The BBC condescending? Shurely shome mishtake

I couldn't help but chuckle when I read this quote from Thurrock (nee Purfleet ie the hotel team) manager Colin McBride.

'I don't like the [BBC FA Cup] coverage - it's condescending. I work on an oil refinery and I got home at 4.30am. I had caustic burns on my face and then I am described as dishevelled - which means I'm unkempt and I don't wash.

I don't like that sort of thing. I've got a wardrobe full of Hugo Boss suits like anyone else so I think they are condescending to the little people in football.

Television makes a joke of non-league football. I believe the people I work with love football more than the pros because some of them are only in it for the money. We have helpers here who don't even get expenses. They're real football people to me and the television personalities just try and mug us off.'

Apart from questioning his assertion that all non-league players are doing it for the love of football rather than money (I won't bore you with the long list of journeymen footballers who have passed through the realms of Champion Hill and Dulwich Hamlet blatantly doing it for nothing else) and what world it is he lives in where everyone has a wardrobe full of Hugo Boss suits, I have to agree with a lot of the sentiment.

I know I'm not the only non-league fan who gets sick and tired of the stereotypical TV comments each year round in the FA Cup. 'Plucky little (insert non-league club of your choice)' when playing a team 92nd in the professional world (excluding of course the various teams in the upper echelons of the non-league world who are professional). Such and such made up of 'a builder, an electrician and a milkman' taking on the might of Torquay Utd. Whilst I accept that they're likely to be in awe of Manchester United, Arsenal et al, why would they necessarily be in awe of Torquay or anyone else for that matter inhabiting the lower echelons of the football league? Particularly when a number of them, supplemented by their non-league wage, will be making vastly more than the professional counterparts?

Either way, its the attitude of the commentators that really bugs me. So damn patronising towards clubs that are often more professionally run than their opponents (I'm afraid I must exclude Dulwich from that category.) And I'm afraid to say that attitude towards non-league teams tends to permeate amongst league supporters as well. Although that's not necessarily a bad thing as I will explain.

Imagine you're playing for Dulwich Hamlet Supporters' against say for example, picked completely at random, Charlton Athletic. Except they can't get a team together. And they then claim that because we only have 200 odd fans half of whom are over 70, its easier to arrange than getting 11 players from 20,000 supporters. It doesn't half make for some good wind ups on their message board.

Or, lets say you beat a team such as west ham 2-1 away at Hackney Marshes. Stick that up your patronising 'big-boy' arses (although to be fair to the 'unhappy hammers' they were one of the best teams attitude wise we played). Or you thrash a team that think they're big, such as Dons Trust (owners of AFC Wimbledon and 2-3000 fans to pick from) 6-1. It is so satisfying to hear the excuses as they just can't believe it. 'Worst pitch we've ever played on'. 'Dirtiest team we've played'. 'Niggly game'. Ho ho ho. You don't even have to try and wind them up. And the best bit is we're in a no-lose situation - after all 'we're just a plucky little non-league team with less than 200 fans to pick from'.

My favorite moment was though when we played in the excellent Cambridge Fans United tournament this August just gone. We came up against the recently relegated Carlisle in the last game. Being privilieged enough to be captain, I made the quip to theirs that it was good to finish the tournament against 'another plucky little non-league team, just like us'. If looks could kill, I wouldn't be typing this now. But a 'big' team fallen on hard times is never nice. Unless they don't accept it, because it gives the rest of us lots of nice wind up material! Roll on this Saturday v Dons Trust.

In the quiet time (and vaguely related to the post below)

I've never really been one for sitting still in contemplation - too busy, people to see, places to go! But I've recently started this meditation course run by these people and am massively feeling the benefits.

My head has always been this jumble of thoughts that I invariably acted on unless some emotion was even stronger, in which case I acted on that instead (fear was the usual one here). One of 'dreams' has always been to be absent of this - a settled mind, with balanced emotions. I have no idea if anyone else has this, and don't really care. I just know that I would likeit.

