paul's chateaudeau

Hackery

2011-12-22T13:31:00.000-08:00

A kindly couple of souls contacted me today to tell me that it seemed my email account had been hijacked. They'd received some messages about viagra supplies from Canada.

I tried to take action but failed. Rather apt really. I waited and hoped it wouldn't happen again.

And it hasn't happened again since this morning. Better check my entire online data facilties.

Currently just waiting for the results of the African Footballer of the Year as decided by continental coaches. The ceremony is taking place in Accra and André Ayew, Yaya Touré and Seydou Keita are up for the award.

It seems a long way to go for Touré who's Manchester City side are in action in a few days but these are young fit men. They probably don't fly economy and are more thank likley to have a couple of private jets around.

Travel by air has been banned by the bosses at the radio station. They want their charges to take any other means as the airlines haven't passed Euro safety standards.

As I'm not the happiest of flyers, this is fine by me.

But I've just tried to print something at work and the printers don't seem to be functioning.

Maybe they should go through some Euro checks.

The Silence

2011-12-11T06:16:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd better resuscitate the blog just as I approach a period of not travelling between Paris and London. Must be something to do with the time of year. Lots of the newspapers are doing their Year's Best Books/Albums/Concerts.

The brand that is Me is nowhere near performing that kind of thing. I am though interested in how the eurozone is melting down. What will having less money mean. Will we be unable to put food on the table. Will we all become feral as we scrap for the titbits of the rich?

No idea. I guess I will just have to continue doing all the usual things until it is all over.

Under these circumstances going to church made an awful lot of sense. Great hymns, crazy smells and utterly rational since no one here on earth seems to have a clue.

The Quiz

2011-10-18T02:26:00.000-07:00

I've been bemused by the Patrice Evra v Luis Suarez race hate allegations. According to Evra, Suarez directed racist obscenities at him during the Liverpool v Manchester United crunch last Saturday afternoon. Suarez, who's from Uruguay, has been denying it left right and Facebook that he did no such thing. He loves everyone, he says.

One thing is for sure Suarez would not be met by enthusiastic hordes were he to travel to Ghana. His handball on the line prevented them from scoring a goal in the dying seconds of the world cup quarter final. Asamoah Gyan, then missed the subsequent penalty and Uruguay ultimately won the penalty shoot out.

That's just the background. It suggests he is up for gamesmanship. But that does not necessarily lead to racist abuse.

But why not. If you're capable of sticking your hand up and stopping a goal - terribly bad form - what's to say that you can't string a few words together? Or as Evra suggest, the same slur 10 times.

But maybe Evra didn't hear right. Maybe Suarez uttered no such obscenities.

Evra is no goodies two shoes. He was part of the maniacal French team that entered a reality fug at the last world cup in South Africa. All had something to do with the coach Raymond Domenech, the striker Nicolas Anelka and a subsequent boycott of a training session. Classy.

Is my point that footballers are strange beasts. Yes they are. Rich, pampered and very skilful too.

Readers of the blog will know that I shuffle around a field of a Saturday morning. In the seven or eight years that I've been doing that, I've never been racially abused.

I have never racially abused anyone either. I would have to learn a whole welter of vocabulary that is not in my usual realm and I would have to learn it from people who themselves know how to be abusing towards North Africans and presumably the white French with whom I play.

It sounds like a lot of effort. But maybe Suarez has the kind of infrastructure that allows him access to racist obscenities.

But I do know one thing. If Evra has made it all up, he'll have a lot of black people calling him names too.

The Law

2011-10-17T07:12:00.000-07:00

There used to be an advert on TV about how a dog wasn't just for Christmas, it was for life. I really should try and apply the same discipline to this blog.

Neglect. Pure and simple. It's just not right. And there is so much to write about.

The football for starters. New season is up and running and two games in have brought a win and a draw. I've scored two goals (in the match we lost) and am now injured (the match we won).

As I cajoled my strained right thigh muscle towards the railway station on Saturday, I thought just how painful would this be if we had lost. I was pained the week before when we lost and I am in pain when we win. So the leitmotif?

Football is pain. Tennis doesn't seem to be produce so much agony. Perhaps just the angst of learning so many new things. But that's no bad thing.

I ought to try and get a bit more with it.

Ace journalist and writer Jonathan Wilson was in Paris last week for the France v Bosnia match. I took advantage of his presence to do an interview with him for the radio station and go out for lunch.

By the time I emailed him to alert him to the interview, he replied he'd already had the link up on his Twitter page.

I plan to take six months off travelling between Paris and London.

Forget football and tennis, I need to to embrace digitalia.

New Season

2011-09-25T04:24:00.000-07:00

This could be construed as having something to do with the fashion shows. But the truth is sporting. Football sporting. Or rather my pallid attempt to be on a football field and playing something like the rudiments of the game.

It was a friendly against the team that won the division last season. They have been promoted and quite frankly I'm glad to see the back of them.

They were just too good. I hope they prosper in the first division.

For my pains I got a bruised cheekbone and somehow a bruised bicep. It was all so frightening when compared to the tennisfest I've been having of late.

Clearly I will have to toughen up if I am to survive the midfield engine room.

The good thing is there won't be as many teams as fast and furious as Saturday's opponents.

Season's End

2011-09-04T04:00:00.000-07:00

It feels as if it's all over before it begins. First run-out of the football season on Saturday and I can't say it bodes well for the coming months.

Felt a twinge in the left leg and retired to defence and into the goal. to prevent any further damage since I was due to play tennis later that afternoon.

With the Roland Garros journalists' event coming up, this is no way to go into a major championship.

That's what I tell myself. But this is what six weeks without yoga class does to me.

Altogether now. Om.

High Stuff

2011-09-04T03:31:00.000-07:00

What a whirl it's been. it feels positively pedestrian to be in the Wellcome Centre overlooking the Euston Road traffic bonanza. But time has come to take a rest.

I resisted the temptation on Friday night to bid for any of the lots at an auction at the Royal Monceau Hotel. The sale was in aid of the New Zealand Earthquake Relief Fund and some tasty gifts had been donated. There was champagne, some sculptures from the legendary French captain Jean Pierre Rives - now an established artist and a watch from Bulgari.

I shoved the radio station's microphone in front of a few people including the New Zealand ambassador and they responded.

The Bulgari watch went for around 20,000 euros, more than 10,000 euros above the list price. The champagnes by contrast wre more reasonable.

