I read that Will.i.am is trying to fix it for Cheryl and Britney Spears to do a duet. If anything is going to drive Britney into head-shaving mode again, it's Marcel Marceau from Newcastle!
...
Friday, 29 June 2012
29.6.12 Experiences
My shopping experience was rather dampened yesterday - instead of a quick but unsatisfactory whizz round the Cunt-op, I was forced to endure an extra level of annoyance. The shop insists on playing music, and this background noise yesterday featured the "song" entitled "Call My Name" by Cheryl Cole. This shite meant I was less than impressed with a double pack of little gem lettuce, because my mind was struggling like fuck to remove the sound from my brain. I picked up six pepper sauce mixes and some ice cream 'flakes' in my disorientated state. Luckily my natural powers for a bargain kicked in, and I'd got the Schwartz packets at 50p instead of 86p, and the flakes multipacks were £2 instead of £3.69. Nevertheless, Cole's a fucking distraction that we could all do without - or is it a nameless backing singer that should get the credit for the noise?
I read that Will.i.am is trying to fix it for Cheryl and Britney Spears to do a duet. If anything is going to drive Britney into head-shaving mode again, it's Marcel Marceau from Newcastle!
...
I read that Will.i.am is trying to fix it for Cheryl and Britney Spears to do a duet. If anything is going to drive Britney into head-shaving mode again, it's Marcel Marceau from Newcastle!
...
29.6.12 Ball Boys
The approach of tennis players has sunk to depths which I am appalled at. I apologise in advance for talking about 'ball boys' when there are of course girls who do the same job, but for ease of communication, let's keep things simple.
When did a 'ball boy' become a 'Towel Boy' then? It seems the retrieval of balls is just one of the duties of ball boys these days, and their main occupation involves handing a towel to a cunt who's not really in need of one, but is expecting help so that a miniscule amount of sweat can be smeared. The players are now so fucking trapped in the rituals of playing tennis that it is obligatory for there to be a request - in fact a fucking expectation - that a ball boy will run forward with a towel. Fucking madness, in my book. In past times, there was ample time for players to collect themselves, have a drink, eat a banana, and meditate, because every two games played results in a change of ends, and a changeover rest of 2 minutes. How come it's necessary now for players to demand a towel is brought to them between points, so they can pretend to wipe away gallons of sweat?
Abuse of ball bays is now commonplace. Apparently it is standard practice for players (mostly male players) to require three tennis balls. We all know that there are two required per serve, to cater for the first serve being a fault. However, before commencing the ritual of bouncing the cunts 17 times, player have to inspect the balls first - and they need three to choose from. Yes, ball boys are now required to furnish players with three tennis balls. It then takes ten seconds for each player to assess the yellow spheres. They decide which of the three looks most like the cuntish, deranged and lunatic half-brother of Pol Pot, before discarding it and forcing the ball boy to pick it up again. Cunting liberty or what ? ! ? ! ?
I am waiting for the next logical development, which entails a ball boy giving head (not 'Head' as in the racquet manufacturer!) to a prima donna player. Let's face it, if the ball boys are already fussing over extra balls, and helping players get rid of some extra sweat when the player gives a flick of the hand to require attention, we're close to a full hand job. Already the ball boys manage to hold (cup) balls with aplomb. Maybe their skills will in future need to be honed, so they can shuffle (?) better than a croupier!
Will Nadal next year decide it's the ball boys' job to unpick his underpants from the crack of his arse? Who knows!
...
When did a 'ball boy' become a 'Towel Boy' then? It seems the retrieval of balls is just one of the duties of ball boys these days, and their main occupation involves handing a towel to a cunt who's not really in need of one, but is expecting help so that a miniscule amount of sweat can be smeared. The players are now so fucking trapped in the rituals of playing tennis that it is obligatory for there to be a request - in fact a fucking expectation - that a ball boy will run forward with a towel. Fucking madness, in my book. In past times, there was ample time for players to collect themselves, have a drink, eat a banana, and meditate, because every two games played results in a change of ends, and a changeover rest of 2 minutes. How come it's necessary now for players to demand a towel is brought to them between points, so they can pretend to wipe away gallons of sweat?
Abuse of ball bays is now commonplace. Apparently it is standard practice for players (mostly male players) to require three tennis balls. We all know that there are two required per serve, to cater for the first serve being a fault. However, before commencing the ritual of bouncing the cunts 17 times, player have to inspect the balls first - and they need three to choose from. Yes, ball boys are now required to furnish players with three tennis balls. It then takes ten seconds for each player to assess the yellow spheres. They decide which of the three looks most like the cuntish, deranged and lunatic half-brother of Pol Pot, before discarding it and forcing the ball boy to pick it up again. Cunting liberty or what ? ! ? ! ?
I am waiting for the next logical development, which entails a ball boy giving head (not 'Head' as in the racquet manufacturer!) to a prima donna player. Let's face it, if the ball boys are already fussing over extra balls, and helping players get rid of some extra sweat when the player gives a flick of the hand to require attention, we're close to a full hand job. Already the ball boys manage to hold (cup) balls with aplomb. Maybe their skills will in future need to be honed, so they can shuffle (?) better than a croupier!
Will Nadal next year decide it's the ball boys' job to unpick his underpants from the crack of his arse? Who knows!
...
29.6.12 Stuart Pearce - Psycho!
Are you trying to prove a point or what? Yes, yes, we know you're the man in charge (why, I haven't got a fucking clue!) and that you're entitled to pick the team you think is appropriate. However, I suggest that you're a twat whose ego has been aggravated, and as a result it falls to you to make a point. To decide at this very late stage that David Beckham is not to be included in the squad is pathetic.
I don't have any axe to grind in terms of favouring Beckham, who hardly has to struggle for attention or adulation. However, he's done so much more than anyone (including you, Stuart) to land GB with some decent attention, and the Olympic Games itself. After all the build up, it seems rather churlish and girlish to omit him for no good reason.
Looking at the players over the age of 23 who have stopped Beckham's inclusion is an eye-opener. Micah Richards? Are you having a cunting laugh? This is bollocks of the highest order. As I say, I have no bias that dictates Beckham has to be included, BUT - explain yourself, Mr Pearce! Micah Richards can't get into the England team (a team that's actually as dire as fucking fuck!) and you decide that he can somehow be deemed a better option (?) and all I can say is there's some shit going down here. Pointless, arrogant, twattish and sad. I say again, by way of a question that is the most demanding of 2012 to date: Micah Richards ???????????????????????
Cuntin crap! Psycho!
...
I don't have any axe to grind in terms of favouring Beckham, who hardly has to struggle for attention or adulation. However, he's done so much more than anyone (including you, Stuart) to land GB with some decent attention, and the Olympic Games itself. After all the build up, it seems rather churlish and girlish to omit him for no good reason.
Looking at the players over the age of 23 who have stopped Beckham's inclusion is an eye-opener. Micah Richards? Are you having a cunting laugh? This is bollocks of the highest order. As I say, I have no bias that dictates Beckham has to be included, BUT - explain yourself, Mr Pearce! Micah Richards can't get into the England team (a team that's actually as dire as fucking fuck!) and you decide that he can somehow be deemed a better option (?) and all I can say is there's some shit going down here. Pointless, arrogant, twattish and sad. I say again, by way of a question that is the most demanding of 2012 to date: Micah Richards ???????????????????????
Cuntin crap! Psycho!
...
Thursday, 28 June 2012
28.6.12 Too Blue
P&G
Is there nothing that Proctor & Gamble doesn't own, doesn't manufacture, and doesn't feel embarrassed to ram down our collective throat ahead of the fucking Olympics? I certainly don't want Always Dailies rammed down my throat, however incredibly thin they are - one millimetre apparently!
I am so tired of adverts that tell me I ought to be buying shite that P&G makes, on the basis of some Olympic affiliation. The fact that the company has chipped in some money for the fucking Olympics does not make me feel more inclined to choose Duracell. The fact that my nearest Asda store has removed all but one type of Macleans toothpaste in favour of a whole shelf of Oral-B is in no way connected to the fact that P&G makes Oral-B . . . . yeah, right. I have no intention of listing the brands owned by P&G (it is fucking frightening!) and I'll be pleased when the Olympics are over, and I can watch TV without every fucker who can run or fidget telling me that I ought to buy something. Since when does an athlete have to be present during the selling process? Paste & Gunge in tubes and bottles is hardly an essential element of my life. Piss & Goo is unwelcome.
Halifax
Will you all, for fuck's sake, STOP singing! "I'll Be There" is a cuntin threat as far as I'm concerned!
Can you please concentrate on doing your jobs properly, not losing billions of pounds, and not fucking sponsoring anything - or SINGING!
. . .
Is there nothing that Proctor & Gamble doesn't own, doesn't manufacture, and doesn't feel embarrassed to ram down our collective throat ahead of the fucking Olympics? I certainly don't want Always Dailies rammed down my throat, however incredibly thin they are - one millimetre apparently!
I am so tired of adverts that tell me I ought to be buying shite that P&G makes, on the basis of some Olympic affiliation. The fact that the company has chipped in some money for the fucking Olympics does not make me feel more inclined to choose Duracell. The fact that my nearest Asda store has removed all but one type of Macleans toothpaste in favour of a whole shelf of Oral-B is in no way connected to the fact that P&G makes Oral-B . . . . yeah, right. I have no intention of listing the brands owned by P&G (it is fucking frightening!) and I'll be pleased when the Olympics are over, and I can watch TV without every fucker who can run or fidget telling me that I ought to buy something. Since when does an athlete have to be present during the selling process? Paste & Gunge in tubes and bottles is hardly an essential element of my life. Piss & Goo is unwelcome.
Halifax
Will you all, for fuck's sake, STOP singing! "I'll Be There" is a cuntin threat as far as I'm concerned!
Can you please concentrate on doing your jobs properly, not losing billions of pounds, and not fucking sponsoring anything - or SINGING!
. . .
28.6.12 Wimbledon
Here we are again, four days into Wimbledon 2012 and I've hardly seen a shot yet. Already, though, I am fed up regarding the obsession with Andy Murray. This fortnight is not really about good tennis and comprehensive coverage. No, it's about the British competitors and whether they manage to hang in there for more than one round. Laura Robson was not up to the task this year of winning her first round match - rather disappointing, I'd say, to go out immediately in your home tournament that happens to be the biggest competition in the sport.
When I get an update on the goings on at Wimbledon, I want exactly that. I do not want to have my brain focused for me on to the plight of seven has-beens, and Andy Murray. Wimbledon is NOT all about Murray! I would like to go on record regarding this.
Notice to the BBC
Please broadcast the tennis championship using my licence money, and ensure that you give a proper and fair representation of what goes on in SW19. This means NOT telling me at the top of every programme or bulletin what Andy Murray is doing, thinking, eating for breakfast, or moaning about. I do not want to hear about his mum, his training regime, his hopes for the future or anything else that is not portrayed for every other player in the compe-cuntin-tition! If all I wanted was concentration on Murray, I'd stalk the guy. What I do want is to see the tennis, and that includes a broad spread of input. Don't be so biased. Thank you.
. . .
When I get an update on the goings on at Wimbledon, I want exactly that. I do not want to have my brain focused for me on to the plight of seven has-beens, and Andy Murray. Wimbledon is NOT all about Murray! I would like to go on record regarding this.
Notice to the BBC
Please broadcast the tennis championship using my licence money, and ensure that you give a proper and fair representation of what goes on in SW19. This means NOT telling me at the top of every programme or bulletin what Andy Murray is doing, thinking, eating for breakfast, or moaning about. I do not want to hear about his mum, his training regime, his hopes for the future or anything else that is not portrayed for every other player in the compe-cuntin-tition! If all I wanted was concentration on Murray, I'd stalk the guy. What I do want is to see the tennis, and that includes a broad spread of input. Don't be so biased. Thank you.
. . .
Tuesday, 26 June 2012
26.6.12 My Time Is Now
Roy Hodgson made an error of judgement ahead of the Quarter-Final match, likening Wayne Rooney to Pele. To be fair, on Sunday Rooney did indeed play as well as Pele; however, I'd have hoped for something a bit better than the efforts of a 72-year-old from someone hailed as our best player!
After his stupidity in getting a two-match ban, and therefore only being available for the Ukraine match and then the Italy one on Sunday, you'd have thought he might be inspired to make the most of his slimmed-down opportunity to impress. No. The picture above was printed in The Sun on a double page spread, and we had to endure further claims that 'now' is the time with TV adverts as well. Shame, then, that it was a lie, and the slogan should instead have read: "My Time Has Gone".