And Ihaven't quite got there yet. But I do, following a couple of weeks of consistent meditation (10 minutes morning and evening), appear to have quietened my mind somewhat and be more relaxed generally. Which, for me, is amazing.

I've also started attending something called spiritual healing (which is a] as kooky as it sounds and b] great). You sit there, the healer does arelaxation exercise to get you in state (which isgreat on its own incidentally - I can't recommend it highly enough) and then, basically, hlds their hands round you for twenty minutes, and then brings you out of the trance (not quite the right word as you'e aware of everything going on but the best I can think of). Its fantastic. When I saw what it was, I thought it looked ridiculous but figured I couldn't criticise until I gave it a go. And I'm very glad I did.

The theory is that we're all connected by certain energies, and that the secret to health (and everything else) is to have an abundance of positive, rather than negative, energies within you. The 'Spiritual healers' are meant to be able to draw the negative and infuse the positive (or something like that). I've no idea whether the theory stands up or not (although there have been some physics discoveries backing it up recently) but I do know that Ifeel fantastic when its over. And during it is good as well. You know that feeling when you're about to doze off - aware of whats going on around you, but not involved and completely relaxed? It's like that, but without the subsequent dozing off. And I get a definite tingly effect just outside of my body which I can't really describe. Either way, I love it.

I woulthoroughly recommend both meditation and spiritual healing to everyone and anyone. No doubt some of you will scoff without trying it, but hey ho, its done wonders for me.

Inventory

I've just started on an inventory of myself. I've done something similar in the past, but have remembered loads more since and have decided to do a more thorough one.

It involves me writing down all the resentments and fears I've had or got, writing down how it affects me, and any harm I caused as a result of those fears and resentments. I'll then tell someone.

Why am I doing it? It comes down to something I wrote about alot earlier in this (recently non-existant) blog. I believe we're either growing or slowly dying. I've written before about the extremes of my emotions which have recently led me to do some stupid things that has hurt the one person I really should be striving not to hurt.

And whilst I now believe Ihave a basic understanding of what it is that drives me, I also think there is a lot more to learn. And until I have learnt it I'll just keep repeating the same patterns. A couple of friends and family have suggested I need to stop worrying about it, the past is the past etc. They're probably right. But until I work out what it is that drove me to act in the way I have all my life, it won't be in the past because it'll keep happening.

I'm also going through this Tony Robbins course which I am finding helpful (there should be a banner for it a seminar he's doing next year at somepoint soon - please click on it if you're interested as I'm attempting to get some commission!). As I work through it, and continue to learn from other people and relate it to my own experiences, I am gradually beginning to discover a (my) purpose for being here. Which is a nice feeling to have when I've felt directionless since the word go, and set apart from everything. I realise I'm not the only one, but I can't do anything about anyone elses feelings like that. I can change my own.

Gradually I think I may just about be getting to be vaguely happy with the way my life, relationships and beliefs are going. And I plan to makeit continue that way.

Third penalty save of the year ...

In a shameless plug for my new found penalty saving ability, Iwould like to let you all know that I have now got a 60% success rate (excluding penalty shoot-outs) of saving penalties this year, following yet another stunner on Saturday playing in the London Commercial League.

This followed on from the excellent saves for Dulwich Hamlet Supporters' Team earlier this year, only to be let down by a non-existant defence on each occasion. However, I'm pleased to report that the Travaux defence was somewhat more alert (not that it mattered as I put the ball out for a corner) and my save contributed to an excellent victory to put us (I think) third in the table.

Boasting? Moi?

I've started again

Well, I've decided to start this bogging lark again after a month or so's break. Lots of reasons why I stopped which I may go into at some point if the mood takes me. Look forward to blogging with you all once more.

Captain Dimwit

Apparently next to the word stupidity their is the simple definition 'to do a Beckham' in the Oxford English these days. Why?

Because he comes out with this. For one thing, is he saying he intentionally tried to hurt Ben Thatcher? Whilst he may not be directly, to deliberately foul someone in the manner he did, its conceivable. Secondly, what in goldenballs hell does he think he is doing, announcing to the world that he got booked deliberately. 'People don't think I have the brains to think of things like that'. Your decision to announce it shows why. Why would you do that? Why? Why? Why? Cretin.