And after hearing figures in the thousands, hearing hundreds seemed ludicrously low. Still I wasn't tempted.

However I did succumb to the champagne. Some Pommery numbers before and more Pommery after the sale. There was a chef stirring up a risotto and all manner of lovely things.

I surveyed the firmament and thought if I stay here I can feast, so I decamped back to the radio station's more modest canteen well out of harm's way.

If the stairs and the atrium are anything to go by, I won't be hanging out anytime soon at the Royal Monceau. Way out of my league.

Hanging in high end hotels shouldn't naturally lead on to high church. But the early train from Paris brought me into London in time to catch the service at St Panras Old Church.

The priest's sermon was on the essence of forgiveness, punishment and the like. He preached on the back of going to a meeting on Friday involving community groups and the police on how to react to the riots in London and elsewhere.

A police superintendent attended the pow-wow to give it the enforcement perspective. And presumably the priest was there to inject a spiritual nuance to the proceedings.

If it costs £100,000 to keep somebody in prison, the priest wondered whether that kind of money would be better spent on re-educating some of the wrongdoers.

I guess that the post riot lust is for drooling vengeance rather than pragmatic perspective.

I was reading the Sunday Times on the train over and one of the columnists mentioned the British prime minister's gambit of 'tough love'.

And why not - as the film critic Barry Norman was wont to say.

As long as it's dispensed on miscreants throughout the social strata. But I just don't see that happening.

Shock And Awe

2011-08-29T06:26:00.000-07:00

Went off to see some former colleagues on Sunday night. The rendez vous was in Highbury and strangely enough the streets were deserted. WAs it the Bank Holiday or was it the 8-2?

Who knows. I have got a pile of papers to see what the pundits say. The Daily Telegraph's front page splash: Call to legalise assisted suicide could equally be applied to the Arsenal performance.

But we must not mingle the genres. That would be crass.

To domestic things. I have discovered a little slice of mediterranean chic just near Waterloo. Lots of pot plants, shrubs and strong coffee. Curious name of Ev. But it is just behind Southwark station.

Went there with the missus. Rather a shame that the climate in London is hardly mediterranean at the moment. But if you want that kind of sun, then you go to the mediterranean. Really rather logical that.

Just as logical as giving the three darlings to my mother for the day, so that I can go to work.

Hang on I think I've missed a trick somewhere.

End of Summer

2011-08-28T11:58:00.000-07:00

You know it's the end of the holidays when football is on the tele again. I watch the highly paid professionals and wonder about the coming season at the lower end of the food chain. Will I have the stamina? Will I score a different type of goal? Will I score? Can I pass the ball?

With the emphasis of late on purely personal games such as tennis, the question really is will I cope with a team game?

As the world athletics championships unfold in South Korea with shock, awe and drama, it seems odd to be in Europe rather than in the ring for the radio station reporting from the arena.

I would have seen disqualifications galore. Who would have thought that Usain Bolt would be disqualified from the 100 metres sprint. But then who would have thought that Arsenal would lose 8-2 at Old Trafford.

I have seen it all now. Destruction. I am warming to Arsenal and Arsene Wenger's philosophy of open misery. It's compelling theatre.

And the great thing is that it is bound to continue. There's no one else that can bring them the kind of football they're used to now. And no-one else can cope with the players that they've got. Catch-22 if ever I saw one.

Football, bloody hell as Sir Alex Ferguson once said. It's supposed to be a game. But three matches in I feel worn out by the Premier League and we're not even out of August.

Maybe my intensity will drop once I get up and playing again.

Then it really will be the end of summer.

The Riots

2011-08-18T14:57:00.000-07:00

Where was the blog during the riots? Well out of it. Yet implicated. We are all in it together as our political leaders told us at the start of the austerity drive.

When it comes to meting out the post riot justice, some are more in it than others.

Some people want the ones caught locked up for ages and others are saying hang on or was that hang them?

Either way the genie of vindictiveness is out and about. Short termism is upon us. Britain needs politicians with a social vision.

But hey ho the football season is back. Chelsea need a midfielder with vision.

And I'm wondering about my own skills come the new season. Riots?

The National Theatre

2011-07-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

The last time I was at the theatre was ...

Bad sign. I cannot remember. So it is just as well to record Saturday July 23 2011 as the last time I went to the theatre. Went to experience Emperor and Galilean as written by Henrik Ibsen and updated by Ben Power.

Ooh was it big and stagey.

It featured a host of people I don't know - because I don't go to the theatre etc etc - but it had Ian McDiarmid. I do know him because he is Mr Bad in the Star Wars things.

An unmistakeable voice - well it is if you've watched the films as many times as I have - it was excellentt to hear it live.

Though I did get a bit freaked when he was urging the anti-hero to "abandon himself". I was waiting for "Give in to your anger."

But this was the Olivier Theatre and not the Death Star.

Utterly brilliant stuff and it made me wonder why i don't go to the theatre more often.

But I think I said that the last time I went.

The Buses

2011-07-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

Perhaps Alfred Hitchcock should have made a film called The Buses. If today's journey was anything to go by it could have been a chiller.

During the voyage from Streatham to Kings Cross, I had enough flashbacks to make Salvador Dali's moustache go green.

This is perhaps why people move away. Too many memories. I think I might have touched on this in the blog before. But with old age starting to kick in I am not exactly sure when I did this.

Perhaps it is all so obvious. I sat on the bus from Streatham heading towards Brixton and reflected on times past. Incident along the road there, memory of a rendez vous there.

Tube journies are not like that. I tend to read on the tube. But If I try to do that on a bus I feel ill. So I look out the window and end up feeling melancholy.

I might well be that way inclined when I travel in Paris in 20 years.

By which time I might have had to sell my homes to pay for my long term care. They are debating this kind of thing in the British parliament. The radio programme talking about it was too much to bear so off I set for work.

Then there was a problem with The Trains.

Which forced me into the vortex of The Buses.

The Forfeit

2011-06-26T11:33:00.000-07:00

During a particularly bleak moment in my glorious career, I was on the phone to my mother wailing about the atrocities being enacted upon me.

Even with the benefit of distance, they were indeed atrocities.

However at one point mother came over all US inspirational rather than her usual biblical. She said: 'Winners never quit and quitters never win."

It must have been running on the TV at the time over in America The phrase came to mind on Saturday morning after round 4 of the tennis club tournament.