The lethargy displayed against the Italians was blatant, and the effort Ashley Cole put into his penalty kick was mildly less than the energy exerted by Milner singing the National Anthem - and a long way short of the 16 kilo-joules per hour used by Roy Hodgson in biting his fingernails. As for Ashley Young and his penalty miss, I can only state that he should not have even been on the pitch. Roy used three substitutes, and yet the worst player (Young) stayed on the pitch, as did the second worst player (Rooney). That suggests that Roy made a howler for two of the three swapouts.
So, Wayne, your time was not then, is not now, and probably won't be anytime soon. So disappointing. Most of the players looked tired, and I find myself thinking "how many times have I heard that sorry excuse before?".
The display by the England team on Sunday 24th June was no better than the display by England on Sunday 18th, when the opposing team was Holland. If you are getting slightly confused, it's because I am toying with you, and making reference to the women's football. Yes, Match of the Day on 18th was a game between our women and those from Holland / The Netherlands, thus Dutch women. All rather confusing, and made somewhat worse by the abbreviated detail in the top left of the TV screen. ENG for England makes perfect sense, but NED was inappropriate for Holland. Commentary quite clearly referred to "the Dutch" and "Holland" yet the abbreviation referred to The Netherlands, or more accurately Nederlands, considering the use of NED. Why should the BBC revert to the Dutch spelling of the name of the country that's not used in the commentary? In the Euro Championship, we had DEN for Denmark and not their own version (DAN) so as ever there's inconsistency. I should point out that subsequently, on ITV, I saw HOL on the top of the screen for a Euro match, yet 'Netherlands' when the larger scoreline caption was intermitently shown across the bottom of the screen.
Anyone who watched the match would have experienced frustration, boredom and agony as the drawn out process of 90 minutes elapsing managed to use up a full 90 minutes of life to no positive effect. I did in fact switch over to Channel 5, to watch (again, after a ten-year gap) the film Dirty Dancing, as there was certainly much more chance of a goal than watching the women kick the ball back and forth. In fact, Patrick Swayze scored, so I was proved correct. I did flick back during the numerous breaks, and was clever/lucky with the timing, for I caught the only goal in the game, seeing an England player take a quick free kick, catching the Dutch out - the orange-shirted players were unaware, and the ball went in while they were deciding on how to build a wall. Meanwhile, Baby was being shown how to spread her legs, and watch out for balls of a hairier variety.
The ref was female, as were the linespeople. Commentary was performed by Jacqui Oatley, and ex-footballer Lucy Ward, who would not shut up; her constant drivel and dribbling was awful. Lucy's best comments came at the very beginning of the game, when she was talking about the Dutch:
"They're all internationals; they've all got experience." [Amazing insight, eh?]
"The Dutch have got players who look like they can score goals." [I should fucking hope so!]
I think the men might have done better against Italy by swapping Rooney for one of the women who looked like they might be able to score a goal, and Wayne could have huffed and puffed with the girls, although probably a bit less energetically than Patrick Swayze.
So, nine days ago, England (Women) won 1-0, baked 48 cakes, plaited hair at half time, filed their nails, and gave the ball away to the opponents 117 times. Luckily for them, the Dutch gave the ball away (to England) 119 times, allowing a very slight advantage in a match that was very even. Meanwhile, in the men's game with Italy two days ago, England gave the ball away 117 times, and the Italians gave it back to us twice. England managed 203 passes, Italy clocked up 807. The Italians tried hard and wanted to win, pushing forward with vigour. England players tried a little bit, wanting not to lose, pushing players here and there, and didn't know what to do with the ball when they got it.
Mr Hodgson, I suggest you get rid of some old players, and start again from scratch. Maybe the lame ones could get a wax treatment, and play for the women's team?
...
After his stupidity in getting a two-match ban, and therefore only being available for the Ukraine match and then the Italy one on Sunday, you'd have thought he might be inspired to make the most of his slimmed-down opportunity to impress. No. The picture above was printed in The Sun on a double page spread, and we had to endure further claims that 'now' is the time with TV adverts as well. Shame, then, that it was a lie, and the slogan should instead have read: "My Time Has Gone".
The lethargy displayed against the Italians was blatant, and the effort Ashley Cole put into his penalty kick was mildly less than the energy exerted by Milner singing the National Anthem - and a long way short of the 16 kilo-joules per hour used by Roy Hodgson in biting his fingernails. As for Ashley Young and his penalty miss, I can only state that he should not have even been on the pitch. Roy used three substitutes, and yet the worst player (Young) stayed on the pitch, as did the second worst player (Rooney). That suggests that Roy made a howler for two of the three swapouts.
So, Wayne, your time was not then, is not now, and probably won't be anytime soon. So disappointing. Most of the players looked tired, and I find myself thinking "how many times have I heard that sorry excuse before?".
The display by the England team on Sunday 24th June was no better than the display by England on Sunday 18th, when the opposing team was Holland. If you are getting slightly confused, it's because I am toying with you, and making reference to the women's football. Yes, Match of the Day on 18th was a game between our women and those from Holland / The Netherlands, thus Dutch women. All rather confusing, and made somewhat worse by the abbreviated detail in the top left of the TV screen. ENG for England makes perfect sense, but NED was inappropriate for Holland. Commentary quite clearly referred to "the Dutch" and "Holland" yet the abbreviation referred to The Netherlands, or more accurately Nederlands, considering the use of NED. Why should the BBC revert to the Dutch spelling of the name of the country that's not used in the commentary? In the Euro Championship, we had DEN for Denmark and not their own version (DAN) so as ever there's inconsistency. I should point out that subsequently, on ITV, I saw HOL on the top of the screen for a Euro match, yet 'Netherlands' when the larger scoreline caption was intermitently shown across the bottom of the screen.
Anyone who watched the match would have experienced frustration, boredom and agony as the drawn out process of 90 minutes elapsing managed to use up a full 90 minutes of life to no positive effect. I did in fact switch over to Channel 5, to watch (again, after a ten-year gap) the film Dirty Dancing, as there was certainly much more chance of a goal than watching the women kick the ball back and forth. In fact, Patrick Swayze scored, so I was proved correct. I did flick back during the numerous breaks, and was clever/lucky with the timing, for I caught the only goal in the game, seeing an England player take a quick free kick, catching the Dutch out - the orange-shirted players were unaware, and the ball went in while they were deciding on how to build a wall. Meanwhile, Baby was being shown how to spread her legs, and watch out for balls of a hairier variety.
The ref was female, as were the linespeople. Commentary was performed by Jacqui Oatley, and ex-footballer Lucy Ward, who would not shut up; her constant drivel and dribbling was awful. Lucy's best comments came at the very beginning of the game, when she was talking about the Dutch:
"They're all internationals; they've all got experience." [Amazing insight, eh?]
"The Dutch have got players who look like they can score goals." [I should fucking hope so!]
I think the men might have done better against Italy by swapping Rooney for one of the women who looked like they might be able to score a goal, and Wayne could have huffed and puffed with the girls, although probably a bit less energetically than Patrick Swayze.
So, nine days ago, England (Women) won 1-0, baked 48 cakes, plaited hair at half time, filed their nails, and gave the ball away to the opponents 117 times. Luckily for them, the Dutch gave the ball away (to England) 119 times, allowing a very slight advantage in a match that was very even. Meanwhile, in the men's game with Italy two days ago, England gave the ball away 117 times, and the Italians gave it back to us twice. England managed 203 passes, Italy clocked up 807. The Italians tried hard and wanted to win, pushing forward with vigour. England players tried a little bit, wanting not to lose, pushing players here and there, and didn't know what to do with the ball when they got it.
Mr Hodgson, I suggest you get rid of some old players, and start again from scratch. Maybe the lame ones could get a wax treatment, and play for the women's team?
...
Sunday, 24 June 2012
24.6.12 Italy v England
Half Time Comments
Half time and a 0-0 scoreline is no real surprise. I cannot help but be permanently annoyed with Mario Balotelli, and for someone who is hardly a small, weak chap, he seems to go down more easily than Ashley Young - and that's really saying something. Lee Dixon manages to come out with a comment at half time that surpasses anything shit that Shearer can come out with -
Dixon: "I was feeling excited at the beginning of the first round but now I'm feeling equally amount of worried."
Lee, this makes Shearer look like Ludwig Wittgenstein!
Second Half
Extra Time
Stevie G gives some pointless comments after the match - as Gabby Logan holds a microphone. She starts for some strange reason with a weird statement: "You leave this tournament with your heads held high." [What ???] All England did was play well for half an hour in the first half. The rest was mediocre, plus hanging on for dear life.
Italy deserved to win by a mile - congratulations.
...
Half time and a 0-0 scoreline is no real surprise. I cannot help but be permanently annoyed with Mario Balotelli, and for someone who is hardly a small, weak chap, he seems to go down more easily than Ashley Young - and that's really saying something. Lee Dixon manages to come out with a comment at half time that surpasses anything shit that Shearer can come out with -
Dixon: "I was feeling excited at the beginning of the first round but now I'm feeling equally amount of worried."
Lee, this makes Shearer look like Ludwig Wittgenstein!
Second Half
- Milner's cross from the right - pathetic
- Hart punches poorly and Italy miss an easy chance - lucky England
- I am pissed off with yet another reference to Balotelli knowing some of the England players
- Terry heads away, with a good clearance.
- Balotelli with a chance, catching England out - lucky England
- Milner shoots - less power than my mum puts into tossing a pancake!
- Gerrard falls over, then loses the ball
- Glen Johnson accidently knocks the ball out of play and then disputes it
- Ashley Young gets a bump on the head - hopefully he'll being going off as he's simply not very good
- Overhead from Balotelli - good try
- Welbeck and Milner go off, and Young stays on - weird choice, Roy? Should have removed Young.
- Mark Lawrenson comes out with a classic: "England are doing that thing again where they just keep giving the ball away."
- Young, you twat!
- Young, you twat - pathetic shot!
- Italians fouling from the corner, yet getting the free kick?
- Hart kicks to Cole, who heads to an Italian
- Young gives the ball away
- 15 mins to go, and England are adopting seige conditions
- Rooney missed the cross from Gerrard
- Young gives the ball away
- Hart punches and gives away a corner. Italy corner = Hart punches away
- Diamanti shoots while England players watch
- Young kicks the ball too far in front of him, but luckily for England the Italian shows studs and is penalised
- Wasted free kick
- Italy Number 6 is a waster, and is not really hurt
- England haven't a clue what to do
- Terry gives the ball away
- Parker kicks it past Walcott
- Italy nearly score - Johnson blocks to give a corner
- Rourke's Drift and this is hard work
- Rooney's overhead kick is over the stadium wall
- Final whistle
Extra Time
- "Andy Carroll is charging around like a bull in a china shop," says the commentator, Guy Mowbray
- Ashley Young cheats to get a free kick and the Italian is booked
- Parker is substituted
- Rooney loses the ball and was just useless
- Carroll loses the ball
- England - doing my head in
- Italy hit the post again - Hart had no clue
- Glen Johnson accidently knocks the ball out (again)
- Carroll gives the ball away
- Walcott should have shot instead of lifting it towards Carroll
- Half Time
- Ball possession stats come on to the screen, showing 63% to Italy; not surprising considering how many time England gives the ball away
- Italy cons a free kick
- Carroll clumsily bowls over an Italian who can't wait to fall over, so a free kick in a dangerous position is needlessly conceded
- Converted by Balotelli - converted means he would have scored 2 points in Rugby
- Italy score - offside. Shame for them, as they have tried so much, unlike England
- Carroll and Rooney tackle each other and give the ball away
- Dire last few minutes
- Penalties
Stevie G gives some pointless comments after the match - as Gabby Logan holds a microphone. She starts for some strange reason with a weird statement: "You leave this tournament with your heads held high." [What ???] All England did was play well for half an hour in the first half. The rest was mediocre, plus hanging on for dear life.
Italy deserved to win by a mile - congratulations.
...
24.6.12 Big Issue
To my surprise (and perhaps associated shame) I was unaware of the price of The Big Issue magazine, until I bought one last week. The chap calling out 'Big Issue' was near the supermarket, and I thought 'why not'. This wasn't so much any act of charity on my part (which is probably a reasonable view because otherwise people may as well simply stand and ask for money) but an interest in reading an edition of The Big Issue, linked with some knowledge that I was probably doing some good at a very low level by buying one.