Personally, I think Sven should strip him of the captaincy, ban him for four games and then drop him if the replacements prove themselves worthy. If nothing else, he's bringing the game into some hefty disrepute just as any scandals were dying down. If anyone disagrees, please do let me know why cos I am at a lost.

Death of a hero

As you will have picked up from the piss poor little missives below, I became aware of Christopher Reeve's death earlier today (or technically yesterday but as I've yet to go to bed, it's today).

Reeve has, of course, been immortalised by his playing of Superman. I grew up with those films. They were, from my world view at the time, stunning. I used to want to be Superman (I quickly grew out of it though when I realised it involved the wearing of tights).

But the point of this little missive is what he has done since. As you'll no doubt all know, following a fall off a horse, he was completely paralysed. Most would have felt sorry for themselves, and perhaps stewed in their own misfortune - I have a horrible feeling that would be my reaction. He didn't. He became a tireless campaigner in favour of Stem Cell research which has the potential to save millions of lives if the evangelist religious (and predominantly Christian) lobby get over themselves (yes, I am biased in this having had a Grandfather die of Parkinsons. And yes, I appreciate that some have some very strong moral views against the development of this treatment. But they should still get over themselves and recognise the power for good this particular bit of science has the potential to, and will, be).

There will no doubt be some cynics who will say that he only did what he did for self interest - he wasn't interested in it before his accident. True. But he had no reason to have heard about it before - it was little known 10 years ago and, partly as a result of the efforts of Reeve and the like, is now far more of an issue.

But perhaps the best way of summing up my respect for the man is to say that his work whilst alive will probably save more lives than he ever did as Superman in his films.

RIP Christopher Reeve - one of the few men outside the immediate sphere of my own life I truly respect.

Ode to Superman #2

You fell off a horse
so you couldn't fly or walk
then you campaigned for treatment
for people with serious disability

Now you're dead
but not because of kryponite

Ode to Superman

You flew around the world
and made time go backwards
Kryptonite weakened you
and Lex Luther fought you

but you won everytime
because thats Hollywood.

Confusion

As I write I am not sure what I am going to say. I am a mix of emotions right at this minute, love, lust, anger, sadness, excitement, anticipation, affection, but most of all confusion.

I've had a slightly nagging feeling all day that something isn't quite right. What it is I couldn't tell you, but it's been slowly nagging away since Sunday evening and its turned into something of a tidal wave over the last few hours.

I have had an ok day. Having finished work I met with a fellow AA'er for coffee and a chat. I always enjoy the identification I get with someone else in recovery and this was no exception. I then went to see Dulwich Hamlet score their second league win of the season with a competant performance against the fallen Swans of Walton and Hersham (who should be banned until they get a proper stadium sans atletics track in my view).

I got the train home with one of my closest friends and we got talking about a bunch of stuff somewhat unexpected. I only really have in my life four (or possibly five) who I would call friends as opposed to people I know - people who I can tell just about anything to and not fear condemnation, judgement or gossip. I value them and genuinely hope I have them forever. I went for a meal with another of them a few nights ago, and we got talking about friends, as opposed to 'acquaintances'. It dawned on me that I have lost too many people I was proud to call friends in the past because of a lack of effort on my part. I hope I don't do it again.

I am confused about my life - I want things to happen now. My life is changing due to some actions I am putting in, but as ever I want the result NOW! Tomorrow is never quick enough. I will be watching this - in the past I have done some bloody stupid things in the constant search for attention and excitement that equalled my life until approximately 10 months ago. Some of them hurt people, sometimes just myself. Either way, I am determined not to act out just because I need to develop patience.

I am finding my feelings towards others in my life are somewhat confused at the moment as well. With one person in particular I do not know what to do or how to respond. Perhaps I will learn the skill of appropriate compassion at some point. One thing I do know is that life, apart from being for living, is one big learning curve. I do believe that my purpose on this earth is not to wallow in my own self-pity, but to get a connection with myself, others and God and that the more I am able to do that he more fulfilled I will be. I just don't appear to be very good at it as of yet.

