Football and enjoyment
The whole thing never ends. The circular nature of it reduces everything to absurd highs and lows, nullified by the reset button every August. It might be worth it, but given the look on the faces of the crowd, the sorry partisanship in Genk last night, and the sheer volume of stuff we’re having to deal with these days, it’s hard to make a positive decision. Here’s an idea, next season, we have a fallow season – a footballing shmita, if you like. We read, eat, drink and maybe even enjoy ourselves, and take the year after to take football back into our lives on our own term. The black dog needs to go, preferably drowned in gin.
At last, cricket has done something about the dishonesty that’s diluted it for so long – though the instigators and their muscle stroll on. But still, it’d be nice if other sports did the same: tennis, I’m looking at you.
An Idiot at Home
What on earth is the attraction in watching a mate of Ricky Gervais deliberately contrive to act like as much of a deliberately contrived ingrate bore of a davkanik phony as possible, while Gervais and sidekick snigger at the sheer hilarity of it all?
Hentai and MMA
According to Carol McGiffin – she’s in Loose Women, apparently, and is quoted in today’s Guardian – “a lot of people would be surprised at what is watched by members of the royal household.” Now, before your imagination strays giraffe pornwards, consider: who could possibly be surprised that folk with nothing to do and no living to earn watch a lot of telly?
The Aviation. Gin, maraschino liqueur, creme de violette, and lemon juice. The Aviation.