On Thursday late in the morning still recovering from a quick snap of bad belly, I phoned up to ask if the Thursday night match could be rearranged. Too late the organiser said. We'll phone your opponent to tell him not to come. I looked out the window at the dark clouds looming and figured natural forces might intervene. "I'll phone back at 6pm," I said.

As I emerged from my slumbers later that afternoon, the sun had decided to do the same and there was no way the heavens were going to open.

And since I needed some fresh air, what better way to obtain it than by running after a tennis ball. So off I trotted expecting a rapid annihilation.

After the first few games I thought to myself this is winnable - if only I had my usual pep. Should have won the first set. Didn't. Got the second set. And could not hold serve in the final set. The opponent served for the match at 5-4 but I levelled and so - with night enveloping the clay court, we moved to the floodlit hard court.

6-5 to me. 6-6. Tie break and this is where it got a bit heady. I squandered three match points from 6-3 then it went on from saving match points to losing them. And at 14-13 to me he hit a poor forehand and it limped into the net.

Match. More than three hours later.

Matchday four - to get all UEFA Champions League about it - was on Saturday morning. And after losing my opening service game I broke back and then gritted on to win 6-1 6-0.

Not as easy as the score line looks. "We have the same kind of defensive game," the opponent concluded. "Only you were more solid than me."

Once back in the club house I was told that matchday five was on Sunday morning. But I was on a train to London. Not good enough as an excuse. I asked if my beaten opponent could play instead of me. Not allowed. For that to happen I would have had to abandon at 5-0 up in the second set. And I didn't do that.

And I wasn't about to cancel work to play a very amateur tennis match.

So my unseen adversary marches on - the beneficiary of my Paris London lifestyle rather than my quitter mentality. The organiser at the club had offered to bring the match forward to late Saturday afternoon.

But given what had happened earlier in the week and the fact that I had an evening out with the family lined up, it wouldn't have been the most clever of moves.

Or as the missus put it - "You don't want to injure yourself."

That's game, set and match on every level.

Simply Eurostar

2011-06-26T05:04:00.000-07:00

'"Are you Mick Hucknall?" - "Not at this time in the morning...." Simply deadpan really. I said to the rock megastar know what you mean and paid a compliment to the stuff he'd belched out over the years. He graciously accepted the compliment and asked if I knew which bit of the coffee machine to prod. I suggested asking one of the lounge assistants.

Woudn't call it rubbing shoulders but he was cool. Ronnie Corbett and his wife were just ace and Eric Cantona had presence.

Wow travelling between London and Paris can be pure showbiz.

Mr Hucknall and his companion probably went on to savour the delights of überclass while I dug into the more modest second sphere of travel.

And simply read.

The High Life

2011-06-12T07:37:00.001-07:00

I don't think I've got the mentality to make it big as a sportsman. Shame. After seeing how the real honchos do the business last Sunday, I had my own tilt for glory in the first round of the tournament at my tennis club.

Having spent the week getting into the zone - avoiding too much alcohol - walking up the steps at the radio station and anything else that could pass for sacrifice, I went off on Saturday to play the match.

But of course did too much in the morning by taking the boy out with one of his chums. It meant that my lunch was rushed and the course to calmness was under threat.

Fortunately Ligne 9 didn't let me down and I was at the club at 1.10pm ready for the combat.

Down in the locker room - OK , I won't get too sporty. Down in the changing room, it was rather unanimated. So I did some warm-up stretches and when I went up my adversary was there.

While knocking up I started to gauge his game and I did not like his habit of twisting his racket before he hit the ball. It wasn't annoying, it just meant that I was watching the twirling rather than the ball shooting back towards me.

He had this forehand in which he got under the ball and it went flying into the air and when it bounced, it went galloping up into the skies.

Fortunately he ditched this once we started playing.

I now realise that games are like recovering alcoholics: one point at a time. While playing it suddenly stuck me that I could go all gospel and instead of One Day At A Time Sweet Jesus, I could just hum: One Point At A Time...

But entering into the realms of sacrilege isn't good for focus.

The adversary had his son with him and I thought is this a ploy to get me to be less ruthless. How can you destroy the image of the boy? But the first round of the tournament is no country for young men.

I ploughed on. One point at a time. 6-0. I knew the crunch was the first game of the second set. Don't lose this I said to myself. Maintain the grip. Hold your serve. Idiot boy lost the first game. And then at 5-1. Serve it out. Idiot boy missed a match point and dropped serve.

Well it was 6-2 in the second. Hardly Federesque or Nadalien. But it was never going to be anything approaching those lofty warriors.

I knew that. As God is my judge.

Paris Weekend

2011-06-07T01:12:00.000-07:00

And so when it came down to it there was nothing really new about the French Open final. Roger Federer played well and lost. Rafael Nadal has clocked his card, got his number, sussed him out. Whatever.

So Roger is stuck on 16 grand slam titles and Rafa is into double figures now. Six of the crowns coming in Paris. Hussar for Rafa. Or perhaps that should be vamos.

As I was wearing my radio hat, the men's final wasn't my only sporting concern on Sunday. There were qualifiers for the Africa Cup of Nations and there was misery galore in Egypt as they could only draw with South Africa. Egypt are bottom of their group with two games to go and it looks unlikely that the defending champions will be there in Equatorial Guinea and Gabon in January.

Wow. I've always been quite impressed by the Egyptians. Ace passing patterns and slick ball retention. I'd really like to have seen them take on the Spanish. Chess on a field.

But it looks like the Pharoahs - nickname for the Egyptians - won't be around for 2012. Holy Pyramids, Batman.

Sticking around for the French Open final meant that I was in Paris of a Monday morning with the family and it seemed to unhinge preparation for school on Monday.

There was drama and contention. Some mutterings about child 2 not getting out of bed to turn off the alarm clock for child 1. The boy not wanting to wear sandals. Maybe they all thought they'd put on a bravura performance to highlight what fun it is at the start of the school week.

No such fun and histrionics on Tuesday morning. The alarm clock was banned on Monday night and clothes were prepared for the day ahead.

It was as orderly as a Nadal Federer final.

Semi-final Woe

2011-06-02T07:18:00.000-07:00

My tennis heros go back a long way. I loved Bjorn Borg, thought John McEnroe was great and have latterly wondered at the marvels of Pete Sampras and Roger Federer.

Maria Sharapova has never been my cup of tea. Don't know why. She is a great player, gutsy and very able. But I don't like her. Maybe it is her off court (press conference) persona that I don't like.