Hmmm. Not sure where that lot came from. Better out than in. Big shout out to all my friends.

Mind the Doors ...

A small footnote to the 'exciting' story of my trip to Milton Keynes. Whilst travelling from London Bridge to Euston on the tube, our train was delayed for a minute or so.

Hardly an unusual occurence you may think. Except that this time it was because some dozy scowling (and subsequently red-faced) bint from North London had got her arm and leg caught in the door of our carriage. It was most amusing. You had the driver announcing 'Please remove yourself, we can't go until you do', (Not true in my view, although whether the fact I had a train to catch really necesitates the dragging of a somewhat annoying but essentially innocent woman through the underground tunnels at high speed is another matter).

Whilst myself, GawBlimeyGuv and Cleopatra sat there pissing ourselves at the sight of this woman's arm and leg frantically waving up and down on the inside of the carriage, some other altogether more civic minded fellow opened the doors for her. Only for her to go tumbling backwards on to the platform. Cue more wetting of pants.

Having got on the train, the driver then went on a mission to ensure ultimate embarrassment. 'Please make sure you board and exit the train properly. It is not helpful to have spare limbs in the door.' 'Entering the train is not a difficult task. Please do so with the minimum of fuss.' And my personal favourite 'Will the dozy tart who clearly does not have full control over her limbs please ensure that she is helped off the train so as to minimise disruption for other passengers and to minimise stupidity on the underground'. (You can decide for yourself whether it was actually said or not).

The icing on this particularly hilarious cake was though undoutedly the comment made as she left the train. 'Mind the Doors' as she stepped off, only to throw a particularly nasty glance towards that scourge of fools GawBlimey. I salute you sir - it made my day (until it was ruined by that twat of a ref mind).

Thunder? Milton Keynes Cheaters more like

Having not been to Ice Hockey for donkeys years, I took the opportunity of a free Sunday to partake in a trip to Milton Keynes to watch the Streatham Redskins play against Milton Keynes Thunder.

It was a good day all round. Having met up with a mate in Victoria, we proceeded to Nunhead for a MAD Pride gig and to meet another mate. Whilst there, GawBlimeyGuv insisted on getting one of each type of madarthouse (or some such) badges that were on display, as well as avoiding the strange looking bloke who sat opposite us. He scared the bejeesus out of me, let me tell you. About 80 years old, with a bald pate to compare with Bobby Charlton's, and an insistence on coming out with various utternaces at the top of his voice. Still, he was harmless enough once you got used to him. He did enjoy his Guiness as well.

Anyway, quickly moving on and after a mad dash for the bus, we found ourselves at Euston station. For some reason a Silverlink return from Euston to MK is cheaper, than a return with a Goldcard (ie a third off) from the edge of Zone 6. Still don't know why. But hey ho. Boarding the 5.09 train, we settled in for a quiet read of the papers on our trip. Or so we thought. But in fact we were accosted by a bunch of ra ra's on the way home from some rugby union game or another singing the entire way (although it was quite entertaining).

'My girlfriend is a vegetable, she's kept alive by a machine, and I would give anything to keep her aliiiiivvvvveeeeeeer. She think's she is being fed, she is really giving head. She think she is on a drip. It's really a greasy chip'. I could be remembering this wrong you appreciate.

The funniest moment was probably when they launched into Delilah with particular emphasis on a Ha ha ha. Or perhaps when Cleopatra announced she was from 'Sarf Laaannnnddon' only to have it pointed out to her that just two minutes previous her voice had an entirely posher twang (quite right you faux pas Londoner - and I want to hear nothing about me being born in France). Either way, a lot more entertaining than was expected.