"How much?" I said to the bloke, and I was amazed when he said "Two pounds fifty". Why on earth had I expected it to be either a pound, or perhaps one-fifty? He was pleased and said, "At last, a sale" and I went off to Morrisons with my magazine. I suspect that the £2.50 cost of the 48-page paper magazine makes it a challenge for sellers to make much. In the past, when it was a quid, there was some relativity between the cost, the product and the whole process that led to people doing something to make some money. Whatever the effects of inflation, they do not warrant a jump to £2.50 for a publication that I found to be rather poor. I am not at all bemoaning what I got for my money on this particular occasion - just observing that it has brought me up-to-date. I suspect that those selling The Big Issue are now struggling more than ever (evidenced by the chap's comment of "At last a sale") and that many who do buy it will be less than impressed. My own view is that I'd have been better off (literally!) giving the chap a pound coin for nothing, and walking on. He'd have got a pound, I'd have saved one pound and fifty pence, and I'd not have felt disapponted with what I got for £2.50.
All this proves that the concept is now slightly flawed. I will not now want to buy another edition of The Big Issue from any seller. That does not mean I wouldn't give the seller a pound, but that in effect means I'm paying a pound not to read what he/she is selling, and it's a halfway stance that gives a mixed message. What does a seller make per sale at £2.50? I don't actaully know. It's sad that what is being sold is of such little value and interest that it's now too expensive to be seen as a proper purchase. So, there is as a result no real difference between someone selling The Big Issue and someone asking for money for the sake of it, and this is completely contrary to the aims of the creator. If the idea is to help people not resort to begging or busking, but to attach a worthwhileness to their efforts, then it's gone wrong.
"A hand up not a hand out" is printed on the issue for the week commencing 18th June. I beg to differ (forgive the pun) but I would rather a hand out if the pretence of a sale and a hand-up is only maintained through an unworthy £2.50 price tag to a publication that warrants about £1.50. The upshot of all this is that henceforth, any cries for 'Big Issue' will lead me to consider a £1 donation and no purchase. Instead, I'll buy a newspaper for 30p. The seller gets a pound and keeps the magazine, I get a better read and save £1.20, and the only loser is the publisher who has overpriced the product.
...
"How much?" I said to the bloke, and I was amazed when he said "Two pounds fifty". Why on earth had I expected it to be either a pound, or perhaps one-fifty? He was pleased and said, "At last, a sale" and I went off to Morrisons with my magazine. I suspect that the £2.50 cost of the 48-page paper magazine makes it a challenge for sellers to make much. In the past, when it was a quid, there was some relativity between the cost, the product and the whole process that led to people doing something to make some money. Whatever the effects of inflation, they do not warrant a jump to £2.50 for a publication that I found to be rather poor. I am not at all bemoaning what I got for my money on this particular occasion - just observing that it has brought me up-to-date. I suspect that those selling The Big Issue are now struggling more than ever (evidenced by the chap's comment of "At last a sale") and that many who do buy it will be less than impressed. My own view is that I'd have been better off (literally!) giving the chap a pound coin for nothing, and walking on. He'd have got a pound, I'd have saved one pound and fifty pence, and I'd not have felt disapponted with what I got for £2.50.
All this proves that the concept is now slightly flawed. I will not now want to buy another edition of The Big Issue from any seller. That does not mean I wouldn't give the seller a pound, but that in effect means I'm paying a pound not to read what he/she is selling, and it's a halfway stance that gives a mixed message. What does a seller make per sale at £2.50? I don't actaully know. It's sad that what is being sold is of such little value and interest that it's now too expensive to be seen as a proper purchase. So, there is as a result no real difference between someone selling The Big Issue and someone asking for money for the sake of it, and this is completely contrary to the aims of the creator. If the idea is to help people not resort to begging or busking, but to attach a worthwhileness to their efforts, then it's gone wrong.
"A hand up not a hand out" is printed on the issue for the week commencing 18th June. I beg to differ (forgive the pun) but I would rather a hand out if the pretence of a sale and a hand-up is only maintained through an unworthy £2.50 price tag to a publication that warrants about £1.50. The upshot of all this is that henceforth, any cries for 'Big Issue' will lead me to consider a £1 donation and no purchase. Instead, I'll buy a newspaper for 30p. The seller gets a pound and keeps the magazine, I get a better read and save £1.20, and the only loser is the publisher who has overpriced the product.
...
24.6.12 Andy Townsend Masterclass
Football commentators are generally muppets, who love to hold on to certain phrases and terms when delivering their monotonous drivel. Andy Townsend is no different, and probably provides one of the best examples of how entrenched commentators can get, and how they can so often talk rubbish.
Half a Yard
This is the basic unit of measurement for everything in the universe, let alone on the football pitch. No player can do anything clever with a football without first "making himself half a yard", as AT would have us believe. When a player does not manage to beat an opponent, or cross the ball into the box, AT will tell us all that the player "just needed half a yard" to have succeeded. If a player is offside, and it's a close call, the distance by which the offending player will have been deemed 'offside' is always half a yard.
Asking Questions
Attacking players don't, these days, try to beat defenders, nor do they cause problems for a defence with their runs and ball control. No, according to AT, the attackers are in fact "asking questions of the defence". Continued pressure by a team is thus a spell of questioning - "there are many questions being asked of xxxx".
Picking Pockets
No longer can players be tackled. Instead, players are "caught in possession" or they have their "pockets picked, according to AT. I always thought caught in possession" sounded rather more like a term the police might use when describing someone who's been arrested for carrying drugs. As for the picking of pockets, I think AT must have an obsession with the 'Artful Dodger'. I am not sure when tackling became an obsolete aspect of the game, but it's been a good while, as AT's been talking about pickpockets for many years now.
Give and Go
Fuck off with the new term. "It was a little give and go" is bollocks. It was a "one, two". For decades, players have played a "one, two" but all of a sudden, it's a "give and go" according to AT. Shite.
Quality
AT is not alone in referring to "quality" at least a dozen or two times per game. In his monologue the other day, talking about Samir Nasri, he managed, "let's give a lot of quality to the finish" in the waffle he offered. "We struggled with a lack of quality" is now the accepted euphemism for "We were just shit".
The Final Third
This is where everything happens, or doesn't happen. There is so rarely any reference to the middle third - maybe once a month. The first third simply doesn't exist. But the 'final third' is the real zone of interest - a zone not defined by any pitch marking, irrelevant in respect of ANY of the Laws of Association Football, and unrecognised by the FA or FIFA. That's right, this weird zone that features in the comments of every cunt with an opinion is in fact a made-up part of the pitch. None of the commentators or pundits or twats has ever decided to refer to the 'final quarter' instead. With a football pitch having variable measurements, the third being referred to could be of variable size.
This simple diagram shows the permitted measurements and variations that can occur, and they are significant in respect of the 'final third' for the following main reason. On a pitch of minimum dimensions, the final third would have an area of 1666 square yards. On a pitch of maximum size, the final third would have an area of 4333 square yards! That is 2.6 times the area within which stuff could happen on a smaller pitch. In fact, on the largest possible pitch, the "final eighth' is only marginally smaller than the 'final third' of the smallest pitch, and the 'final seventh' is much bigger. So, there's much room for other options, and maybe there should be talk of the final eighth / seventh / sixth / fifth / quarter instead (?)
If we restrict our view to the one dimension of pitch length, then in round numbers, we have three possible sections typically at 40 yards each. I suggest that either commentators desist from referring to this arbitrary zone, or the football authorities sanction a change whereby there are lines across the field 33.3 to 43.3 yards in-field from each goal line, and we could do away with the centre line.
Further Positions and Areas of the Pitch
Andy is very knowledgeable on the invisible elements of the football pitch, and manages to display excellent awareness of players' movements, the intended tactics of managers, and the complex approaches adopted in how to make best use of some wonderful extras that the standard football pitch apparently provides. Despite none of these positions or areas being denoted on any football pitch in the world, AT has inside knowledge and can see in an instant the imaginary spaces, as he commentates whilst sitting next to his friend, an imaginary 6ft rabbit.
Yes, there are some special places, known as: Gulleys, Channels, Holes, Pockets and Lanes. These are all on top of the more widely used term of 'thirds' which I have covered above. The thing about a 'final third' is that while it does not technically exist, one can work it out, as I've done, using maths and pitch dimensions. The aforementioned list contains no hints, though, of how one could possibly decide on the their whereabouts! This is football, not cricket or space exploration. Andy - please can you get a grip, and try talking sense?
...
Half a Yard
This is the basic unit of measurement for everything in the universe, let alone on the football pitch. No player can do anything clever with a football without first "making himself half a yard", as AT would have us believe. When a player does not manage to beat an opponent, or cross the ball into the box, AT will tell us all that the player "just needed half a yard" to have succeeded. If a player is offside, and it's a close call, the distance by which the offending player will have been deemed 'offside' is always half a yard.
Asking Questions
Attacking players don't, these days, try to beat defenders, nor do they cause problems for a defence with their runs and ball control. No, according to AT, the attackers are in fact "asking questions of the defence". Continued pressure by a team is thus a spell of questioning - "there are many questions being asked of xxxx".
Picking Pockets
No longer can players be tackled. Instead, players are "caught in possession" or they have their "pockets picked, according to AT. I always thought caught in possession" sounded rather more like a term the police might use when describing someone who's been arrested for carrying drugs. As for the picking of pockets, I think AT must have an obsession with the 'Artful Dodger'. I am not sure when tackling became an obsolete aspect of the game, but it's been a good while, as AT's been talking about pickpockets for many years now.
Give and Go
Fuck off with the new term. "It was a little give and go" is bollocks. It was a "one, two". For decades, players have played a "one, two" but all of a sudden, it's a "give and go" according to AT. Shite.
Quality
AT is not alone in referring to "quality" at least a dozen or two times per game. In his monologue the other day, talking about Samir Nasri, he managed, "let's give a lot of quality to the finish" in the waffle he offered. "We struggled with a lack of quality" is now the accepted euphemism for "We were just shit".
The Final Third
This is where everything happens, or doesn't happen. There is so rarely any reference to the middle third - maybe once a month. The first third simply doesn't exist. But the 'final third' is the real zone of interest - a zone not defined by any pitch marking, irrelevant in respect of ANY of the Laws of Association Football, and unrecognised by the FA or FIFA. That's right, this weird zone that features in the comments of every cunt with an opinion is in fact a made-up part of the pitch. None of the commentators or pundits or twats has ever decided to refer to the 'final quarter' instead. With a football pitch having variable measurements, the third being referred to could be of variable size.
This simple diagram shows the permitted measurements and variations that can occur, and they are significant in respect of the 'final third' for the following main reason. On a pitch of minimum dimensions, the final third would have an area of 1666 square yards. On a pitch of maximum size, the final third would have an area of 4333 square yards! That is 2.6 times the area within which stuff could happen on a smaller pitch. In fact, on the largest possible pitch, the "final eighth' is only marginally smaller than the 'final third' of the smallest pitch, and the 'final seventh' is much bigger. So, there's much room for other options, and maybe there should be talk of the final eighth / seventh / sixth / fifth / quarter instead (?)
If we restrict our view to the one dimension of pitch length, then in round numbers, we have three possible sections typically at 40 yards each. I suggest that either commentators desist from referring to this arbitrary zone, or the football authorities sanction a change whereby there are lines across the field 33.3 to 43.3 yards in-field from each goal line, and we could do away with the centre line.
Further Positions and Areas of the Pitch
Andy is very knowledgeable on the invisible elements of the football pitch, and manages to display excellent awareness of players' movements, the intended tactics of managers, and the complex approaches adopted in how to make best use of some wonderful extras that the standard football pitch apparently provides. Despite none of these positions or areas being denoted on any football pitch in the world, AT has inside knowledge and can see in an instant the imaginary spaces, as he commentates whilst sitting next to his friend, an imaginary 6ft rabbit.
Yes, there are some special places, known as: Gulleys, Channels, Holes, Pockets and Lanes. These are all on top of the more widely used term of 'thirds' which I have covered above. The thing about a 'final third' is that while it does not technically exist, one can work it out, as I've done, using maths and pitch dimensions. The aforementioned list contains no hints, though, of how one could possibly decide on the their whereabouts! This is football, not cricket or space exploration. Andy - please can you get a grip, and try talking sense?
...
Saturday, 23 June 2012
23.6.12 Legitimate Views and Comment
- Why the fuck do those bods in cars wear hi-viz jackets - the bods that sit in fucking cars, undertaking some sort of pointless survey? We've all seen them, wasting their lives, and collating useless information. What the hell are they surveying anyway? How many cars use a roundabout? Whether my car is clean? All bollocks, and if you stay in your car, fuck off with the hi-viz wearing approach! If you wear such a vest, then get out of the fucking car, and locate yourself where there might actually be some sort of need for you to be seen.
- When was the last time you bumped into someone? I mean literally, not as in 'met them'. We so rarely 'bump into' people. Also, why do 'twists and turns' have to come as a double act? What's wrong with allowing them some independence?
- I am wondering whether David Silva, the Spanish footballer, ever feels like he's second best . . . .
