Archive for December, 2008

Ian Bell

Posted in Uncategorized on December 31, 2008 by Steve

Bell on Scotland, indentity and tourism.

Good stuff, as ever. Even a Trump joke.

Ian Bell on Sunday!

Posted in Uncategorized on December 28, 2008 by Steve

Sunday Herald column on racsim in fitba.

Good article, as ever. I kind of understand why some turn to racism and/or sectarianism. These sad, empty, little types don’t have the mighty Aberdeen FC to brighten up their lives, like what we have got (six minutes in, thank you, Eric Morecambe!)

That’ll be the random link of 2008, then…

Never forget…

Posted in Uncategorized on December 23, 2008 by Steve

…why the Dons v R*ngers aggro started.

The John McMaster paragraph in this article.

Just reading that has got me shaking with anger.

Then the comments about meaning to get Miller???

Imagine if that’d been the other way round?

Funny how that incident never gets mentioned…

Quite a few “isolated incidents” eh, Johnston?

By the way, it was McMaster’s throat, not his head.

And don’t get me started about Derek Johnstone’s dive…

Oh, my heart. Oh, ma sides…

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2008 by Steve

Back from the Manchester road trip tonight.  Flu-ridden walking wounded, me and The Legend (who else?) made our way to Carlisle to catch the 13:30 train to Mancunia. We got as far as Selkirk before The Legend

The Legend – Shit! Forgot to write down my pin number!

Me – You don’t know your pin number?

The Legend – Fuck off, need it to pay the hotel bill.

Me – Didn’t you pay it when you booked?

The Legend – Fuck off.

Anyway, The Legend (having moaned that I’d better not forget anything, we weren’t turning back) drives us back to Gala. The Legend then decides, for security, to write the pin number on his wrist. I explained to The Legend that this wasn’t the best idea, in case he were robbed (not out of the question in Manchester).

The Legend – It’s OK, it’s hidden under my watch.

Me – Wouldn’t a mugger take the watch?

The Legend – Fuck off.

Needless to say, we missed the train. The Legend then spent the next half an hour cursing; the traffic being busy in Carlisle (the Saturday before Xmas???), the smell of Carlisle, the cost of parking, the need for exact change for the machine and the state of the coffee (fair point there, The Legend, the coffee was foul).

Needless to say, this was really about The Legend making us miss the train and having to pay for new tickets. At least, The Legend had the correct pin number for the payment.

We got to Mancunia and The Legend realised The Legend had left directions to the hotel at home. I took charge (warning!) and walked us to the turn off between Oxford Street and Princess Street (where the hotel was). Unfortunately, I kept walking another mile (d’oh!). The rain started and The Legend began swearing and crying, insisting on asking for directions. I agreed we should ask for directions to the hotel and asked what the hotel name was;

The Legend – I dunno, begins with an “A”?

The Legend then proceeds to ask someone for directions to Queen Street (?), then gets upset when I correct The Legend. Somebody was going to die by this stage.

Me – Any suggestions, then?

The Legend – Let’s get a taxi.

The Legend‘s answer to everything. Bear in mind, we still aren’t sure of the name of the hotel, or the street number in Queen / Princess Street. Never mind. We find the Arora Hotel, where we are greeted by the campest man in the universe. I then realise that The Legend had forgotten to ask for a twin room. Needless to say, there was a fight to be first to pay the twenty quid supplement for that vital second bed. My suspicions about the (ahem!) theme for the Arora are confirmed here.

Great hotel, though. Used the fitness room both days, had an awesome brekkie (needless to say, The Legend had sausage…) on the Sunday and discovered the only reason left to live in this cruel world, Maker’s Mark Bourbon. OK, so it cost a fortune in the hotel bar, but you can all buy me a bottle for Chrimbo…

A nice Italian meal preceded a short walk to whatever they’re calling the G-Mex these days for a magical night.

Lose Control – Acoustic

Waltzing Along

Oh My Heart (fucking hell!)

Ring The Bells (see above)

Whiteboy

Hymn From A Village (my throat has gone by this point)

Gold Mother

Stutter

Tomorrow (I may have weed myself by this point)

I Wanna Go Home

Out To Get You (pandemonium)

Top Of The World (mass greetin’)

Dream Thrum

Upside

Come Home (by now, a gibbering wreck)

Sit Down

Sound

Awesome event. How do you top that? Why, with the encore;

She’s A Star

Born Of Frustration (I guessed it from them tuning up, what a loser!)

Getting Away With It – All Messed Up

Sometimes (massive, improvised crowd-singing)

Laid (complete with dancing Santas)

No energy to continue after that so, t-shirts bought, went back to the hotel to watch Match of the Day. The Legend sparked out and was snoring like a road-drill. At one point, bizarrely, The Legend woke up and asked me to keep the noise down! The Legend had no memory of this, the following day. When I called The Legend “a fucking somnambulist” the response of course was;

The Legend – Fuck off, I’m straight!*

* – note, lying has been used here, for comic effect.

The superb Manchester Gallery was perused on Sunday before, despite much pressure, personal insults and moaning, I guided the party to the railway station in one go! By this point we looked like the end of Saving Private Ryan which was probably the reason the cute wee thing sat opposite us on the train gave up her seat.

Either that, or she didn’t have her ipod switched on when I made an off-colour remark about hand-jobs and her tight leather gloves…

Anyway, back to work tomorrow to tell everyone about the night I sang “Sometimes” with James at the G-Mex and Tim Booth danced along and applauded. Nights like that are what makes working for a living bearable.

Oh, and this stuff…

Ian Bell’s Saturday Essay

Posted in Uncategorized on December 20, 2008 by Steve

Bell on the Lockerbie anniversary, Iraq and the Government.

R.I.P.

Posted in Uncategorized on December 18, 2008 by Steve

Slingin’ Sammy Baugh. The Greatest Ever Redskin.

Led the league leading in passing, punting and interceptions IN THE SAME SEASON (1943).

Revolutionised the forward pass in American Football.

One of the seventeen original inductees to the Hall of Fame (and the last alive, until Wednesday).

The Washington Post’s (predictably) brilliant obituary.

The story of the Bears players hitting him on the ground is really good.

Holy Shit!

Posted in Uncategorized on December 18, 2008 by Steve

Two news stories I read today;

Hitler Baby Birthday Cake

Hearts Pervert (NOT Graham Rix!)

Zoinks!