In the early days of social networking, my attempts to integrate with the indigenous fauna were laughable. I had tweets regarding biscuits, work dross & morose bobbins. Mostly though, I was on a warpath with morons who were bastardizing the English written word. The Queens English being repeatedly punched full force in the face, like Dale Winton Vs Mike Tyson in his pomp. I took to the cyber-streets, criticizing unwanted abbreviations &; giving typed lashings to vagabonds who fell into the snare of internet-speak. ROFLMAO my fucking ballbag. Continue reading Define a Legend….→
The sunlight dappled through the phalanx of trees that formed the head of the garden. The beams of leaf-filtered photons then hit the exquisitely transparent french windows and proceeded to illuminate the room that was housed within. The owner of the aforementioned room obviously had done their research on interior design, the sunshine expanded the dimensions of the lightly painted walls and fill the cavernous room with a sense of cheer. Continue reading Wenger Regrets.→
Knowing three weeks beforehand that you are going to meet one of your heroes requires a certain taciturn approach. Which is difficult for me seeing as I effervesce to anyone whenever I’ve just had a particularly tasty Scotch Egg – nevermind coming face to face and interviewing someone who I revered from afar.
I held it together and grimly counted down the days until Ray Parlour Day. If you read the previous installment then you will be well aware that much hilarity ensued and a good time was had by all. The real substance though, the yolk of the egg ( why do I keep mentioning eggs? ), the jam in the Jammie Dodger though – is the interview with the man himself. Continue reading Ray Parlour Interview→
My normal approach to blogging is somewhat akin to throwing darts at words that are written on scraps of paper and placed randomly on a dartboard. I’m then blindfolded. Then spun around 13 times until nausea kicks in. This story I’m about to tell you though, deserves better than my meandering prose. Those that are familiar will realise it is ironically just as much about missed chances as it is chances taken. Those that are not aware of this tale of glory and utter tragedy, like myself before last week, I hope to enrich your minds and raise awareness of a player that never got the opportunity to flower into the wonderful talent he so clearly evidenced. This is about the book ‘ Stuck in a Moment: The Ballad of Paul Vaessen ‘. Continue reading Paul Vaessen – Stuck In a Moment→
Two matches attended in one week. Whilst my wallet has felt the pinch, every time you ascend the stairs and the pitch comes into view, the last thing on your mind is whether you have the spare £50 to buy your niece the latest useless piece of One Direction paraphernalia. No matter how often you’re exposed to the wonderful sight of The Emirates carpet and each stand as they rise to your eyeline, the impact is not dimmed. Continue reading Matchday Vs Southampton→
I’ve been sans phone for a week. Phoneless. Without my sleek, metallic, personality-bereft friend. No bulky weight in my pocket ( easy ladies! ) to remind me of the exciting potential & window of wonder that is my mobile. It has been ridiculously tough. Why? I hear you cry in your sarcastic, I really-don’t-care, tone. Well, I’ll tell you. I’m a 20-a-day smoker. I used to be 6″4 before I started ( Zing! ), but seriously, I do enjoy a cigarette. I’ve found though, that the nicotine hit that is supplied by these small, pencil-sized cancer bringers is supplemented by my phone. Hold your equine-based creatures for an iota. Not for a second am I suggesting that phones are the harbingers of death, oh no, we let The Big Guy decide all that stuff. No, what I was trying to say, is that the feeling that is supplied by the cigarette & it’s combo of noxious chemicals is aided, boosted, by my phone in my hand. Continue reading Life without Arsenal→
It would seem every decision that Arsene Wenger makes is being scrutinised more than a Bolivian coming through customs. Defensive tactics, team-sheets, training methods. Hell, if he were to champion the virtues of penicillin, there would be a smattering of naysayers who would outline the benefits of holistic healing rather than conventional medicine. At this present moment in time, for a large portion of Gooners he is the fulcrum of our problems this season.
You could say he has brought this upon himself. It wouldn’t be unduly negative to highlight our weakness facing counter-attacking opposition to showcase that some chinks in our armour haven’t been addressed. Cynicism though, is like bacteria. It spreads and affects all it touches. No one has been immune to this. Even the staunchest of Arsene aficionado’s have courted the dark side this season. Continue reading Chambers and The Ox→
Picture the scene; I was ambling along my routine days path, sipping on a jug of gravy whilst ruminating on whether or not I could get away clean from a heist on Piebury Corner, when an unremarkable man clad in a trenchcoat and shades sat next to me. No words. I was startled but my needy nature meant I was more than pleased to finally have a companion to exchange opinions with and train my hamster army. The clandestine man put a briefcase on the table, the metal clasps snapping open efficiently. He removed a padded envelope with no markings on it whatsoever. It was at this time the enigma uttered his only words. ” The Red Fox only consumes the contents of a single wheelie bin “. With this, he closed the case, stood up sharply and left the scene abruptly, rendering me quizzical but also slightly sad that my potential Sargeant of the 1st Corps of Hamsters had gone. What might have been. Continue reading Carl Jenkinson’s Diary→
” Hi there, welcome to BLIND DATE!!!! Here is your host, Miss CILLA BLAAAAAACCCKKK!!! ”
” Awright chucks, it’s Cilla ‘ere! We’ve got a fantastic show for you tonight with a lorra laughs and hopefully a lorra love! First off though, let’s meet our contestant shall we? ”
I’ve found it difficult to start this blog. I’m not writing about a certain player, or infuriating media bias or even emotionally fuelled nonsense, which is a speciality. The subject of this piece is something that a churlish, phlegmatic approach is not respectful enough, nay, wouldn’t be fit enough to lace Mickey Thomas’s boots. I need to don the white gloves, lower the harsh, fluorescent lights and type in hushed taps. This event deserves revered glances, the best seats in the house. If it were a celebrity it would undoubtedly have a ‘ An Audience With ‘ show on PrimeTime TV, the crowd filled with the Hoi-Palloi of acting talent. Continue reading Anfield ’89 – the Greatest of our Triumphs?→