Whatever. She has just gone out at the French Open. Beaten in straight sets by the Chinese player Li Na. I expected La Sharapova to advance. But then I thought Arsenal would win the English Premier League.

What struck me was Sharapova serving two double faults in her final service game. I've not seen anything like that in ages. It's something that I would never have expected from someone like her.

She was attempting to collect a career grand slam here in Paris. And I've got to say there'll never be a better chance for her to do so. There are no overpowering stars of the women's game at the moment.

The world number one Caroline Wozniacki doesn't seem to know how to win grand slams and the Williams sisters are out injured.

So it was an open field especially with the top two women's seeds eliminated before the last 16.

More importantly I will be less down on myself when I serve double faults in a game.

It happens to players far better than me when the stakes are really high.

The Blizzard

2011-05-29T05:44:00.000-07:00

An exciting new quarterly has hit the world. It's called The Blizzard and essentially jam-packed with top football writers and me.

I have an article in issue number one about the African Nations Championships - known as the CHAN. It was held in Sudan back in February and I went to cover it for the radio station.

Just before I went I bumped into top football writer Jonathan Wilson during one of his visits to the Guardian. And since I owed him at least one drink for his help during the world cup last summer in South Africa, off we trudged to the bar downstairs at the Guardian complex.

During our natter he mentioned the concept and asked if I'd do something. What else could I say but yes.

Glad I did because it got me to consider the tournament in a different way and also look at my surroundings. Can't say that I'd recommend Khartoum as a must-see place. But then I wouldn't say avoid it like the plague.

The Blizzard, on the other hand, receives unequivocal backing.

But I would say that, wouldn't I?

Wellcome Time

2011-05-22T04:11:00.000-07:00

Obviously a trend is developing here. I arrive in London and go to the Wellcome Centre. It's not for the exhibitions nor the tales of medical mysteries but the cafe.

Though I am going off the coffee. I think the cup is too big. My cup runneth over?

Is life becoming so run of the mill that I'm getting picky about the cups?

But one does have to be judicious. A few weeks ago the powers that be at St Pancras erected the five rings of the Olympic movement. It's part of gearing up for the games next year.

The rings are rather splendid and dominate the moment of arrival. I find myself today thinking about back home.

The French Open started on Sunday and my mind is back at Roland Garros and the hard hitting thrills of clay court tennis.

I went to the press day at the tournament on Friday and listened into the likes of Andy Murray, Roger Federer, Maria Sharapova and Novak Djokovic.

Djokovic is the head honcho of the moment not having lost a match this year. Seven tournaments under his belt, two of them on clay and he beat Rafael Nadal in Madrid and Rome.

This is seismic. It means that for the first time in many years, the French Open isn't about waiting for the final between Federer and Nadal. Or actually the Nadal victory because he always beat Federer in Paris.

Poor Rog. In his press conference he was being quizzed like an also ran. The one time boss of the circuit was reduced to admitting he was not among the favourites and hailing another man's unbeaten start to the season.

The mighty is falling but there's about 40 million dollars sloshing around his accounts to help him and his family cushion the fall.

Nadal and Djokovic will be out showing their wares on Monday and Tuesday. When I get back to Paris I'll do my best to go and give moraml support to underdog Rog.

Eye Life

2011-05-15T04:58:00.000-07:00

My conscience has been exercised. My right eye was crunched by the ball during the Saturday morning kickabout. It has been watering ever since. Should I take time away from work to rest it?

It seemed a strange question to pose as I sat on the Eurostar. Given that I could see through the streams of water, it didn't seem serious enough to lay down tools. And I wasn't exactly sick.

Of all the injuries I have known playing football, this is the strangest. I was shocked by the bruised ribs at the start of the season but a gammy eye playing football? I am not that committed. Moreso since it wasn't a foot in the face going for a header. Just a deflection into the face.

Oh well. Probably a trip to the doctor when I get back to Paris on Tuesday or Wednesday.

It's impeding my mission to finish reading Simon Kuper's latest book called the Football Men. I plan to interview the author and do a review for the radio station website next week. WE were supposed to pow wow last Friday but then the Financial Times called him and said they wanted words on the FIFA boys and those allegedly wanting cash or favours to vote for England.

Am up to page 284 and there have been some fascinating insights into how the modern footballer conducts himself.

Of all their woes - tabloid stings, derisory pay rises and being benched - there are no tips on what to do when you get a ball in the face.

Perhaps they're such men, it never happens to them.

Church Life

2011-04-10T03:03:00.000-07:00

Going to church is becoming such an emotional experience. End up in tears virtually each time. Must be something to do with the stained glass windows, the pews, I don’t know what.

I could be tired.

I nearly made a horrific mistake on Saturday. With the eldest out shopping with her mother for Grecian style sandals and the boy at a party, I said to the second child let’s go to the Gare du Nord to collect my tickets for Sunday.

I checked in my bag to make sure I hadn’t already got the tickets – I’m in that frame of mind at the moment – and sure enough I had the tickets and they were for Saturday night rather than Sunday morning – sounds like a film title that.

So a flurry of calls ensue to cancel the babysitter, the restaurant and the missus.
The big Saturday night out on the terrace is off.

But the upside of that is the chance to go along to Sunday morning service.

And what a joy it was. As it was the ‘all-age service’ it meant there were loads of children flying around and making it all like an Italian wedding – or in fact my only experience of an Italian wedding.

I quite liked collection time. A little boy sidles along the aisles egged on by his mother and proffers the receptacle. I plonked in some change and others added envelopes.

Each time there’s a collection I remember one when I was with my schoolmate Danny at Norwich Cathedral. His dad was the bishop of the edifice so it was kind of logical that we’d go to the service there.

The dean took some service or other and caused no amount of consternation in the congregation by exhorting them into a “paper collection”.

I guess me and Danny might have torn up the service sheets since that was the only paper we could muster.

I used to do collections when I was a youngster at church. Trip down memory lane and all that. Perhaps that’s the reason for the emotion.

But the final hymn was the Lord of the Dance. We used to sing that at primary school in assembly as well. If I’m like this two weeks before Easter, then I’ll be a quivering wreck on Easter Day come Thine be the Glory.