- On Monday, last week, the TV guide showed an entry for 'Gok Cooks Chinese' on Monday. I was so disappointed that the words could not have been printed very slightly out of order, to read: "Gok Wan serves up sum dim dishes."
- The police are often cuntish in their approach, and this quality very well displayed during a sting operation to catch speeding motorists in Lancashire. The fuckers issues 20 tickets to drivers who flashed to warn other drivers of the police presence. Talk about two-faced cuntin shite! If the aim of speed cameras and speed traps is to 'educate' drivers and help them to drive slower and with more awareness, a hint from fellow drivers to reduce their speed is hardly unhelpful. So, it proves completely that the cops just wanted tickets and fines - to fuck people off, and manipulate figures on productivity. Cunts.
- Russell Brand is a complete, prize twat. His whinge about his mum being upset by Graham Norton's questions about his split from Katie Perry was truly pathetic. If he thinks he's entitled to some sort of reverence, then he can piss off. You can't have your cake and eat it, Russell. You have so often been truly out of order, and I am completely dumbfounded that you can seriously expect some sort of special treatment! On another matter, I feel let down by the Dalai Lama, who has in effect endorsed Russell Brand through his association with him in the last couple of weeks. Shame on you, DL.
- £300 for some wellies? Fucking madness. Kate, get it sorted, you're falling down on the 'keeping in touch' front if you think that spending this much on wellington boots is a good example to be setting. I use the term 'spending' in the sense that's I'd be surprised if the wellies were not actually given to you so that you could become a walking marketing campaign.
- Halifax adverts - could those cunts for once NOT sing?
- I see there's an offer at Morrisons on Coca Cola - for the 2 Litre bottles, it's buy one get one free. However, this fantastic offer that in effect makes bottles cost 99p each has to be tempered by the terms and conditions. Yes, there is a limit per customer of just 18 bottles. So, each person is "only" entitled to buy thirty fucking six litres of Coke. If Mrs MWSC and Junior accompanied me, we could no doubt purchase 54 bottles - 108 litres. How mean of Morrisons to be so stingy!
- The eleven-date Voice tour has been axed - no surprise there then. Apparently there's been a lack of ticket sales. Fuck me, it was bad enough watching it all on TV free of charge! Paying money to see shite was never going to work.
- Why the fucking hell is there a limitless supply of companies trying to encourage us all to claim refunds regarding the mis-selling of PPI. Payment Protection Insurance was of course mis-sold here and there, but as these days our socienty HAS to be littered with thick cunts who count as 'victims' there's a drive to help them claim - or as many of the adverts state, "WIN". The adverts for Renaissance are endorsed by Roy Walker. Pardon me, Roy, but what the fuck's it got to do with you? You're not alone though in whoring yourself to commercial entities who want to encourage claims and collect fees, because alongside the PPI adverts shwoing people cheering with hands in the air saying "I've won", there's Esther Rantzen helping us decide what to do regarding personal injury: "Should I claim for my injury?" Esther is of course "sorry to learn etc etc" before her help points us in the direction of too fucking right we should claim for every cuntin penny and beat up the establishment because it's always someone else's fault. Society is completely fucked to fuck!
- Why to TV weather forecasters want to chit-chat and encroach on lives with suggestions? When I want a cuntin forecaster to play a part in my life, I'll marry one, or run one down and serve a manslaughter sentence. Until then, after a forecast for the weekend, I do not want to hear "whatever you're doing, enjoy yourselves" as a parting gesture. If I am going to a funeral and I have a laugh, I'll refer the deceased person's family to the forecaster if they think I rolled about laughing just a tad too much.
- Before I changed my TV aerial to one with enough funny-shaped prongs to catch freeview signals, I felt I was missing out on some channels, especially ITV2. Having had four or five months to consider the channel, I can confirm that, on balance, and after taking all aspects into consideration, it is fucking crap.
- Labour finally admits (half-heartedly) that its policy on immigration for the thirteen years between 1997 and 2010 was wrong. Hmmm . . . so where does that leave us now? Well, basically in a position that's fucked to (United) Kingdom come. Yes, the effects are of course irreversible, and the consequences for all parties (except 'political') are that we are overloaded and strained in many respects, including the demands placed upon education, welfare, the NHS, housing, employment - in fact most things. Gradual change and integration helps both the country and the immigrants themselves, and the end result for all is positive. Gluts of anything are not good, and tend to make things worse. Labour is a cunting joke. Admitting afterwards that it screwed the country over, manipulated the make-up of society and potential voting patterns, became deluded over its views on social responsibility, equality and human rights, and simply lied, is not the action of a party that is claiming resounding success or any right to adopt a moral highground position. Saying sorry afterwards does not excuse the mistake, or reduce its significance! "Oops, I just reversed over your three-year-old who was fucking about in my driveway on her plastic pedal car," is not going to endear you to your neighbour, and a "sorry" after many years is unlikely to lead to an invite to the next barbecue!
- Kelly Brook was in the papers this week, as ever. I saw one photo of her next to Katherine Jenkins, and she was not (KB, that is) posing and/or in underwear or skimpy clothing. Ms Brook gets far too much space in newspapers, and with nauseating regularity. Until this week, every entry has shown her to be pointless in the extreme, and the only reason she's featured has been some editorial decision to show a supposedly pretty woman's figure. Now things have got even worse - if she was pointless IN a bikini, she can only be even more pointless (I am not sure there's a level lower than pointless, though) when she's in normal clothing. Notice to editors: Find someone else, please!
- Good news for anyone who wants money and doesn't want to be ripped off by Wonga. There's a great deal on 12-month loans from Pounds To Pocket, a company which will advance money at the stonkingly good interest rate of 278% APR. That'll solve a lot of problems, eh? Somehow, though, I suspect it'll cause rather more!
- Why the fuck does Marisota discriminate so blatantly against slim people, and cater for sizes 12-32? The TV adverts seem to applaud women within the 12-32 size range, with garments in eleven sizes between 12 and fucking fat. Meanwhile, the size 8 and size 10 women are ignored. Is Marisota trying to encourage the consumption of cream cakes and applaud largeness? This is irresponsible, and the message being sent out is pathetic. Is 'below size 12' the new definition of anorexic then? If I were female, I'd boycott the company, unless of course I happened to be smaller than a 12 and would have no fucking choice in the matter!
- I have decided that smugness is epitomised by Fiona Bruce, such is her tone and demeanour. In a similar way, I associate silence with Chery Cole/Tweedy, since she's rarely found to be making any sort of noise when 'singing'.
There you have it, my weekly round-up.
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Thursday, 21 June 2012
21.6.12 Carr and Cameron
I have no real like or dislike in relation to Jimmy carr. He's clever, and usually funny, but equally it can become rather boring seeing him on TV all the time. So, I am not a fan, but appreciate he has enough talent to forge a very good career and a lucrative one. Whether the latest tax fiasco results in his profile being improved or harmed interests me very little.
What I find utterly amazing is the hypocrisy of others, who lambast him for 'dodgy dealings' and avoiding tax. For the Prime Minister of the UK to single out Jimmy Carr for criticism over his personal tax affairs is outrageous. To attack him for non-payment of taxes is pathetic for so many reasons.
If it was perfectly legal for me to go to the Cunt-op and nick a bunch of spring onions and some Cathedral City, then there's a reasonable chance that I might do so, if my sandwich was looking rather empty. As it is not legal for me to do that, I'll spread some marmite instead. How about you tell some twat in the tax dept to plug a few gaps.
...
What I find utterly amazing is the hypocrisy of others, who lambast him for 'dodgy dealings' and avoiding tax. For the Prime Minister of the UK to single out Jimmy Carr for criticism over his personal tax affairs is outrageous. To attack him for non-payment of taxes is pathetic for so many reasons.
- The arrangements in place that reduced his liability were (and are) perfectly legal, and came about through a company doing its job and advising a client how to minimise tax.
- Just about every comedian, pop artist and media person seems these days to form a company and then be paid by the company they own, because this is one of many ways to reduce tax liability. Thus, there are thousands of people reducing their tax liabilities all in a perfectly legal manner. This approach is (I believe) used by Ken Livingstone and others in the political arena.
- MPs are the last people on the cunting planet who should be critical of those reducing tax, and/or maximising benefits. MPs have set the worst example possible.
- Doctors and other health workers are taking action to try and maximise their pensions, and not pay more into the scheme - despite the national economic crisis, and the fact that Doctors are overpaid anyway. That level of self-serving is accepted, yet an individual with no such pension is not allowed to maximise his benefits?
- David Cameron is totally out of order for an unprecedented personal attack on one person - he is inviting all sorts of flack from all sides. Of course, he's rich enough to be pompous in his comments.
- Finally, if anyone is to be criticised, it's not someone who done nothing illegal; it's the cunting government! Why on earth has the fucking government not closed these loopholes? There are repeated claims of improved efficiency, closing of loopholes and reduction in benefits, all cited as reasons why millions of pounds can be saved - but nothing is ever done, and it's all lies.
If it was perfectly legal for me to go to the Cunt-op and nick a bunch of spring onions and some Cathedral City, then there's a reasonable chance that I might do so, if my sandwich was looking rather empty. As it is not legal for me to do that, I'll spread some marmite instead. How about you tell some twat in the tax dept to plug a few gaps.
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Tuesday, 19 June 2012
19.6.12 Half a Yard
For the very first time, Andy Townsend had the perfect opportunity to use his favourite unit of measurement with complete accuracy and appropriateness - and he didn't take his chance. Yes, Wayne Rooney scored from "half a yard".
The build up to this game centred massively on Wayne Rooney; in this morning's paper, I read some shit that likened him to Pele, for fuck's sake! I watched just before the game started an advert with Wayne looking at the camera [I would have said "meaningfully" but clearly that could not apply to him] and declaring it was his time. Articles in papers, online and comments in interviews all suggested that Wayne was the saviour. He was shit tonight. The only think he did all game that was worthwhile was stand near the goal so that the deflected cross from Gerrard could present itself to Wayne's head as it (the ball - well, Wayne as well, actually) loitered near the goal. So, scoring a goal that any self-respecting ten-year-old could have knocked over the line seems to have been enough.
At the other end, we should have come a cropper, but luckily managed to escape accountability after chasing the ball well into the Ukraine half and getting caught on the break. Yes, we were up by a goal and were supposed to be taking advantage of catching Ukraine on the break as they pushed forward, but instead England managed to flip that around. Terry is too slow to be a defender, but I suppose we're expected to be thankful that he hoiked the ball off the line. Actually, that's a misrepresentation, as we all saw; he hoiked it away from just behind the goal line, in clear view of the 17th official and 50,000 spectators. With silly numbers of FIFA officials, headphones and walkie talkies, and flags, it still proved that only proper technology can give a proper verdict in a situation like this.
Steven Gerrard managed to collect a yellow card for jumping with a leading elbow. How he could moan after being booked is a mystery, and someone should have warned him that he was not in a nightclub and that he needed to behave. I was amazed at the Jamie Carragher comment afterwards, when he said "it was a simple clash of heads". No, you twat, it was an elbow - heads did not touch. Strangely, Andy Carroll did the same thing late in the game but escaped a booking for no good reason.
So, a pretty dire performance that was not good entertainment. 'Job done' is all that can be said, and I fear that we are living on borrowed time. Describing Wayne as 'rusty', Carragher was not critical enough. I think Adrian Chiles should stop being a twat with comments to the studio guests that centre on England winning the competition. We won the game, but it was no resounding success, and if you take away the ten seconds when he tapped the ball over the line, Wayne was not a saviour at all, but rusty as sin; has he been screwing around in the rain? I maintain that only a headless chicken would have been unable to score that goal from no more than half a yard.
...
The build up to this game centred massively on Wayne Rooney; in this morning's paper, I read some shit that likened him to Pele, for fuck's sake! I watched just before the game started an advert with Wayne looking at the camera [I would have said "meaningfully" but clearly that could not apply to him] and declaring it was his time. Articles in papers, online and comments in interviews all suggested that Wayne was the saviour. He was shit tonight. The only think he did all game that was worthwhile was stand near the goal so that the deflected cross from Gerrard could present itself to Wayne's head as it (the ball - well, Wayne as well, actually) loitered near the goal. So, scoring a goal that any self-respecting ten-year-old could have knocked over the line seems to have been enough.
At the other end, we should have come a cropper, but luckily managed to escape accountability after chasing the ball well into the Ukraine half and getting caught on the break. Yes, we were up by a goal and were supposed to be taking advantage of catching Ukraine on the break as they pushed forward, but instead England managed to flip that around. Terry is too slow to be a defender, but I suppose we're expected to be thankful that he hoiked the ball off the line. Actually, that's a misrepresentation, as we all saw; he hoiked it away from just behind the goal line, in clear view of the 17th official and 50,000 spectators. With silly numbers of FIFA officials, headphones and walkie talkies, and flags, it still proved that only proper technology can give a proper verdict in a situation like this.
