Referee - 1 Thug - 0......

Glad to see an 18 month sentence given to bullying fuckwit thug Richard Norman 33, (see lumpy individual to the right).

As reported by the BBC at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/south_west/8132018.stm
Norman followed the 62 year old ref of his son's under 14's football match and punched the official leaving him requiring ten stitches.

What a lovely example to set one's child in how to respect authority figures. It's a shame this moron will only be out of his son's life for 18 months, the poor little sod might have had some hope of growing up into a normal stable human being if Daddy was to disappear from the scene altogether. Sadly a clear indictment of one of my favourite old lines, you need a license to keep a dog, but they let any bloody fool have children.

For England Harry And St George...

I think I've just had the most quintessentially English moment it's possible to have, which I would heartily recommend to any of my fine fellow Englishmen, or indeed to any of you Johnny Foreigners out there who would like, if only for the most fleeting of moments, to experience what a joy it is to be English.

Take one bottle of fine English Ale, Old Peculiar, London Pride, Old Speckled Hen, Newcastle Brown, there are many fine examples to choose from, find yourself a comfy chair, envelop yourself in your headphones, select Elgar's Nimrod and then press play with the volume suitably high.

Close your eyes and your mind will be awash with visions of Spitfires flying over white cliffs, cricket matches on village greens, thatched cottages surrounded by a profusion of brightly coloured flowers, Yorkshire puddings, cups of tea and cucumber sandwiches.

Go on, try it, after all, inside every foreigner is an Englishman trying to get out!

Till Death Us Do Part.....

I was deeply moved by the story today of Sir Edward Thomas Downes 85 and his terminally ill wife Joan 74, who chose to end their lives together at a clinic in Switzerland.

Mr Downes himself was almost blind and partially deaf as well as having other health problems. He was one of this countries foremost conductors, having worked with the BBC Philharmonic for forty years, whilst his wife Joan was a former ballet dancer and successful choreographer.

This is one of the most romantic stories I have ever seen in the news. Two people have been able to bring their wonderfully fulfilled lives to an end together, rather than continue in pain and suffering with the certainty of one or the other having to be left to face the world alone at some point for the first time in fifty-four years.

Anyone who sees this as anything other than an acceptable decision for adults to make is not only misguided but cruel. How long before the criminalization of this procedure in this country is thrown out for the archaic thoughtless interference it really is.

Boris Drops A Bollock...

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, Mayor Boris has dropped an awfully big bollock this time, just as I was beginning to think he might be one of the few politicians worth anything in this age of our country being governed by cynical money grabbing charlatans.

In an interview with Stephen Sakur for Hardtalk.....

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/8149313.stm

dear old blundering Boris refers to his £250,000 annual pay packet for knocking out a weekly article for the Sunday Torygraph as 'chicken-feed'!

I actually don't have a problem with Boris earning a quarter of a million quid for writing some silly series of articles, (if I could get paid for doing so, I'd be in heaven!), but calling that amount of money 'chicken-feed' when the vast majority of the population of this country are feeling the bite of a recession has to be one of the most serious pieces of ill-judgement since King Charles turned to his wife and said, 'Don't worry darling, nobody would dare touch me, God gave me this job...'

As the interview continues Boris does a fine job of trying to scramble out of the bottomless pit he has dug himself with his silly remark by dredging deep in the 'I give money to charity' trough, the oft used straw grasped at by the over-paid. I hope I have mixed enough metaphors there to keep critics busy for a while, but I would like to point out, it's not like I'm being paid £250,000 to write this nonsense....

The Buccaneer Explorer....

I've just started reading a couple of excellent books that followed on, unsurprisingly, from another book I'd been reading: History of Australia and New Zealand by Alexander Sutherland. Written in the 1890's, in the book's early pages it makes some references to a man by the name of William Dampier.

Originally from Somerset, Dampier spent the best part of his life as a privateer, buccaneer or pirate, managed to circumnavigate the world three times and in between was very productive as a writer, authoring the first major English travel book: A New Voyage Around The World along with a host of other books about his lifelong travels.

The Buccaneer Explorer, William Dampier's Voyages Edited by Gerald Norris is an awesome compilation of some of Dampier's writings, and I've also just started reading A Pirate Of Exquisite Mind by Diana & Michael Preston a biography of the man himself, based on what I've read so far, William is turning out to be a great English hero apparently forgotten by many.

Murray, Bunny, And Other Tennis Balls...

So, Andy Murray is out of the Wimbledon tournament.

Well, are we really surprised? Isn't it a given that no Brit can ever get to the final, let alone win it?

Not since 1938 with Henry 'Bunny' Austin has a son of this soil got to play in the final.

One of the cool things about a sport that involves individuals rather than teams is that you get the opportunity to go beyond the simple tribal requirements of following your national representatives and delve into the personalities of the players involved.