The Wellcome Hysteria

2011-02-06T06:32:00.000-08:00

Sundays aren't really ever going to be the same. For what seems my entire life, I've been watching Andy Gray and Ricahrd Keys spout on about football on Sky TV. But they've been sacked because of their sexist comments and there's going to be a new tranche of presenters. I didn't really consider whether they were any good. They were simply there. But then I'm not a Sky subscriber, I've merely watched incidentally while at work os have never been in a position to wonder whether I'm getting value for money from my subscription.

Quite a few people didn't like the duo. Keys complained that 'dark forces' had been responsible for the leaking of their 'banter' to the newspapers. Sad.

As I wait for the Chelsea Liverpool showdown, it seems apt that I trundled off to the Wellcome Institute this morning. It was an exhibition called High Society and related how drugs and narcotics had got a grip on society.

In some places, tribes chew on roots to surge into collective hysteria. I breathed in the exhaust fumes of the Euston Road to get to the institute and the pollution obviously contrived a potent mix with the incense which was wofted around at St Pancras Old Church.

They sang some great old hymns at church. Perhaps I should have laid off the coffee at the Wellcome cafe.

Going Courtauld

2011-01-24T06:30:00.000-08:00

There's something wonderful when art and exercise unite. The Courtauld Gallery provides such an opportunity. The rooms are at the top of a grand staircase. Of course there's a lift but I don't take lifts.

The pictures range from the Impressionists to Fauvism and quite a bit of 18th century. I was particularly taken by a portrait of two brothers 'in the gracefully relaxed attitude recommended by the contemporary manuals of deportment'.

I might adopt the phrase. No, I will adopt the phrase.

Despite the relentlessly grey skies in London today, it's mild. And I feel unusually exhilarated. It might have something to do with being shown how to use the self checkout facility at Sainsburys in Balham. It might have something to do with the double machiatto at Caffe Nero a few minutes later.

I used to go to the cafe to take a break while I was sorting out my dad's things after he died. That was the summer of 2009 and 18 months on the sorting out still hasn't finished.

Certainly isn't helped by heading off to art galleries. But I feel I have to get a helping of art into the system before voyaging to Sudan.

The radio station has decided to save a few pennies by sending me to the tournament to cover the knockout stages. So while my French colleagues get to peruse the group stages, I fly in for the adrenalin rush.

This means I am only there for 10 days and I stay in Khartoum rather than having to flirt with Wad Medani.

Fine by me. It also gives me a few more weeks of football. The team was taken apart on Saturday. It was not pleasant. We were missing the star defender and star midfielder and there were a couple of walking wounded. The skipper says that was no excuse.

Obviously have to put it right on Saturday. My preparation for that?

Lots of tennis.

I

Suddenly Sudan

2011-01-04T08:43:00.000-08:00

Prospect rising of travelling to Sudan to cover the Cup of Nations for players based in Africa. It takes a month for the visa to come through and costs 80 euros. You would have thought they could get a visa together more quickly than that. But that's the way they do things.

Have to wait and see if the radio station bosses are up for sending me there. Get those sunglasses ready.

Lost Horizons

2011-01-04T08:34:00.000-08:00

I finished reading The Good Soldier and had put Utopia in the bag. But I seem to have travelled to England without it. Lost Utopia seems a fitting symbol for the place.

The prices have gone up on transport. Tax on goods have also risen. It will be a more expensive place to be. Not that it was cheap before. Oh well. That's how it goes in austerity Britain.

I was impressed by the Sunday papers who told us that some of the leading politicians were wintering at £8,000 a week chalets in exclusive Swiss resorts.

But it seems right that if you have the money you must spend it. That stimulates growth. Stimulates resentment more like it. But since the people voted for these rich people to make us poor, you cannot get too irate.

Utopia will truly be lost if there was a revolution. Perhaps utopia will be gained with the revelations that suffering is going to be for a swathe of the population. And perhaps the people who didn't expect to be hit will reassess their choices.

New Year 2011

2011-01-02T11:11:00.000-08:00

All of a sudden I had a birthday and was older. Well not so much of a sudden. It was 364 days in the offing. So it cam. People came to my home, ate and drank. We went to the home of some friends and then we ate and drank. My head was a bit furry on New Year's Day. I guess that is a good sign.

L'Equipe had a DVD of the Barcelona Real Madrid match from a few weeks ago. I got a mate to buy it for me while I was in London. I watched it on the train this afternoon on the way to London.

Very good stuff. The fare on TV in England by contrast was awful. I think I shall just insert a Thunderbirds DVD next time there's a match on tele.

How awful then it must be to watch the stuff I play on Saturday mornings. But it's not the watching, it's the playing.

Euro Efficiency

2010-12-26T12:03:00.000-08:00

What a difference a few days make. That's not a very catchy way to start a song so I guess that's why it hasn't been used. Only six days ago the queues were forming around St Pancras International.

I went along this afternoon and got my tickets for the next couple of trips. No worries said the lady for Tuesday. But today is Sunday and anything could happen in the next 48 hours.

That's an adulterated line from Stingray and I am in a state of supermarionation after being given the DVD collection of Thunderbirds. It was always a superior product in my view.

The boy wrecked my video cassette recorder a while back and I haven't replaced it so I have not seen things like the Monty Python episodes I recorded. Nor the host of Thunderbirds I recorded long ago in the distant mists of my youth.

Now I have them all nearby. I shall put them near the Rockford Files.

Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T07:49:00.000-08:00

Mein Gott. Christmas Eve 2010. The year has whizzed by and I find myself in Caffe Nero in north London preparing for a bit of work at the radio station via the telephone.

Fortunately enough has been happening in London to justify my English dateline so in a way I should thanks Eurostar for having stranded me here. Why do in Paris what you can do in London when it can save money and save mental anguish.

Eurostar sent me a text message saying that it was planning to run a quasi normal service. Just turn up and hour before your departure, the email suggested.

That's not normal. I'm usually 35 minutes before the event.

But these are not normal times. I am in a cafe in north London working for an English language radio station based in Paris.

As strange as the queues at St Pancras International.

Staying at Home II

2010-12-23T06:17:00.000-08:00

Years ago I used to go to Tooting Bec Lido. I went throughout the year. It was the healthiest time of my life. I went for a splash in all weathers.

Obviously at this time of the year, all I did was a width of about 30 yards.

It was the whole preparation for the 30 yards that was interesting and then the adrenal high of having completed such a thing.

That usually fired my cycle ride onto the Guardian via the cafe.

I was at the indoor pool in Tooting this morning. Thinking about how I used to go there when I was trying to get my head togther following the break up of a then very important relationship.