Steven Gerrard managed to collect a yellow card for jumping with a leading elbow. How he could moan after being booked is a mystery, and someone should have warned him that he was not in a nightclub and that he needed to behave. I was amazed at the Jamie Carragher comment afterwards, when he said "it was a simple clash of heads". No, you twat, it was an elbow - heads did not touch. Strangely, Andy Carroll did the same thing late in the game but escaped a booking for no good reason.
So, a pretty dire performance that was not good entertainment. 'Job done' is all that can be said, and I fear that we are living on borrowed time. Describing Wayne as 'rusty', Carragher was not critical enough. I think Adrian Chiles should stop being a twat with comments to the studio guests that centre on England winning the competition. We won the game, but it was no resounding success, and if you take away the ten seconds when he tapped the ball over the line, Wayne was not a saviour at all, but rusty as sin; has he been screwing around in the rain? I maintain that only a headless chicken would have been unable to score that goal from no more than half a yard.
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19.6.12 Craziest Things
Just a heads up on the wonderful lyrics from Cheryl Cole's (Tweedy's) new single, Craziest Things - a duet with Will.i.am. This tosh is amazingly awful, and exemplifies the shite that now counts as acceptable for chart music. The 'song' is apparently about a relationship that lasted two years, during which she was abused and bullied. So, a bit of publicity then for Cheryl, who clearly needs it. In today's paper, she is said to have been left 'depressed' and 'poorly' by this brute.
I have not heard the 'song' yet and must say that I have no desire to do so. A look at the lyrics shows me that it's everything that's awful about current shit. To have to read a sob story as well is just too much.
Argggghhhhhhhh!!!
Cheryl:
For this is your freedom, I don't know what you wanna do.
We say the Craziest Things, We say the craziest Things
Like I love you, hate you, don't need you
F**k U I don't ever wanna see you again.
We say the Craziest Things, We say the Craziest Things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you don't ever come back again
Cheryl:
I love your love, boy ya f**k me off
You think the sun shines out of your ass
You make me laugh and then
You make me cry again
You make me scream and then I lose my class
We say the craaa... We say the craaa...
We say the Craziest Things , We say the Craziest Things
Like I love you, hate you, don't need you
F**k U I don't ever wanna see you again.
We say the craziest things, We say the craziest things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you, don't ever come back again
We say the craziest things, We say the craziest things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you, don't ever come back again
I have not heard the 'song' yet and must say that I have no desire to do so. A look at the lyrics shows me that it's everything that's awful about current shit. To have to read a sob story as well is just too much.
Argggghhhhhhhh!!!
We say the Craziest Things, We say the craziest Things
Like I love you, hate you, don't need you
F**k U I don't ever wanna see you again.
We say the craziest things, We say the craziest things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you don't ever come back again
We say the...
I love you much, I hate you guts, you the love of my life
You always on my mind
Girl you get on my last nerve coz all we do is fuss and fight
Girl I hate you, I love you,
Cheryl:
I know and I love you, baby your my superstar
Don't leave me, I need you
Like I love you, hate you, don't need you
F**k U I don't ever wanna see you again.
We say the craziest things, We say the craziest things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you don't ever come back again
We say the...
I love you much, I hate you guts, you the love of my life
You always on my mind
Girl you get on my last nerve coz all we do is fuss and fight
Girl I hate you, I love you,
Cheryl:
I know and I love you, baby your my superstar
Don't leave me, I need you
Cheryl:
For this is your freedom, I don't know what you wanna do.
We say the Craziest Things, We say the craziest Things
Like I love you, hate you, don't need you
F**k U I don't ever wanna see you again.
We say the Craziest Things, We say the Craziest Things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you don't ever come back again
Cheryl:
I love your love, boy ya f**k me off
You think the sun shines out of your ass
You make me laugh and then
You make me cry again
You make me scream and then I lose my class
We say the craaa... We say the craaa...
We say the Craziest Things , We say the Craziest Things
Like I love you, hate you, don't need you
F**k U I don't ever wanna see you again.
We say the craziest things, We say the craziest things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you, don't ever come back again
We say the craziest things, We say the craziest things
Like I love you, need you, want you,
Or hate you, don't ever come back again
...
19.6.12 Unadulterated Muesli
I am struggling massively with the phrase 'unadulterated muesli' which is apparently what Dorset Cereals is responsible for. They make mueslis and I know this not because I am a muesli eater, but because the till receipt from a recent Cunt-op transaction was accompanied by a 'coupon' offering me a £1 discount when I spend £1 or more on Dorset Cereals Muesli.
The term 'unadulterated' is in my view totally misused by this company. "Not mixed or diluted with any extra elements; complete and absolute" is the summation of the word's meaning. However, packaged muesli is a mixture of rolled oats and/or cornflakes with fruit, nuts and seeds. Muesli commonly contains other cereal grains, eg. wheat, or rye flakes. There are options for mueslis to contain honey, spices or chocolate. Syrup, marmalade, salt and sugar are all variables as well, so the reality is that there is so much variation on what constitutes 'muesli', there cannot really be an 'unadulterated' version.
Dorset Cereals seem to manage a fair few varieties in the range. I think someone in 'Marketing' has thought that the word 'unadulterated' sounds good, and a little bit devilish, and in a meeting managed to get others to agree to this description of the product, despite the blatant flaw.
Anyway, I'll skip the rabbit food, and leave Dorset Cereals to consider its marketing approach.
...
The term 'unadulterated' is in my view totally misused by this company. "Not mixed or diluted with any extra elements; complete and absolute" is the summation of the word's meaning. However, packaged muesli is a mixture of rolled oats and/or cornflakes with fruit, nuts and seeds. Muesli commonly contains other cereal grains, eg. wheat, or rye flakes. There are options for mueslis to contain honey, spices or chocolate. Syrup, marmalade, salt and sugar are all variables as well, so the reality is that there is so much variation on what constitutes 'muesli', there cannot really be an 'unadulterated' version.
Dorset Cereals seem to manage a fair few varieties in the range. I think someone in 'Marketing' has thought that the word 'unadulterated' sounds good, and a little bit devilish, and in a meeting managed to get others to agree to this description of the product, despite the blatant flaw.
Anyway, I'll skip the rabbit food, and leave Dorset Cereals to consider its marketing approach.
...
19.6.12 Olympic Police Convoy
Oh the excitement of the Olympic Torch passing the house this week. Mrs MWSC and I were able to experience the hype that surrounded the minor efforts of an overweight jogger, from the front garden. Prior to the chap's arrival, we had no end of kerfuffle in the street, from early morning. From 7.00am there was movement and the noises one can associate with 'organising' and 'preparing'. The noise level built up to include more and more varied sounds, and eventually the chatter of school children. "And in the streets, the children screamed, the lovers cried and the poets dreamed, but not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken." Sorry, just went off-message with a bit of American Pie that came into my head.
Up against the garden wall was a small mast secured to a post in our garden. We discovered this was to boost phone signals, and a chap responsible for this 'enhancement' was apparently setting them up along the route for the whole journey of the torch. It seemed a pointless and thankless undertaking. Grannies and grandchildren lined the street, and a few yards away was the local town hall warden, wearing her orange hi-viz sleeveless top, smiling enthusiastically and importantly. The cunting bunting left over from the Jubilee weekend was still in place on the Town Hall railings, attached in a haphazard way. Up the road (about 100 yards away) outside the Cunt-op was a hoard of people behind some temporary railings, all holding flags. Most were children. In the road was a unicyclist who juggled, although he may have been a juggler who unicycled. Luckily the road had been closed (supposedly) and just the occasional vehicle was coming through, probably a resident needing access. I discovered after the 'event' that there was supposed to have been 'other entertainment' to complement the torch bearer passing. The cycling juggler / juggling cyclist was that 'entertainment'. What a let-down.
As the arrival of the torch approached (scheduled for just after half past eight) the buzz grew. Then the bikes started to arrive. There is clearly a surfeit of policemen who ride motorbikes, because despite the economic challenges of present times, and the cutbacks to just about every service that exists, there seems to be no limit to the availability of cops on bikes, who have nothing to do and thus achieve nothing. The advance party included a coach, and open topped Samsung bus, a Coca Cola vehicle, and a lot of waving. The arrival of these vehicles was preceded by cops and their sirens creating the impression that the leaders of the world were on their way to a G20 summit, and just about to come past. Talk about overkill. I recall years ago that some people would have doorbells that played about 20 different tunes. Well, that same technology is in use today on police vehicles, and there appeared to be about 20 variations in the sirens and sounds emanating from bikes, vans and cars. Two coppers thought they were "Men In Black" as they drove their silver car and lapped up the attention of the crowds. It's amazing what all black dress, earpieces and dark glasses can do to two blokes, who were clearly living their dream.
Police on motorbikes were intent on riding one-handed, and slapping palms with bystanders as they drove along. I shuddered to think what the outcry would be if an accident occurred during such a manoeuvre. I shuddered even more when one rider came weaving down the middle of the road at about 35mph, driving so erratically, and waving with one arm in massive arcs. He was the twattiest arse I've ever seen on a bike and was out of order. Anyone else would have been done for careless driving and fined to fuck!
The initial flurry of activity was followed by a severe lull in proceedings. One of the official cars had an A4 piece of paper in the back window, and writing that said: "Torch is 5 minutes away". This high tec communications system suggests to me that we are so ready to wow the world with the Olympics. I counted 21 motorbikes, and was going to work out what this was all costing us, but couldn't be arsed. There were half a dozen support vehicles that went past just before the runner arrived, and when he did, I realised it wasn't the same bloke shown on the official website. I watched the torch being moved along at about 3mph by a chubby chap in a white tracksuit and struggled to link these efforts before me with the worth 'athletic'. 30 seconds later he was out of sight, and I realised the cement mixer was not in the parade but was the first of the vehicles that had been inconvenienced by the road closure, and he headed another long convoy.
The dispersal was amusing, because everyone wanted to be happy and enthusiastic and chipper, but there was now nothing to be happy, enthusiastic or chipper about. There was, as a result, some forced chatter and goodwill that had nowhere to go, until such time as the people decided they did in fact have somewhere they could go, and went there. Anticlimax or what. Well, actually, from a personal perspective, it was not an anticlimax, because I expected a pointless load of shite and bollocks, and that's what I got. The whole parade was for the benefit of one entity only - the Police. Twenty-one motorbikes, two men-in-black, six other police vehicles (excluding the dog unit vehicle) and enough marshalls at the roadside to monitor a crowd at a football match - all in a stretch of road covering about 250 yards. I suspect I could have missed some other police input. I heard twenty different sirens/noises, and observed 5 policeman breaking the law on their motorbikes. The vicar smiled whilst high-fiving a copper on a bike, as a woman took a photo, no doubt destined for the parish newsletter or the local, monthly, glossy, expensive, pointless, council-produced, colour publication that includes a photo of the local MP each edition, a few quotes from him about how he's interested in everything and is doing everything, and a couple of pages of guff. The two policement in grey running gear seemed to be putting in a lot of effort, but I was (and remain) perplexed by their input. With dozens of police, barriers, marshalls, and vehicles, why did two policement have to run a hundred yards ahead of the fat bloke in the white tracksuit holding his arm up? Fucking pointless.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the whole fiasco is this - my final note, concerning the missing pelican crossing. I will not at this point go into too much detail, as I do not have the full facts and there has been insufficient time for the probable outcome to come about. I will therefore post a separate entry for the riddle of the missing pelican crossing. I am 99% certain that some cunt in the council decided to remove the pelican crossing for the torch relay, and put it back again afterwards. If this is the case, I will advise. Let's see what happens.
...
Up against the garden wall was a small mast secured to a post in our garden. We discovered this was to boost phone signals, and a chap responsible for this 'enhancement' was apparently setting them up along the route for the whole journey of the torch. It seemed a pointless and thankless undertaking. Grannies and grandchildren lined the street, and a few yards away was the local town hall warden, wearing her orange hi-viz sleeveless top, smiling enthusiastically and importantly. The cunting bunting left over from the Jubilee weekend was still in place on the Town Hall railings, attached in a haphazard way. Up the road (about 100 yards away) outside the Cunt-op was a hoard of people behind some temporary railings, all holding flags. Most were children. In the road was a unicyclist who juggled, although he may have been a juggler who unicycled. Luckily the road had been closed (supposedly) and just the occasional vehicle was coming through, probably a resident needing access. I discovered after the 'event' that there was supposed to have been 'other entertainment' to complement the torch bearer passing. The cycling juggler / juggling cyclist was that 'entertainment'. What a let-down.