And so to the Ice Hockey. Having launched into a 3-0 lead Streatham had been pegged back to 3-2 when the most outrageous decision since Vosper refereed at Walton v Dulwich came about. The puck landed on top of the goal. No home player celebrated a goal - in fact they continued playing. The goal judge from the home side said it WASN'T a goal. No-one in the entire rink suggested it was a goal. Apart from the twat of a ref. Having rushed round to spank the goal judge, only to discover the ref was to blame, the Streatham contingent were besides themselves. If MK were a proper team they should have had the decency to simply let Streatham score. Neither the ref, and NONE of the home team had the gall to walk into the bar afterwards. The ref even had to be escorted to a side exit to avoid the baying masses. Sometimes these people are just beyond belief.

I enjoyed myself though. I ended up kipping in a flat in Kennington, regularly waking to the screams of a baby, having decided we were too tired to watch a DVD. And I still haven't gotten over how crap the ref was. Bastard.

For further missives on Streatham go to Crap Match Reports.

'If music be the food of love, play on' (but not in India please)

Being the cultured soul I am, I took Mrs Madge to see Twelth Night by one William Shakespeare on Friday night. I quite like Shakespeare. He's funny and tragic in turns, and surprisingly relevant in places today.

However, for some reason the version of it currently being shown at the Albery Theatre has been transposed on to an Indian setting. Can anyone tell me why? According to the programme 'Shakespeare's play, with its lavish storyline and blah blah, wank, wank fits in with the Indian culture in a way that blah, blah, wank, wank' (I paraphrase only slightly).

I'd never seen Twelfth Night performed before, and I have to say the script and the acting was first rate - very amusing and the timing for some of the gags was superb. Shereen Martineau as Viola (who had to pretend to be a bloke for most of it) was outstanding (I'm typing this at work so don't have her name to hand). But why India? It added nothing at all. There was very little to bring the Indian culture to life in it (apart from the odd costume here or there) and it just felt like a gimmick.

If any critic out there would like to enlighten me as to the thinking behind it I'd be grateful. Despite this, incidentally, I would recommend the play to anyone. One of his best methinks.

Why bother with England?

For all those who were at the Hamlet on Saturday and chose to stay in the bar to watch the England game, I would like to officially denounce you as fools.

The reason? Dulwich Hamlet Reserves 10 (TEN) v 0 AFC Wallingford reserves.

I appreciate that for most a DHFC reserve team game is not the pinnacle of football, but how often do you get to see a team in pink 'n' blue reach double figures? I have a horrible feeling we're going to have to witness it against us this Saturday against moneybags Hornchurch in the FA Cup, so those of you who didn't take the welcome antidote of seeing the reserves do it last Saturday? FOOLS, I tell you, FOOLS.

(And a big shout to the AFC Wallingford 'keeper for keeping us so heartily entertained all afternoon with his comical keeping. I don't think he was used to getting laughed at by the crowd ...)

I really hope this is true

Just found the following story on Alexa's blog. Good Lord I hope its true although I have my doubts. The blog is well worth a visit if you have the time. Most enlightening.

'My cousin Walter jerked off in public once. True story. He was on a plane to New Mexico when all of the sudden the hydraulics went. The plane started spinning around, going out of control, so he decides it's all over and whips it out and starts beating it right there. So all the other passengers take a cue from him and they start whipping it out and beating like mad. So all the passengers are beating off, plummeting to their certain doom, when all of the sudden, *Snap* the hydraulics kick back in. The plane rights itself and it lands safely and everyone puts their pieces or, whatever, you know, away and deboard. No one mentions the phenomenon to anyone else.'

More wanky introspection I'm afraid

but I hope a bit better than the morass of self pity I seemed to be inclined to spout at this time yesterday morning. It was all very genuine when I wrote it, but as I'm feeling loads better (as I predicted *smiles in a particularly smug and happy way*) it does seem a little bit embarrassing to read back - still, the point of this blog is an attempt at honesty so I shouldn't mock myself too much.

Anyway, I'm actually quite pleased I had my little self-pity party yesterday. It has reminded me why I don't want to be like that - I'd got a little bit complacent with my emotional and mental well-being recently - I've made a conscious choice not to take medication (partly cos it never does, for me, what it's supposed to, and partly because I am conscious of what my problem is now and how to deal with, and to not do so is, for me, a cop out). A chat with a very good friend earlier also helped put things in perspective as well.