Not much has changed at the pool save the rise in prices and the installation of a sauna.

As I was cycling to my mum's flat, I passed the road where my house is and I saw this elderly figure going round the corner.

I recognised it as a man who about 17 years ago stopped me in the street and was really aggressive because - as he claimed -my mum owed him some cash.

I told my dad about it and a few weeks later my dad mentioned that the bloke wouldn't be bothering me any more.

It's the second christmas when we won't be having my dad's idiosyncratically seasoned chicken. I can understand why people want to go away at Christmas.

Heathrow and Eurostar just make it very difficult.

Stay At Home

2010-12-21T08:36:00.000-08:00

Did not go back to Paris on Tuesday. I was told by a Eurostar chap on Monday night that I would have to go up to St Pancras at 5am on Tuesday morning and start waiting for the train formerly known as the 0653 because the schedule no longer existed.

I didn't fancy that. Especially since people had been waited five hours or more on Monday. I contacted my boss in Paris who kindly allowed me to stay in London and work. I was more concerned by the problems the trains might have on Christmas Eve.

They might not get through on the 24th and I didn't fancy being in Paris over Christmas. I am sure I could have watched TV and done lots of administration. But that's not the point. My mother is over from America.

I ought to be in the same country and even in the same house since she is in the same continent.

Quite how Eurostar promote themselves as a go-ahead company when they force people to queue in sub-zero temperatures is beyond me.

They have at least refunded my tickets for Tuesday 21 and Friday 24 and there should be more than that. But since this is an outfit that can leave passengers to camp overnight in the terminal, I just ought to say OK.

The Snow

2010-12-20T06:12:00.000-08:00

At the moment there is a queue outside St Pancras. People are waiting to take the train to Paris and there have been a couple of cancellations.

I like this bit when the company says if you don't have to travel then please don't. But how many people don't have to travel?

I know that when I head off for St Pancras on Tuesday morning, it is because I have to do so - a few work commitments in Paris. I would love to say no, don't have to do it.

Perhaps it will be fine on Tuesday morning. I am more concerned about Christmas Eve. Am due to be on the last train out of Paris on that day. Wow. Adventure. Don't have to go to a war zone for edge and and uncertainty. Just try travelling between Paris and London.

Winterreise

2010-12-19T11:08:00.000-08:00

I think there is a moment when it is important to realise that winter brings circumstances that are seasonal. It is cold. It is snowy and it is often quite horrible. But it's neat to celebrate that.

But if you have to travel ... it's right to prepare for a nightmare. 2013, the train should have left Paris. 213, it should have been in London.

But time becomes fluid in winter and so we left at nearly 9pm and arrived in London and 1130pm local time. So that was half past midnight European time - because of course Britain doesn't hang with Europe on this temporal thang.

Shame that.

I am wondering whether Eurostar will be dishing out any refunds or any sweeteners. I will ask. Maybe they will say you are lucky it only took four and a bit hours.

And you know what they're probably right. It is winter time.

The Cancellations

2010-12-05T05:47:00.000-08:00

It's only the beginning of December and Eurostar is having trouble with the weather. I thought I was really smart on Saturday because I phoned up to see if the 0913 was running. Yes, the Frequent Traveller woman told me. You can check it on the website, she added. And I was guided to a page where everything was shown.

When I got to the Gare Du Nord I realise my mistake was not to check on Sunday morning because the train had been cancelled due to adverse weather conditions. Just before I had boiled into indignation, a couple entered the lounge complaining that they had been told just an hour before that the train was running.

So off we went at 1013, quite how the weather had improved between 0913 and 1013 was not obvious as I looked out of the window. Perhaps earlier there had been a deluge to go with the snowy blasts.

Well at least we were only seven minutes late into St Pancras which is good - if you were scheduled on the 1013. One hour seven minutes if like me one had been due to travel at 0913.

At least the staff in the lounge were pleasant. Coming round asking me if I needed any more chocolates. Shame it wasn't a lunch time train as I might have gone to town on the white wine.

World Cup Joys

2010-12-03T08:08:00.000-08:00

I am not upset that England lost the world cup charge. Russia and Qatar have never hosted the extravaganza.

Jolly good luck to them. They have deep pockets and that is necessary to lay on a lavish show.

Russia doesn't have a brilliant record on race relations and will need to redouble their efforts to make the country alluring.

Qatar isn't exactly a haven for workers' rights and so that might change.

Sepp Blatter, the president of world football's governing body, has been a recalcitrant bureaucrat on a plethora of issues but sending the tournament into new territories has been his grand flourish.

Earlier this year it was South Africa. In 2018 Russia will have the fun and in 2022 everyone will roast in the Middle East.

A new meaning to the phrase hot tickets.

Gut Feeling

2010-12-03T07:57:00.000-08:00

There I was feeling like it was sour grapes. I had been saying in a few blogs that the Eurostar trips were not as punctual as usual. Only once in five trips had the train been on time. Well on Thursday I received an email telling me that Eurostar was tackling this by cutting the service to 50 per cent.

However everything they say will be back to normal on Sunday. This is good as I am supposed to be travelling to London to do some work.

The Eurostar bosses have asked for all non essential travel to be delayed. This always strikes me as bizarre. How many people travel between the cities for non-essential purposes? That would be a fascinating survey.

Obviously somewhere there are lots of non-essential voyages taking place. I would love to get to that position in my life where I could take a non-essential trip.

It is not here yet.

Saturday morning's football match has been deemed non-essential. The opponents phoned our captain this afternoon to tell him that only five of them would be available. Since they are a good team they still might have won.

Since the pitch is booked for 11-1pm we could have a kick around. But the captain has suggested that exertion is a non-essential and has urged his troops to gird their loins for further exploits next week.

As the match was called off at the last minute, we will probably be given a 3-0 forfeit win.

It is quite a handy outcome. I have been invited out to a party tonight and I was going to leave early so that I could get enough sleep to run around in the morning.

I still might leave early to get some sleep.

At my stage of life it is essential.

Monday Feeling

2010-11-29T12:03:00.000-08:00

The world's most important match is underway between Barcelona and Real Madrid. I would say that is tripe because the world's most important match takes place when I play on a Saturday.

Obvious really. It is all relative. Do I care more that Barca or Real win more than my own team? Certainly not.

It's wonderful being parochial.

Or at least travelling from Paris to London to see it all on satellite TV.