As the arrival of the torch approached (scheduled for just after half past eight) the buzz grew. Then the bikes started to arrive. There is clearly a surfeit of policemen who ride motorbikes, because despite the economic challenges of present times, and the cutbacks to just about every service that exists, there seems to be no limit to the availability of cops on bikes, who have nothing to do and thus achieve nothing. The advance party included a coach, and open topped Samsung bus, a Coca Cola vehicle, and a lot of waving. The arrival of these vehicles was preceded by cops and their sirens creating the impression that the leaders of the world were on their way to a G20 summit, and just about to come past. Talk about overkill. I recall years ago that some people would have doorbells that played about 20 different tunes. Well, that same technology is in use today on police vehicles, and there appeared to be about 20 variations in the sirens and sounds emanating from bikes, vans and cars. Two coppers thought they were "Men In Black" as they drove their silver car and lapped up the attention of the crowds. It's amazing what all black dress, earpieces and dark glasses can do to two blokes, who were clearly living their dream.
Police on motorbikes were intent on riding one-handed, and slapping palms with bystanders as they drove along. I shuddered to think what the outcry would be if an accident occurred during such a manoeuvre. I shuddered even more when one rider came weaving down the middle of the road at about 35mph, driving so erratically, and waving with one arm in massive arcs. He was the twattiest arse I've ever seen on a bike and was out of order. Anyone else would have been done for careless driving and fined to fuck!
The initial flurry of activity was followed by a severe lull in proceedings. One of the official cars had an A4 piece of paper in the back window, and writing that said: "Torch is 5 minutes away". This high tec communications system suggests to me that we are so ready to wow the world with the Olympics. I counted 21 motorbikes, and was going to work out what this was all costing us, but couldn't be arsed. There were half a dozen support vehicles that went past just before the runner arrived, and when he did, I realised it wasn't the same bloke shown on the official website. I watched the torch being moved along at about 3mph by a chubby chap in a white tracksuit and struggled to link these efforts before me with the worth 'athletic'. 30 seconds later he was out of sight, and I realised the cement mixer was not in the parade but was the first of the vehicles that had been inconvenienced by the road closure, and he headed another long convoy.
The dispersal was amusing, because everyone wanted to be happy and enthusiastic and chipper, but there was now nothing to be happy, enthusiastic or chipper about. There was, as a result, some forced chatter and goodwill that had nowhere to go, until such time as the people decided they did in fact have somewhere they could go, and went there. Anticlimax or what. Well, actually, from a personal perspective, it was not an anticlimax, because I expected a pointless load of shite and bollocks, and that's what I got. The whole parade was for the benefit of one entity only - the Police. Twenty-one motorbikes, two men-in-black, six other police vehicles (excluding the dog unit vehicle) and enough marshalls at the roadside to monitor a crowd at a football match - all in a stretch of road covering about 250 yards. I suspect I could have missed some other police input. I heard twenty different sirens/noises, and observed 5 policeman breaking the law on their motorbikes. The vicar smiled whilst high-fiving a copper on a bike, as a woman took a photo, no doubt destined for the parish newsletter or the local, monthly, glossy, expensive, pointless, council-produced, colour publication that includes a photo of the local MP each edition, a few quotes from him about how he's interested in everything and is doing everything, and a couple of pages of guff. The two policement in grey running gear seemed to be putting in a lot of effort, but I was (and remain) perplexed by their input. With dozens of police, barriers, marshalls, and vehicles, why did two policement have to run a hundred yards ahead of the fat bloke in the white tracksuit holding his arm up? Fucking pointless.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the whole fiasco is this - my final note, concerning the missing pelican crossing. I will not at this point go into too much detail, as I do not have the full facts and there has been insufficient time for the probable outcome to come about. I will therefore post a separate entry for the riddle of the missing pelican crossing. I am 99% certain that some cunt in the council decided to remove the pelican crossing for the torch relay, and put it back again afterwards. If this is the case, I will advise. Let's see what happens.
...
Sunday, 17 June 2012
17.6.12 Plane Fatty
I understand that there are moves by 'politically correct' twats to outlaw the use of the term 'fat' to describe people who are fat, and to do away with the term 'obese' for people who are obese. So, what do we then call fat people? Greedy? Okay then, here's an example of someone who in my opinion is a bit too greedy for his own good, and the good of all those around him.
This is sheer lunacy. This bloke is having a serious effect on those around him, and I suspect he is not doing the seat much of a favour either. We hear so much about health and safety issues, and the stupidity with which supposed H&S worries are assessed. Yet this photo clearly shows the impossibility of passing this greedy individual. Cabin staff, people wanting to use the toilet, and anyone running for his/her life in an emergency - they are all compromised to fuck by this mountain. So, surely the airline has a responsibility to deny a seat (or three) to people this big? Let's face it, the cunts at the check-in desk will typically enjoy charging £50 for hand baggage when it is two inches too fat to go in the metal frame, and has to be diverted to the hold. So, why not the same rules for humans?
Let's have a fucking cage then, so that before boarding, people are expected to see if they fit. I am sure Michael O'Leary at Ryanair would be first to take up this approach, and I wouldn't actually blame him. My own encounters with greedy people on planes have been rather limited. The only real inconveience I've had was when sitting in the aisle seat and finding I'd been woken from my awful snooze by the hip and arse of a fat, sorry, greedy woman whose ability to move down the aisle was severely limited, and the 'tight fit' was akin to the tightness usually reserved for a plunger or syringe. How the fuck she managed to get in the aeroplane toilet cubicle, let alone sit on the loo, is one of the unanswered questions I carry with me. She was, however, good at ricking my shoulder, numbing my ear, and making me wake up thinking 'd just had a fucking stroke!
Anyway, the bloke in this picture is a risk to all passengers, and should be banned. Even if this photo is not actually 100% for real, it is still so relevenat because it clearly shows the issues that arise with ferrying people this big around the world.
...
This is sheer lunacy. This bloke is having a serious effect on those around him, and I suspect he is not doing the seat much of a favour either. We hear so much about health and safety issues, and the stupidity with which supposed H&S worries are assessed. Yet this photo clearly shows the impossibility of passing this greedy individual. Cabin staff, people wanting to use the toilet, and anyone running for his/her life in an emergency - they are all compromised to fuck by this mountain. So, surely the airline has a responsibility to deny a seat (or three) to people this big? Let's face it, the cunts at the check-in desk will typically enjoy charging £50 for hand baggage when it is two inches too fat to go in the metal frame, and has to be diverted to the hold. So, why not the same rules for humans?
Let's have a fucking cage then, so that before boarding, people are expected to see if they fit. I am sure Michael O'Leary at Ryanair would be first to take up this approach, and I wouldn't actually blame him. My own encounters with greedy people on planes have been rather limited. The only real inconveience I've had was when sitting in the aisle seat and finding I'd been woken from my awful snooze by the hip and arse of a fat, sorry, greedy woman whose ability to move down the aisle was severely limited, and the 'tight fit' was akin to the tightness usually reserved for a plunger or syringe. How the fuck she managed to get in the aeroplane toilet cubicle, let alone sit on the loo, is one of the unanswered questions I carry with me. She was, however, good at ricking my shoulder, numbing my ear, and making me wake up thinking 'd just had a fucking stroke!
Anyway, the bloke in this picture is a risk to all passengers, and should be banned. Even if this photo is not actually 100% for real, it is still so relevenat because it clearly shows the issues that arise with ferrying people this big around the world.
...
Saturday, 16 June 2012
16.6.12 Legal High
Apparently teenager Katie Wilson was crazed and wandering in Tesco giving serious cause for concern. She'd chewed a biro, making her teeth look black, and the cops who rushed to arrest her thought she was a heroin addict. She had taken "Benzo Fury", a so-called 'legal high' at a friend's flat, which she trashed and then stumbled up the road to cavort naked in Tesco. When the cops arrived, she kicked one in the face karate style, and booted a wing mirror on the police car before being led away handcuffed.
The most amazing aspect of this story is the line which says: Shop worker Katie describes herself as a respectable BMW driver. Have you ever heard such a pathetic and useless description of an individual?
She also has expressed (by way of a moan) something that marks her out as a rather deluded individual, saying: "I'm horrified the drug made me out to be something I'm not."
I am sorry, luv, but the drug didn't make you something you're not, as you are by definition a druggie. You are most definitely not a victim, you have no basis for moaning about the 'legal high' you took because it is well known they are dangerous and have weird (dangerous) effects, and no one takes a drug without wanting an effect. The packet states "Reseach Chemical Pellets - Not Fit For Human Consumption". By your own admission, you are a drug taker, and it's only a legal high because it has not yet been made illegal. Every substance that is banned is replaced by another that will in turn be banned. You were apparently horrified by what it made you do and look like - why? It seems to me that "Benzo Fury" did exactly what it said on the packet!
...
The most amazing aspect of this story is the line which says: Shop worker Katie describes herself as a respectable BMW driver. Have you ever heard such a pathetic and useless description of an individual?
She also has expressed (by way of a moan) something that marks her out as a rather deluded individual, saying: "I'm horrified the drug made me out to be something I'm not."
I am sorry, luv, but the drug didn't make you something you're not, as you are by definition a druggie. You are most definitely not a victim, you have no basis for moaning about the 'legal high' you took because it is well known they are dangerous and have weird (dangerous) effects, and no one takes a drug without wanting an effect. The packet states "Reseach Chemical Pellets - Not Fit For Human Consumption". By your own admission, you are a drug taker, and it's only a legal high because it has not yet been made illegal. Every substance that is banned is replaced by another that will in turn be banned. You were apparently horrified by what it made you do and look like - why? It seems to me that "Benzo Fury" did exactly what it said on the packet!
...
Friday, 15 June 2012
15.6.12 Speeding
It seems there are no lengths to which the government won't go to raise money, nor is there any limit to the number of times concerns over 'safety' can be used to justify money-grabbing measures. Driving fines are being raised - not by any small amount either. Considering the country is on its knees, wage increases are either exceedingly low or non-existent, and many have in fact lost their jobs, the fines for motorists will be rising by 50%. That's right, fifty fucking per cent!
£60 is apparently not enough for speeding, and fines for fixed penalty offences will soon be £90 instead. What's laughable is the input from the Road Safety Minister, Mike Penning, who said:
"We need to make sure penalties are set at reasonable levels, consistent with the potentially severe consequences of some infringements."
What complete and utter cunting bullshit! It's simply increasing motoring costs, as if fuel and insurance don't cost enough. I suspect that non-endorsable offences (such as having a broken light - now a £45 fine) will suddenly become more prevalent, as cops see easy ways to bring in more money. As for the speeding, well I am struggling to see how doing 45mph on a duel carriageway all of a sudden demands a £90 fine instead of £60 because its seriousness has grown overnight by 50%.
...
£60 is apparently not enough for speeding, and fines for fixed penalty offences will soon be £90 instead. What's laughable is the input from the Road Safety Minister, Mike Penning, who said:
"We need to make sure penalties are set at reasonable levels, consistent with the potentially severe consequences of some infringements."
What complete and utter cunting bullshit! It's simply increasing motoring costs, as if fuel and insurance don't cost enough. I suspect that non-endorsable offences (such as having a broken light - now a £45 fine) will suddenly become more prevalent, as cops see easy ways to bring in more money. As for the speeding, well I am struggling to see how doing 45mph on a duel carriageway all of a sudden demands a £90 fine instead of £60 because its seriousness has grown overnight by 50%.
...
15.6.12 Torch Bearers
I was curious to know who'd be carrying the torch in a few days, as the Olympic relay will be passing my front door shortly. Even TMWSC will show some mild interest considering the thing will be eight feet from my garden wall. I logged on to the London 2012 site, and the details of the route and torch bearers. I was able to learn about the person on this leg of the relay, and felt suitably informed. As a result, I was prompted to look at the other listings.
Now, we all know that the event was hijacked in the earliest stages by Will.i.am, because he was all over the knews, managed to be clueless about where he was (Taunton) and mispronounce the name, and he later appeared on The Voice waving the fucking torch all over the studio. His involvement defies the rules under which the honour of carrying it was to be bestowed on individuals. He is American (which isn't a crime, but this is the London Olympics and the torch relay is for British people to participate in) and he is certainly not qualified in terms of sport-related, youth-related, inspirational or anything else. His sole qualification for being given a leg of the journey was his public renown. The world is of course corrupt in so many different ways, and there are far worse things going on, but on principle, I think this demonstrates the obsession with 'celebrity' that dominates everything we see, hear, do and applaud.