Through our all seeing TV eyes we get to decide who's a miserable sod, who has a fun personality, who loves his mum, who's got a bit of a temper, all with no actual basis in fact of course, other than seeing a person for a few hours out of their whole lives in an entirely false situation.

But that's ok, even back in ancient Rome, the audience didn't really give a toss about the person in the arena doing battle for their entertainment, they perhaps just felt a brief moment of kinship, based on some random fact, the warrior's homeland, or name perhaps, now, as then, you pick your champion, based on whatever unimportant criteria you have selected, then cheer for him ever louder as he defeats opponent after opponent, until inevitably he is defeated himself.

Now our champion is slain. Do we mourn his loss? Do we let our anger towards his slayer ferment into enmity at his next combat?

Actually no. Andy Roddick seemed like a much nicer bloke in his sound-bites anyway.

Besides, it's not like Murray was English.

Feeding The Latest Addiction...

Don't tell the wife.... but I bought three more books today, just days after getting a Sony Reader for my birthday, and immediately loading up on 11'000, yes, 11'000 ebooks to fill my little mind to my hearts content.

In my defence, I bought them from a charity shop, so expense was low, but I can't seem to stop buying more books than I can possibly get round to reading (even though I read VERY quickly).

I can only assume that this is just another demonstration of my addictive personality (as if more evidence were required), but I hope that, in the long term at least, this one might prove to be non-health threatening, and might even carry some fringe benefits.. Though people are already commenting on the lack of social interaction with me as I bury my nose in a book regardless of company etc.

For the record, the books are:
The Great Escape by Paul Brickhill
A History of The British Secret Service by Richard Deacon
& War Behind Enemy Lines by Julian Thompson
Yes, there's a bit of a theme, I've always loved a bit of WWII history and it's been a while since I read any so I thought I'd indulge myself. By the way I got them all from the Sam Beare Hospice Bookshop in Weybridge which is not just an excellent cause but also an excellent bookshop. I know that's a bit 'local' for this worldwide, border straddling, internet thing, but I do actually know some people who live within a few miles of me who might be interested!

A Fence Sitter By Any Other Name...

A small point but one I think worth voicing, I absolutely bloody detest the phrase "African American", it is a typical mealy-mouthed pathetic piece of politically correct new-speak we have been force fed for a number of years now. It is equally as annoying as "Irish-American" (There are more who choose that particular namby-pamby fence-sitting moniker than actual Irish people for crying out loud!).

With the recent death of Michael Not-Very-Blackson, I've heard interviewers asking the standard trite question "What did his work mean to African Americans?"

It meant bugger all, because there is no such thing. If you are American and proud of it, say so, it does not need to be qualified or justified based on the trials and tribulations of your distant ancestors, it's about YOU. Everyone has the right to proud of their nation, and if you're not, then by all means deny it and call yourself African, or Irish, or what ever you'd rather be associated with, but get off the bloody fence and pick a team.

Walton on Thames to Melbourne...Continued..

Every new day that dawns (the one's when I'm not thinking about the fact I'm not smoking anymore at least), a few moments creep into my consciousness when I can't help getting very upset and emotional about the people I'm going to be leaving behind.

In spite of the 'small' world we now live in, the wonders(?) of the Internet, Facebook, email, skype etc, I know the way it really works, even if most people don't want to admit it.... There are some people I love dearly that I may never see face to face for a very very long time, sometimes ever again.

It's a really harsh reality that one has to face up to with a journey like this coming up. We all hear the old lines about friends that one doesn't see for years and then when you do, it just carries on where you left off, but let's be honest, life is not really like that in most cases, and why would you want it to be?

One of the things I cherish about the people I see almost every day, the people I love, the important people, is watching them grow, feeling our relationship grow, our understanding of one another deepen over time, our respect and acceptance of one another as individuals become more solid. You just don't get that with a relationship in which you never spend time together for long periods. It's sad, but it's reality.

I will miss my dear friends more deeply than I can conceive of at this moment. This is only made bearable by the fact that my dearest friend in the world will be with me every step of the way, living the big adventure with me, making it worth the sacrifices we both have to make.

There are times when this amazing thing we are about to do is not as simple as one might imagine.

Mad Dogs & Englishmen...

Does anyone know where I can come by a Pith-Helmet?

The only way I can keep some semblance of sanity in this ridiculously un-English heatwave we're having is to imagine myself sitting atop a great horse, resplendent in red tunic, Henri-Martini tucked under my arm, surveying some desolate sun-baked hell-hole we have recently conquered, (having first sent in the Scots to terrify the natives of course).

They are the only circumstances in which an Englishman should have to tolerate such distinctly colonial weather.

Anyone wishing to join me for tiffin on the veranda later please RSVP to my char-wallah.