Suffering For Art II

2010-11-26T09:04:00.000-08:00

There is no football on Saturday. But honestly the way the team plays sometimes it is difficult to say there is football when we are actually playing.

To misappropriate Mr Spock: It's not football as we know or understand it.

To that end Saturday will see a training session. A kickabout in which we maintain the rhythm of running around and overrunning the ball.

It has snowed today so it might be a bit chilly. Should be an ideal opportunity to stay tucked up in bed or cosy up on the sofa with my breakfast and Star Trek DVDs.

But if people are prepared to stand and wait to look at a load of pictures, it seems more logical to get up and run around in the cold.

Suffering For Art

2010-11-26T08:19:00.000-08:00

A long time ago I went to Giverney with a then girlfriend and toured the house of Claude Monet.

I bought some postcards of plants and bits of water and went completely mad.

"Because of my paparazzi status, I got into the museum with my camera without having to pay.

So you could say I got my Monet for nothing and my clicks for free. Yes Paul is in dire straits .....

That made the trip for me. It was probably the kiss of death for the relationship.

Ho hum. I went to the Monet exhibition at the Grand Palais and felt duty bound to remember the lines. Still remember the girlfriend. Difficult to forget really since we had once bought a house together.

But looking back on it I don't think she ever swore to love me till the end of eternity.

Probably didn't have a chance to vow allegiance because I was too busy seeking corny lines for postcards.

I did not get any postcards from the exhibition today as there were queues.

There was a queue to get in and there were hoards of people looking at the pictures.

It was a sumptuous display.

Almost as good as a certain post card caption.

St Pancras Old Church

2010-11-21T05:16:00.000-08:00

Maybe Eurostar should just stop promoting the idea of a timetable. Got into London late - yet again - and went to the St Pancras Old Church to listen in.

It's high stuff there. Incense and the like and some of the old songs. The hymns reminded me of church of my youth before the pews were ripped out and comfy chairs were installed and poorer songs were put in.

One of the blokes in the congregation started telling me a few things about the church after the service had ended. That was kind.

I knew a bit about the history having once walked through the graveyard when I was covering an inquest at St Pancras Coroner's Court as a reporter.

The church looked very foreboding and its proximity to a mortuary, the Hospital for Tropical Diseases and of course the coroner's court imbued it with a vivid lugubriousness.

Fortunately it was jolly inside. And that's what counts.

Network Europe

2010-11-16T06:00:00.000-08:00

I obviously haven't been to see a film in London for ages. I was visibly shaken when the lady at the box office told me it was £10.50 to see the feature.

I tried to place the last time I was at the Renoir in Bloomsbury and couldn't remember. I was given a leaflet about becoming a Curzon Cinema member and getting discounts at their lavish outlets at the Mayfair, Chelsea and Richmond cinemas.

It costs £50 a year to get two free tickets and a discounted price of £8.50.

I'd have to go more regularly to appreciate the benefits of that offer. I have been hovering for a few weeks hoping to go and see something at the flicks. But the times haven't coincided well with the finish at work.

But to cut a long story short, I went to see the Social Network, the film all about the Facebook phenomenon. Quite a good film but I didn't think it was worth £10.50.

I am clearly heading to the point where I will only venture out to see the brainless blockbusters and consign myself to waiting for the DVD release of films like last night's.

Seems a pity for an avid cinema goer like me. But the days of heading off to the flicks two or even three times a week would just be financially ruinous were I living in London and that's even with the Curzon's cut-price offer.

But as the film proffered you can go out with your friends firmly ensconced on your sofa.

Wild and Crazy

2010-11-15T12:31:00.000-08:00

My outrage is mounting. Yet again there was a delay. That makes three trips three delays. This time I quite liked the reasons. Sick passenger at Ashford International and then a broken rail in Haute Picardie.

So instead of arriving a 1017 we plodded in at 11am. Not drastic but when the whole spiel is about High Speed 1 and sleek services, I will have to rack my brains for an idea about something more tangible from Eurostar than the chef de bord saying sorry for the delay.

I want recompense.

Well Left

2010-11-15T06:34:00.000-08:00

I contributed to the collective this morning. About 40 or so magazines of the engineering union, the AUEW. They belonged to my dad and I handed them into the Marx Memorial Library in Clerkenwell Green.

They'd been hanging around in my room for more than a year so it was good to send them onto a place where they might be appreciated.

The next thing to disposes of is the classical records. Who does vinyl classical records these days? I am of course keeping the jazz records. Space will be found for them.

Eurolate

2010-11-14T12:06:00.000-08:00

It really is drivel. All this hyperbole about being zapped between Paris and London before you can say Chateau Neuf du Pape. Two trips I've taken of late and both were way late.

That's quite American that expression. Must be the book I'm reading. The Time Traveller's Wife. Should be renamed the Time Consuming Book. Three hundred pages in and not much has happened.

Maybe there'll be an explosive last 200 pages. Perfect book for reading on the Eurostar though.

The Hearth

2010-11-07T15:40:00.000-08:00

Sunday night in wintry Streatham has brought warmth in bed in the shape of a hot water bottle. I have done my usual ritual of sorting out a few more of my dad's things.

A few more papers have been consigned to the recycling and the room that was a mountain of stuff a year ago is a bit smaller. The middle child wanted the music stand he had for his saxophone and there was also a metronome. This is all for her saxophone lessons. She's pursuing it diligently. The sax was left to her. The boy gets the trumpet and the eldest has the piano thing.

I don't see them forming a band.

Maybe they could perform before I go and play football of a Saturday morning. Got back into action on Saturday and missed a good chance to make it 3-0.

My how I rued that as the opponents came back in the second half. It finished 4-2 to our shufflers. The ribs that were happily crunched a few weeks back survived in tact. But I do fear for my right ankle. It is not a happy area after the game.

But that is probably all psychological. What wasn't in my mind was the searing cramp in my left leg on Saturday afternoon as I was watching the tennis on TV,

The strange thing was the pain in my ankle had gone. I'll have to pursue the theory of internal dispersal. Must avoid pain in my brain though.

Perhaps I should stop reading the Time Traveller's Wife.

The Review

2010-11-07T15:38:00.000-08:00

The joys of being past the bawling baby stage on the Eurostar. I could look at the couple with the toddler sprawled over the seat and the babe in a harness wrapped round the mother’s neck

And I could rejoice that I’d passed through that voyage. Every day seemed to be a trial to get through.