I am aware, through newspaper pictures, that Emeli Sande completed one of the recent legs, and she may be British but, again, is a beneficiary through being a singer and a 'celebrity' rather than for proper reasons. I decided to look at their listings (hers and Will.i.am's) on the official site. Fuck me! Neither appears! I checked by name, location and date; nothing.
As bad, if not worse, was the inclusion in the Torch Relay of people who had in fact bought their way into consideration - well, via company sponsorship, anyway. So, instead of worthy individuals from around the UK being given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to run with the torch, we've had the General Manager of Intersport and the Product Director of Next completing legs. Talk about abuse, or do we now accept that we've sold out? Is the need to acknowledge sponsors and cater for corporate perks now a greater driving force than the spirit and history of the Olympics? Are we expected to accept that there will be an element of distastefulness associated with every endeavour because without sponsors we'd all be fucked? It would seem so. Sadly, there's nothing that's declared 'up front' these days, and we all find out after the event, and when it's too late to object. Things get 'sneaked through' and this is an example. To claim that a firm's manager or director (whose name was probably drawn from a hat in the boardroom) is someone who fits in with the ordinary people who inspire and work hard at local level is a sick joke. I am sorry, but if the person running past my house were an executive, I'd be heckling and protesting, banners and all!
My last word on this subject involves the plight of the runner who was removed from the schedule. Anyone seeing last week's newspapers may know the background. Christos Angelides (from Next) is probably a nice chap, and no doubt pleased with his £900,000 annual salary. Tom Foley from Intersport is perhaps equally affable. One of them (not sure which, but possibly Christos, as he is listed as a torchbearer on the official site) was given his place at the expense of James Taylor, a 17-year-old silver-medalist from the Youth Olympics, because of some sort of flimsy (hotly contested and inexplicable) excuse - background checks etc. - and there's a whiff of something about the affair. So, a businessman travels 40 miles from his home to run a mile in Stafford, while someone better qualified to participate is shunned. All a bit mysterious, eh? Call me a cynic, and I'll call you a cunt.
...
Now, we all know that the event was hijacked in the earliest stages by Will.i.am, because he was all over the knews, managed to be clueless about where he was (Taunton) and mispronounce the name, and he later appeared on The Voice waving the fucking torch all over the studio. His involvement defies the rules under which the honour of carrying it was to be bestowed on individuals. He is American (which isn't a crime, but this is the London Olympics and the torch relay is for British people to participate in) and he is certainly not qualified in terms of sport-related, youth-related, inspirational or anything else. His sole qualification for being given a leg of the journey was his public renown. The world is of course corrupt in so many different ways, and there are far worse things going on, but on principle, I think this demonstrates the obsession with 'celebrity' that dominates everything we see, hear, do and applaud.
I am aware, through newspaper pictures, that Emeli Sande completed one of the recent legs, and she may be British but, again, is a beneficiary through being a singer and a 'celebrity' rather than for proper reasons. I decided to look at their listings (hers and Will.i.am's) on the official site. Fuck me! Neither appears! I checked by name, location and date; nothing.
As bad, if not worse, was the inclusion in the Torch Relay of people who had in fact bought their way into consideration - well, via company sponsorship, anyway. So, instead of worthy individuals from around the UK being given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to run with the torch, we've had the General Manager of Intersport and the Product Director of Next completing legs. Talk about abuse, or do we now accept that we've sold out? Is the need to acknowledge sponsors and cater for corporate perks now a greater driving force than the spirit and history of the Olympics? Are we expected to accept that there will be an element of distastefulness associated with every endeavour because without sponsors we'd all be fucked? It would seem so. Sadly, there's nothing that's declared 'up front' these days, and we all find out after the event, and when it's too late to object. Things get 'sneaked through' and this is an example. To claim that a firm's manager or director (whose name was probably drawn from a hat in the boardroom) is someone who fits in with the ordinary people who inspire and work hard at local level is a sick joke. I am sorry, but if the person running past my house were an executive, I'd be heckling and protesting, banners and all!
My last word on this subject involves the plight of the runner who was removed from the schedule. Anyone seeing last week's newspapers may know the background. Christos Angelides (from Next) is probably a nice chap, and no doubt pleased with his £900,000 annual salary. Tom Foley from Intersport is perhaps equally affable. One of them (not sure which, but possibly Christos, as he is listed as a torchbearer on the official site) was given his place at the expense of James Taylor, a 17-year-old silver-medalist from the Youth Olympics, because of some sort of flimsy (hotly contested and inexplicable) excuse - background checks etc. - and there's a whiff of something about the affair. So, a businessman travels 40 miles from his home to run a mile in Stafford, while someone better qualified to participate is shunned. All a bit mysterious, eh? Call me a cynic, and I'll call you a cunt.
...
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
13.6.12 BBC Newsflash
BBC Coverage - observations on recent tactics by the CIC*
It's not really Fearne's fault. I happened to be watching the TV when she appeared during coverage of the Jubilee celebrations, and interviewed the second world war veteran. I say 'interviewed' in the sense that she asked him very briefly about something to which she already knew the answer (although she got his name wrong to start with!), and thus relayed to us details, getting an occasional nod from her subject.
"I believe this that and the other happened?" [Question mark optional, as irrelevant in real life]
"Yes, that's right."
"And then, you went hither, thither and back again!"
"I certainly did."
"That must have been very rewarding/exciting/surprising/dangerous/nerve wracking."
"Oh, it was."
I think you get the picture. As I said at the beginning, it's not Fearne's fault. Fearne is what she is, and she does what she does. There is a single side to her that affords a single approach, and the one size does not fit all. Why then did the BBC think it was appropriate to take her off 'backstage' duty, and away from dumbed-down chit chat with illiterate singers and fans? Someone must have decided to offer her a gig with some oldies, which just about sums up the approach she took in completing the task. The disrespectful style was, I suggest, not disrespect from Fearne herself, as I doubt she realised anything at all, but something the nation was forced to witness because of the mismatch. It's unfair to pick on Fearne for being given a job. Tess Daly was just as bad - actually, worse. John Sergeant was out of place, bumbling about on a bridge. In fact, the BBC seemed to have decided in the planning stage to get just about every camera-facing employee to 'do something' whether the styles of the individuals concerned were appropriate or not, and regardless of their capabilities.
I have just finished watching the BBC's coverage of the Germany v Holland match at the European Championships. It seems that it was not enough to have to endure input at some considerable length from Alan Hansen, Alan Shearer and Clarence Seedorf in terms of analysis after the game. They were of course prompted to fuck by Gary Lineker, who prodded the three of them way past their ability to contribute anything more at all without repetition, deviation or hesitation. He was like a cat pawing a dead or near-dead sparrow on your doorstep, in his efforts to try and eek out [eek (?) so perhaps a mouse then, rather than a sparrow] a conversation on a topic that was in fact a dead duck [wow, these metaphors are getting brilliantly mixed now!]. No, all this was not enough; despite the four overpaid presenters talking to death the performances of the teams in the 'group of death', and my being bored to death, we had to have extra comment and input 'from the touchline' with Jake Humphrey chatting with Martin Keown. There was of course no cunting point in their involvement, because the sparrow / mouse / duck was already a dead donkey, and there was nothing left to say. The setting was wonderfully appropriate, then, because there were no fans in the stadium, and they may just as well have been on a bit of grassy wasteland in Poland.
As an aside, I can forcefully recommend a brilliant site should you wish to further explore grass, wastelands, pastures, soils and topography in Poland. I would urge you to visit the wonderfully informative site, at: www.fao.org/ag/AGP/AGPC/doc/Counprof/Poland/Poland.htm
Back to the plot, and the complete lack of plot; the two of them stood chatting to each other, holding oversized microphones, and occasionally eyeing the camera because they knew we were listening in. After a pointless interchange, Jake turned to the camera and did NOT say:
"What the fuck am I doing here? I watch fast cars at weekends, and have no business talking to Martin whilst standing on the touchline of a deserted football pitch. The four of you in the studio have already killed the fucking subject, and you expect Martin to chat with me about a fucking dodo without repetition, deviation or hesitation?! Nicholas Parsons would be awarding points for correct challenges every 1.5 seconds, the exact equivalent of my attention span when Martin Keown is bloody speaking! Arghhhh! Couldn't you have got Fearne Cotton or Tess Daly to stand here and talk shite? I usually take shite only from David Coulthard and the little chap with the open shirts whose name escapes me . . . ah yes, that's it, Eddie Jordan. If I have to do this for two more weeks of the Euro and associate with dead ducks, mice, donkeys, sparrows and dodos, I might as well sign up for the fucking awful Springwatch shite. Holy cow!
It's a shame he didn't say all that because the entertainment factor would have been rather better than the reality. Roll on tomorrow's coverage of the football, and the amazing army of pundits and critics who tell us the cunting obvious.
Elsewhere, there are deluded people maintaining that the BBC is getting things right! The Director General is among those who are seriously struggling with reality. Mark Thompson maintains that the BBC's coverage of recent events was a success, and is living in cloud cuckoo land [oops, there's another bird reference] if he thinks we'll fall for that verdict. He's leaving his job after the Olympics, so clearly won't be admitting he's fucked anything up. I'm sure the coverage of the Olympics will show the BBC to be useless - unless it drafts in the army of 'faces' to give inane input, and then the BBC will not be 'useless' but fucking 'dire and shit'. Until then, I'll leave the BBC to feel pleased with itself over the failure of The Voice, which apparently was a resounding success (Yes, this really is the unbelievable claim being made by the Beeb!). The BBC1 Controller (Danny Cohen) has said:
"The Voice has broken all records for a new entertainment show on the BBC."
Now, if he'd stopped there, I'd have whole heartedly agreed with him. It did indeed break many records, for being shit, awful, smug, wankerish and pathetic, to levels not seen before, to give an overall outcome of 'ghastly'. But he didn't stop there - he carried on.
"I'm really proud of the coaches, artists and producers who have achieved this."
Well, in theory I can just about agree, in the context that these people most certainly did contribute to the shittiest show imaginable. Obviously the 'acts' or 'contestants' were misnamed as 'artists' all the way through the competition, to the annoyance of anyone with a pulse, but that aside, I am sure a great job was job by producers and the coaches, who together produced shit. Sadly the judges/coaches are not losing out on exposure, because we saw Jessie J at the Jubilee gig wailing her stuff, Tom Jones at the gig shouting his stuff, and sadly also Will.i.am who should be stuffed! As for Danny, he's bagged himself a new girlfriend, by all accounts, called Bo. Meanwhile, Leanne, who won the competition, sold a handful of records and never made the charts! Success? This show failed dismally. Never mind, it only cost the BBC (so us) £22million.
[ * CIC = Cunts In Charge ]
...
It's not really Fearne's fault. I happened to be watching the TV when she appeared during coverage of the Jubilee celebrations, and interviewed the second world war veteran. I say 'interviewed' in the sense that she asked him very briefly about something to which she already knew the answer (although she got his name wrong to start with!), and thus relayed to us details, getting an occasional nod from her subject.
"I believe this that and the other happened?" [Question mark optional, as irrelevant in real life]
"Yes, that's right."
"And then, you went hither, thither and back again!"
"I certainly did."
"That must have been very rewarding/exciting/surprising/dangerous/nerve wracking."
"Oh, it was."
I think you get the picture. As I said at the beginning, it's not Fearne's fault. Fearne is what she is, and she does what she does. There is a single side to her that affords a single approach, and the one size does not fit all. Why then did the BBC think it was appropriate to take her off 'backstage' duty, and away from dumbed-down chit chat with illiterate singers and fans? Someone must have decided to offer her a gig with some oldies, which just about sums up the approach she took in completing the task. The disrespectful style was, I suggest, not disrespect from Fearne herself, as I doubt she realised anything at all, but something the nation was forced to witness because of the mismatch. It's unfair to pick on Fearne for being given a job. Tess Daly was just as bad - actually, worse. John Sergeant was out of place, bumbling about on a bridge. In fact, the BBC seemed to have decided in the planning stage to get just about every camera-facing employee to 'do something' whether the styles of the individuals concerned were appropriate or not, and regardless of their capabilities.
I have just finished watching the BBC's coverage of the Germany v Holland match at the European Championships. It seems that it was not enough to have to endure input at some considerable length from Alan Hansen, Alan Shearer and Clarence Seedorf in terms of analysis after the game. They were of course prompted to fuck by Gary Lineker, who prodded the three of them way past their ability to contribute anything more at all without repetition, deviation or hesitation. He was like a cat pawing a dead or near-dead sparrow on your doorstep, in his efforts to try and eek out [eek (?) so perhaps a mouse then, rather than a sparrow] a conversation on a topic that was in fact a dead duck [wow, these metaphors are getting brilliantly mixed now!]. No, all this was not enough; despite the four overpaid presenters talking to death the performances of the teams in the 'group of death', and my being bored to death, we had to have extra comment and input 'from the touchline' with Jake Humphrey chatting with Martin Keown. There was of course no cunting point in their involvement, because the sparrow / mouse / duck was already a dead donkey, and there was nothing left to say. The setting was wonderfully appropriate, then, because there were no fans in the stadium, and they may just as well have been on a bit of grassy wasteland in Poland.
