiola, well that makes about as much sense as Cantona's recent speech. Player of the year, Ok, Messi got it and I understand he had a great year so I'll go with that. Van Dijk I feel was unlucky as for me, he had the biggest impact, but he's a defender, so t...

How have we got to this? Brexit has seen off two Tory Prime Ministers to the point where it seems Britain is now desperate to 'out-stupid' America by 160,000 people (out of 60-odd million) electing a lying, fascist, over-privileged, misogynistic anglophobe with the social graces of eel shit and the intelligence of an anal bead. It's like America has gone "Look! We've elected an Orange Vegetable as President! Nobody can out stupid us!" and Britain has said "Hold My Beer..." We're going to leave on October 31st, no matter what has or has not been agreed, nobody has a clue what is going to happen, but more to the point, the wealthy that will engineer this brutalisation of the majority of the country, won't be impacted, or stand to make a shed load of cash from it. We've empowered the far right and emboldened them to the point where people are being openly challenged about their heritage and 'right' to be in society because the...

This week was Bonfire Night, November 5th, a 'celebration' of a failed act of terrorism against the crown which is now remembered by councils banning bonfires, fireworks with about as much fizzle as John Major's wardrobe and the chance to, effectively, burn money. It never used to be this way. I can remember as child Bonfire Night was always one of the major events of the year, perhaps second only to Christmas. Where I lived, groups of kids would spend weeks before the date collecting "Bonnie Wood" and storing it in a variety of disused garages and other 'secret' hidey-holes. There was a palpable sense of anticipation every year, fuelled by the singing of "Remember, Remember" in school and the scary adverts warning you not to pick up sparklers at the wrong end, or otherwise play with fireworks. When the night arrived, I was always amazed to discover it wasn't a school holiday. Even so, you'd rush home from school, get outside to help...

Chapter One Vernant Spatchmole was angry, not a big red face, blotchy, sweaty angry, but a sullen, moody, James Dean with a ciggy hanging out of his mouth rebel-without-a-cause angry. He knew that this dark look would attract the girls, that and his bulging bank account that throbbed with activity. Yet he remained elusive, an as yet untainted gentleman, whose only venture into true depravity came when he bought a Vauxhall Agila (Slogan: The car so shit, even crap old drivers won't bother with it) and then sold it a few days later to act as a water feature to a braless Charlie Dimmock. Sat opposite him was a nubile young woman, with breasts, that were bouncing up and down as she breathed huskily. She was meant to be interviewing him for her first assignment for "Cock" magazine, but had spent most of the morning simply in awe of his magnificent presence. Her name was Joanna Pohkme, an up and coming young journalist who had earned this placement on "Cock" t...

English is a language that is in a constant state of evolution. Words come into being through use in society and 'catching on', or through invention in a book, television show or other form of popular culture. One of the most famous being a group of gorillas being labelled a "flange" simply because it was stated in a famous Not the 9 O'Clock News sketch in the 1980s. This summer we've had the "Mobot" for Mo Farah's post race celebrations and doing a "Gove" which is basically being an itinerant, vacuous, moronic, imbecilic fuckwit who spends his days ruining the lives of millions and smiling slimly throughout as if he knows best all along. So, I'd like to add some of my own made up words to that the ever growing English language and here are some of my creations. Brainclouds - Another word for when you feel depressed, miserable, or so utterly fed up you just have to post it to Facebook and in a bewildering sense of emotic kam...

A lot of things make me sigh but the past few days I have had more cause to do so. Yesterday was a good example, as when one of the parents who came to collect their child from school, did so wearing a pair of leggings that were particularly skin-tight (and as a result, entirely see-through). The net result of this fashion choice was that not only could I and every other parent on the playground, tell that she liked to get her blue-flowerprint thongs from Marks and Spencers, but also what religion she was too and that she had at least one child by caesarian section. She actually looked as if she had thrown on a pair of tights in a rush, then in her haste, forgotten to add a skirt to the ensemble. All around the playground, people were feigning consummate interest in a wide variety of flora and fauna, aircraft in the sky, playground markings and notices about bringing in your PE kit every day. It was better than having to turn around and find yourself transfixed by her blue-clad ars...