Sometimes it takes desperate times to take action. I've lost count of the amount of times anger has driven me to give that extra 10% (particularly on the football pitch for some reason. I never usually retaliate as such but try that little bit harder). If you get desperate enough, if something becomes unacceptable to you that is what will make you want to change it. To say 'Never again'. I espoused a similar theory on money earlier in this blog, but I think it applies to everything. It was only when the drinking became desperate that I was willing to take any action to stop. It was only when I became desperate enough that I was willing to take any action to change the way I felt.

I also posited earlier about goals I set. The only thing that got me to those was I was no longer willing to accept the aimless drift my life was taking. All of a sudden, I've booked myself for an intensive 'learn to surf' weekend next May (learning to surf has been an ambition of mine since I can remember), I'm in the process of sorting out sponsorship for a parachute jump, and I'm exploring various options to start my own business, be a cartoonist and a whole variety of other things. I'm even getting up most mornings (bar the patheticness I had on Tuesday of course!) to exercise and go for a walk in the countryside I'm lucky enough to live close to. Why? Because I got desperate enough.

Thanks to those of you who spoke to me the other night (even if you didn't know how I was feeling), or left messages below. Your friendship/support is invaluable to me.

Masturbation, washing up and a black bin liner ...

What more could you want from a piece of art eh? You make an appointment, wander into two identical houses (alone, and get a glimpse into a miserable existence (although personally I'm not convinced having a sneaky one in the shower is that disturbing).

I do wonder as to the purpose of it though. I've never really been one for looking too deeply at the meaning of a particular piece of art. For one thing, what it means to the artist is inevitably different to what it means to someone else. And its caught up with your background and experiences. For example, I suspect the Queen would have a very different view of this piece of art to that from someone living on the streets. In any case, I can happily appreciate something without a need to look too deeply at why.

But I do question Schneider's outlook on life. He's either i) ripping the piss or ii) seriously miserable. I will be visiting this exhibit (more out of voyeurism than an appreciation of art I'm afraid). I will report back forthwith.

Ups and downs

I haven't really written much about my alcoholism since I started this blog. It's not really been an issue for me over these past couple of months which in itself is an improvement.

But today it has been. Why? I haven't had a drink and to be honest it hasn't passed my mind. But if drinking was the problem then I probably would have stopped years and years ago. Why put myself through the puking in my sleep, the hangovers so bad I could not get out of bed for a few days, the frequent blackouts (or auto-pilot as I liked to think of it then) - losing whole sections of my life that I simply could not remember. Quite frankly, if alcohol had felt like a problem I would have stopped.

But the problem was that alcohol was always a solution for me. The only time I felt normal was when I had acouple of drinks inside of me. The rest of the time I went from being manically excited to desperately depressed (often within the space of a few minutes), with a constant sense of anxiety throughout. If I had a drink it left - immediately. My emotions were extreme as hell. I tried to kill myself at 18. I was prescribed a variety of anti-depressants at a variety of times, none of which worked (which is what leads me to believe today that I was never clinically depressed).

The thing with alcoholism is that it is not simply a physical disease - if it was then alcoholics would just stop. Whilst it certainly has a physical element - to be alcoholic is to be allergic (not addicted incidentally - its practically impossible to be addicted to) to the stuff, creating a physical craving once the first drink is in you - it is also a mental illness and, in my experience, a disease of the emotions. And that has what has led me to this blog today.

For most of my life I've had these deep depressions that I never understood. Nothing the doctors could do seemed to fix it. The only thing that took them away was alcohol (which in itself should have suggested something - the stuff is meant to act as a depressant!). My experience in recovery is if I take certain actions, and do what I klnow to be right, these don't come back. And if they do, if I continue to do the right thing, they pass.