As an aside, I can forcefully recommend a brilliant site should you wish to further explore grass, wastelands, pastures, soils and topography in Poland. I would urge you to visit the wonderfully informative site, at: www.fao.org/ag/AGP/AGPC/doc/Counprof/Poland/Poland.htm
Back to the plot, and the complete lack of plot; the two of them stood chatting to each other, holding oversized microphones, and occasionally eyeing the camera because they knew we were listening in. After a pointless interchange, Jake turned to the camera and did NOT say:
"What the fuck am I doing here? I watch fast cars at weekends, and have no business talking to Martin whilst standing on the touchline of a deserted football pitch. The four of you in the studio have already killed the fucking subject, and you expect Martin to chat with me about a fucking dodo without repetition, deviation or hesitation?! Nicholas Parsons would be awarding points for correct challenges every 1.5 seconds, the exact equivalent of my attention span when Martin Keown is bloody speaking! Arghhhh! Couldn't you have got Fearne Cotton or Tess Daly to stand here and talk shite? I usually take shite only from David Coulthard and the little chap with the open shirts whose name escapes me . . . ah yes, that's it, Eddie Jordan. If I have to do this for two more weeks of the Euro and associate with dead ducks, mice, donkeys, sparrows and dodos, I might as well sign up for the fucking awful Springwatch shite. Holy cow!
It's a shame he didn't say all that because the entertainment factor would have been rather better than the reality. Roll on tomorrow's coverage of the football, and the amazing army of pundits and critics who tell us the cunting obvious.
Elsewhere, there are deluded people maintaining that the BBC is getting things right! The Director General is among those who are seriously struggling with reality. Mark Thompson maintains that the BBC's coverage of recent events was a success, and is living in cloud cuckoo land [oops, there's another bird reference] if he thinks we'll fall for that verdict. He's leaving his job after the Olympics, so clearly won't be admitting he's fucked anything up. I'm sure the coverage of the Olympics will show the BBC to be useless - unless it drafts in the army of 'faces' to give inane input, and then the BBC will not be 'useless' but fucking 'dire and shit'. Until then, I'll leave the BBC to feel pleased with itself over the failure of The Voice, which apparently was a resounding success (Yes, this really is the unbelievable claim being made by the Beeb!). The BBC1 Controller (Danny Cohen) has said:
"The Voice has broken all records for a new entertainment show on the BBC."
Now, if he'd stopped there, I'd have whole heartedly agreed with him. It did indeed break many records, for being shit, awful, smug, wankerish and pathetic, to levels not seen before, to give an overall outcome of 'ghastly'. But he didn't stop there - he carried on.
"I'm really proud of the coaches, artists and producers who have achieved this."
Well, in theory I can just about agree, in the context that these people most certainly did contribute to the shittiest show imaginable. Obviously the 'acts' or 'contestants' were misnamed as 'artists' all the way through the competition, to the annoyance of anyone with a pulse, but that aside, I am sure a great job was job by producers and the coaches, who together produced shit. Sadly the judges/coaches are not losing out on exposure, because we saw Jessie J at the Jubilee gig wailing her stuff, Tom Jones at the gig shouting his stuff, and sadly also Will.i.am who should be stuffed! As for Danny, he's bagged himself a new girlfriend, by all accounts, called Bo. Meanwhile, Leanne, who won the competition, sold a handful of records and never made the charts! Success? This show failed dismally. Never mind, it only cost the BBC (so us) £22million.
[ * CIC = Cunts In Charge ]
...
Tuesday, 12 June 2012
12.6.12 Asda Offer
Fucking madness, I say. Okay, I admit that I did not properly read the details on the ticket, and that it does say you need to present the original receipt. BUT, for fucks sake, Asda! The £5 voucher was hard enough to get hold of. Just over a week ago, after a hundred quid left my pocket, I was handed by the till operator a small piece of card, upon which were printed many many lines of small print, to explain the offer of a £5 voucher to be used against my next £40 shop. The terms were ludicrous and included all sorts of requirements as to the exclusions, and necessary make-up of the purchases in order that the 'shop' qualifies. I pocketed the long receipt and the printed guide.
At the weekend, I attempted to gain my voucher, following the instructions, entering till number, store number transaction number, the number of items not on display on the shelves through Asda being out of stock or choosing to boycott certain lines, and the time of purchase (to the fucking second). For the record, a whole pissing shelf of Oral-B toothpaste is overkill and biased as fuck, and the Freshmint Macleans toothpaste was nowhere. Anyway, after completing all the stages and entering my email address and real address, I was asked to print the fucking thing out - the £5 voucher. I have no printer attached to the laptop; I would have though one might be allowed to save the cunt? PDF? Aresholes.
Mrs MWSC obliged, and repeated all necessary steps (39 of them - equalling Richard Hannay's efforts in the novel) and presented me with the voucher, which I presented this evening at Asda. After a quick shop worth £123.81, I was miffed as cunting fuck to be told I needed to hand over the original receipt as well. My query resulted in some clarification; Mrs Checkout Operator [I know it's not her fault, and it's policy rather than her being a shit, but Jesus Christ!] said she needed to check the details of the voucher against the original receipt. What sort of cuntin shit is this? She needs to check that the numbers that I put in at the PC while online, in all the various boxes, taking reference from the till receipt which included details no cunt in the universe could have made up and got right bearing in mind one of the details was the fucking time of purchase down to the second, to make sure it's a valid transaction. The fucking computer managed all right on its own to do all this, luv! If I need to keep the original cuntin receipt, so she can look at all the details for comparison, why the fucking hell do I need to print the cunt off! Surely I can wave a receipt for £100 at her, and then point at the bill for this shop at another £123.81 and say "I claim my cuntin fiver!" Pathetic; Roll Back the prices (that's a lie) and at the same time Roll Back common sense and intellect. I waited for a few seconds, seriously - oh, so fucking seriously - considering walking off and leaving them to put away the decent sized but abandoned shopping order. I decided not to cut my nose off to spite my face.
I will not be shopping at Asda for the next eight weeks, during which time I would ordinarily have spent £500. I am quite sure this gesture will match in its futility -
a) the efforts of Kelly Brook to do anything of value/use
b) the efforts of Mark Wright to be worth watching on TV
c) my hope that Will.i.am won't
d) my dream that Halifax adverts will one day not feature fucking singing
e) an end to self-service checkouts
f) the demise of the Co-op
g) the charge of the Light Brigade
Still, I will get some small sense of satisfaction knowing that £500 is not in Asda's till because the stingy bastards made me go to all that effort before denying me my £5. Corporate cuntism.
Before I sign off, a final word on an item for sale labelled as "Swim Shorts". Fuck off, Asda. We do not have cycle shorts, run shorts, a carve knife, a jump bean - there's a fucking "ING" missing (well, plus another 'm') - Swimming.
...
At the weekend, I attempted to gain my voucher, following the instructions, entering till number, store number transaction number, the number of items not on display on the shelves through Asda being out of stock or choosing to boycott certain lines, and the time of purchase (to the fucking second). For the record, a whole pissing shelf of Oral-B toothpaste is overkill and biased as fuck, and the Freshmint Macleans toothpaste was nowhere. Anyway, after completing all the stages and entering my email address and real address, I was asked to print the fucking thing out - the £5 voucher. I have no printer attached to the laptop; I would have though one might be allowed to save the cunt? PDF? Aresholes.
Mrs MWSC obliged, and repeated all necessary steps (39 of them - equalling Richard Hannay's efforts in the novel) and presented me with the voucher, which I presented this evening at Asda. After a quick shop worth £123.81, I was miffed as cunting fuck to be told I needed to hand over the original receipt as well. My query resulted in some clarification; Mrs Checkout Operator [I know it's not her fault, and it's policy rather than her being a shit, but Jesus Christ!] said she needed to check the details of the voucher against the original receipt. What sort of cuntin shit is this? She needs to check that the numbers that I put in at the PC while online, in all the various boxes, taking reference from the till receipt which included details no cunt in the universe could have made up and got right bearing in mind one of the details was the fucking time of purchase down to the second, to make sure it's a valid transaction. The fucking computer managed all right on its own to do all this, luv! If I need to keep the original cuntin receipt, so she can look at all the details for comparison, why the fucking hell do I need to print the cunt off! Surely I can wave a receipt for £100 at her, and then point at the bill for this shop at another £123.81 and say "I claim my cuntin fiver!" Pathetic; Roll Back the prices (that's a lie) and at the same time Roll Back common sense and intellect. I waited for a few seconds, seriously - oh, so fucking seriously - considering walking off and leaving them to put away the decent sized but abandoned shopping order. I decided not to cut my nose off to spite my face.
I will not be shopping at Asda for the next eight weeks, during which time I would ordinarily have spent £500. I am quite sure this gesture will match in its futility -
a) the efforts of Kelly Brook to do anything of value/use
b) the efforts of Mark Wright to be worth watching on TV
c) my hope that Will.i.am won't
d) my dream that Halifax adverts will one day not feature fucking singing
e) an end to self-service checkouts
f) the demise of the Co-op
g) the charge of the Light Brigade
Still, I will get some small sense of satisfaction knowing that £500 is not in Asda's till because the stingy bastards made me go to all that effort before denying me my £5. Corporate cuntism.
Before I sign off, a final word on an item for sale labelled as "Swim Shorts". Fuck off, Asda. We do not have cycle shorts, run shorts, a carve knife, a jump bean - there's a fucking "ING" missing (well, plus another 'm') - Swimming.
...
Monday, 11 June 2012
11.6.12 France v England
The 1-1 draw was probably a reasonable result, and fair to both sides. As ever, watching was painful, as England players hung on for rather too long for the referee's final whistle. It wasn't a good game, but it was certainly impossible to guess the outcome right to the end, when it was always likely England would throw it away.
The fact that at times France had twelve players on the pitch was slightly frustrating. No, there was not a cock-up by the fourth official (or in fact any of the other six) but a certain leaning of the referee in favour of France. There were clear obstructions/barges by French players on both Gerrard and Johnson, and a few unpunished nudges. As ever, Ribery got away with a few misdemeanours.
Of all the players that England fans would like to see with an open net before them, James Milner is not one of them. Bad luck, therefore, that instead of Oxlade-Chamberlain or Ashley 'time to fall over' Young with a chance to slide the ball into the French goal, it was Milner and so the miss was inevitable.
My worry is that England players try to do things that continental players can do. When we stick to our ways, we have a reasonable chance. So, getting clever in defence and passing the ball around near our own goal should be avoided. Intricate passing and 'triangles' are not as necessary to us, so crossing and heading should be the way forward - we are unlikely to walk the ball into the opponents' goals.
I am not sure why is was deemed worthwhile to bring on Theo Walcott in injury time. That's right, after ninety minutes and five seconds, he jogged on to the pitch for the three minutes of boring injury time play, touching the ball once. Pointless.
Commentary
...
The fact that at times France had twelve players on the pitch was slightly frustrating. No, there was not a cock-up by the fourth official (or in fact any of the other six) but a certain leaning of the referee in favour of France. There were clear obstructions/barges by French players on both Gerrard and Johnson, and a few unpunished nudges. As ever, Ribery got away with a few misdemeanours.
Of all the players that England fans would like to see with an open net before them, James Milner is not one of them. Bad luck, therefore, that instead of Oxlade-Chamberlain or Ashley 'time to fall over' Young with a chance to slide the ball into the French goal, it was Milner and so the miss was inevitable.
My worry is that England players try to do things that continental players can do. When we stick to our ways, we have a reasonable chance. So, getting clever in defence and passing the ball around near our own goal should be avoided. Intricate passing and 'triangles' are not as necessary to us, so crossing and heading should be the way forward - we are unlikely to walk the ball into the opponents' goals.
I am not sure why is was deemed worthwhile to bring on Theo Walcott in injury time. That's right, after ninety minutes and five seconds, he jogged on to the pitch for the three minutes of boring injury time play, touching the ball once. Pointless.
Commentary
- "Let's give a lot of quality to the finish" [Andy Townsend, ref Nasri]
- "A goal that raised serious question marks" [Clive Tyldesley, suggesting that punctuation marks can now have an inherent level of seriousness]
...
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