I've done a lot of soul searching over the past year (my first year without a drink is what convinced me that alcoholism is about more than just the alcohol) , and taken a long hard look at a lot of my old ideas and beliefs, and how they worked for me. Which is why the depression seems to be lifting, and when it takes hold passing more quickly and coming back less and less. However, I had it today and had forgotten how horrible it is. I find it crippling (if I allow it to be). I took the day off work (and felt a bit less guilty as I also felt awful physically) and the general plan was to sleep all day and wallow in it. But fortunately I didn't. I went and met Mrs Madge at work, and then went to do my stuff at DHFC reserves. I even tried to smile a few times. Before I go to bed tonight, I'll gve a little thought to what I have to be grateful for, and tomorrow, God willing, it'll pass.

Oh we all like to be beside the seaside ...

Well we do if we're Dulwich Hamlet fans anyway, following our FA Cup travails in Ramsgate at the weekend. Fantastic stuff. And officially the first ever 'good Dulwich Hamlet day out NOT ruined by the football' in living memory.

Why? Because I cannot think of another trip to the coast/new place/long way away with the Hamlet that hasn't been ruined by the usual abject Hamlet performance(see onionbagblog for details of more abject performances)/last minute winner for the opposition. It just goes with the territory. If you've had a nice day the Hamlet will ruin it for you. With this in mind I had prepared for the day by focusing on the fact we had already lost. That way I could enjoy whatever the day may bring already knowing the outcome and not needing to worry.

So whilst I watched Cleopatra and GawBlimeyGuv paddling fully clothed in the Margate sea, I already knew that no damn football could ruin it. Whilst I triumphed victoriously at the hockey game, and made a fool of myself on some dancing machine (and, whilst on the topic I should mention that Cleopatra is quite a mover when she sets her mind to it. You just couldn't stop her shaking her arse on the machine. And no, as she insisted on asking about 10 times, her bum did not look big on it) I was secure in the knowledge that the task in hand was a fruitless and pointless task that had no possibility of victory. After today we would be back to the dreary tedium that is the Isthmian League, with the small possibility of being Champions of London again.

The result? A thumping 6-3 Hamlet goal-fest victory, with a few stunning goals thrown in as well. God damn it! They'd ruined my pessimism. Which means no matter how hard I try I won't be able to help having a little spark of hope leading up to the next round.

Which wouldn't be a problem except we have drawn literally the hardest game we could have done in Hornchurch away. Currently top of Conference South, averaging two and a half goals a game (I don't know how you score half - probably a refereeing mistake), compared to our second bottom of Ryman Division One having conceded an average of 2 a game. Adjusting the scores to take account of the difference in budget, divisions and playing ability, I can confidently predict a 13-0 victory to the Urchins. Except thanks to that damn victory I no longer can. Even as I type that annoying spark of hope (the bastard) has taken light meaning I'm condemned to a miserable Saturday evening in a Heathrow hotel on the 16 October 2004 as the Hamlet reverts to type and are humiliated.

Unless we can sneak a 1-0 win (bollocks, damn, shit, will I never learn?)

Other missives on the injustice of the cup can be found here and here.

Insight into me

With thanks to Inspector Sands for the tip I took this test. Results as follows:

You might be called Jamie and Louise (No), and you are very nearly really good looking (I couldn't say, although I'm not convinced the geeky, spotty look has ever been considered attractive) You’ve got one baby, Rio (No, and if it happens it won't be called Rio). If you’re Jamie, you run a successful commercial air-con business called Stay Cool A.C. (I think not) If you’re Louise, you’re a fully-qualified beautician, opening your own nail bar on the high street (Not even close). People say you’re like the local Posh and Becks (Um ... I fail to believe that anyone attempting to be Posh and Becks would choose to live in chavland. I like it mind).You’re fans of Oliver Sweeney (who?) Adidas (wrong), Tag (expensive shite), Clinique (Face stuff?) Gillette (at last something I've heard of - does that make me a fan?) Von Dutch (again, WHO?) Louis Vuitton (Good Lord, no) and YSL (what kind of Trev do they think I am? - no offence to anyone called Trevor) and live in a three-bedroom semi-detached house in a cul de sac (three bed? Yeah right). Just who are you trying to impress? (Me)

All in all, what a load of wank. Still it did kill a few minutes during an impressively boring day at work so I can hardly complain. If you would like more info on what I'm like, please click here.