And now the bairns are older, there’s wistfulness that they’re no longer the little cuddly cuties of yore.

Essentially I must stop reading books that provoke the contemplative side. It’s not good for my health.

Have started reading The Time Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. Quite what brought me to purchase such a tome is beyond me.

Perhaps it was my future self that did it. Because it seems inconceivable that my past self would have had any yen for this kind of novel.

As far as I can make out by page 60, it’s a cross between Highlander and Back to The Future.

For all the action of the Highlander film, there was a loneliness to the character who watched friends and lovers grow old and die while he continued.

I sense the same is in the offing in this one.

I shall avoid reading it on the 1013 out of Paris and concentrate on more immediate things like the economic gloom enveloping Europe.

Back to School

2010-11-03T15:10:00.001-07:00

The middle child was a bit sullen during the short break in Burgundy. I went for a walk with her on Monday evening and it came out about how she didn't like car trips in which there was lots of traffic.

And then she recalled a trip two summers ago in which I drove from London up to Lancashire to see an old university mate. Once there promptly I effectively broke down and spent most of the time there recovering. Awful. So she cried about how I didn't go out with her and her siblings and my mum.

I did explain that the summer had been difficult with my dad's death.

I told her we would go back to Paris on Tuesday evening so that we could spend her birthday out of a car.

So the birthday has been a range of treats. Lunch out, Star Wars and bits of homework for school on Thursday.

My treat to myself was to get my dad's wallet repaired since it had become rather forlorn in the year or so that I've been using it.

The shop where I took it has fixed it but lost it.

The man in the shop told me it was either in the bag of some other client and they are waiting for them to call in or it is lost in the atelier.

They are waiting for it to turn up. He didn't think it had been stolen. It had just got lost. I didn't quite burst into tears but was pretty upset.

It may well appear. So for the moment I am using another of dad's old wallets and one of his change purses.

The loss of the wallet left me rather discombobulated. It wasn't an expensive piece. And at least it was lost while I was trying to care for it.

Perhaps it will be found. If not then I guess they'll have to replace it somehow. But it wasn't very expensive. We'll have to see what the gesture is.

I am a sentimental one. I mean it is me who has adorned the wallet with meaning. If I am riven by its departure then how would I be if I lost something of real value?

It's not worth becoming too ponderous about it. An error has been made. Frothing and foaming about it won't bring the wallet back. I was trying to do the right thing.

That's not learned at school, it's learned from parents. The spirit is the key for the next few days.

Zen Interlude

2010-10-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

The advert goes the future is bright, the future is Orange. I do have a mobile phone account with Orange. But it really isn't on the basis of their shop in Place de la République. Actually there you do get to taste the future because it takes at least 30 minutes to get served.

But that was the subject of a previous blog or was that a rant?

I sent off a voucher to get some kind of refund for buying an iphone. Still nothing back. Maybe it will come. If it doesn't I don't foresee a bright future with Orange.

My point? Went to yoga. Highly indulgent this. No football this Saturday so what was the motive? Sheer pleasure at pushing myself to the edge and being happy to bounce out at the end.

I do believe the gammy side is healed. I did some things that three weeks ago would have been impossible.

The moral of the tale is next time I go up for a header, don't.

Of course now I'll be conscious of my torso. Maybe I should look for some exercise that strengthen that so I will be super tough next time a goalkeeper tries to take a chunk out of me.

Cultured Club

2010-10-26T02:48:00.000-07:00

I stood in the Basquiat exhibition at the Musee d'art moderne in Paris the other day looking at all the pretty pictures. Scribbled drawings and slashes of paint. References to a heritage and a present and it was all rather fascinating.

Thought about going to see the Gauguin at the Tate Modern in London on Monday but realised that Tate Modern and school half term did not really go hand in hand. So I have left that blockbuster for after the school holidays.

As I slouched onto the platform at St Pancras International this morning I looked out for the ICE. But it wasn't there. A couple of weeks ago it was being shown off ahead of the Deutsche Bahn service between London and Frankfurt that will make the German city accessible in only four hours.

Mein Gott.

I have very happy memories of Deutsche Bahn as I swept through Germany during the 2006 World Cup in its first class carriages. There was some month long ticket available on a special rate to journalists so I bought one and had a rail of a time.

That's a poor joke.

But with the new sleek ICE trains, Germany will be even closer. And for an anti aircraft person like myself, this makes me happy. If this possibility had existed before, I'd probably be living in Deutschland and commuting to London rather than Paris.

Cologne will be soon just a three hour breeze away. Wunderschön. And with 500,000 or so public sector workers newly idle, the trains ought to be full of day trippers heading off to savour the delights of the Chocolate Museum and the local beer.

But they're not likely to have much cash to be able to travel. Oh weh.

I assume the bigger brains than mine have taken all this into account.

Or is there a bigger gamble going on? I'd love to think about right wing military take over but even the armed forces and the police are being reduced.

That's reassuring in the event of social unrest. I'm going to seek the odds on a state of emergency being declared in Britain in less than five years.

The Strike

2010-10-26T02:37:00.000-07:00

A few people in the office in London have engaged me in conversation on the subject of the strikes in France. Moreso since the eldest was interviewed by a reporter and asked about running the gauntlet of hate - that's my spin on it.

I thought it was quite strange, a journalist from my paper phoning up the daughter of a journalist on the paper. Let them get on with it which was apposite for both spheres.

The Economist was succinct as ever on the issue. Demography and economics make the pension reform in France inevitable. And bleating about it in the streets doesn't alter the state of the nation.

I'm always intrigued by the amount of anger that can spill onto the streets over these issues. And I muse why couldn't this energy have been used to rally support against Nicolas Sarkozy.

I mean if it is so appalling and everybody hates it why did they vote for him two years ago? It's something to do with the fact that he said pensions wouldn't be touched.

So he's gone back on his promise. Wouldn't be the first politician to do that. Ho hum. In two years time there's another presidential election.

Maybe in the campaigning for that the candidates will promise to put the pensions back to the way they were.

And Iraq will be uninvaded.

The Plunge

2010-10-26T02:26:00.000-07:00

All of a sudden gloom appears to be the theme. It is very important from a media point of view because nothing sustains the chattering classes like misery. Systemic incompetence is so very good for the debate.

And there's been such a lot of it that it's impossible to call it a vicious circle because the virtue is that we've been forced to face the reality of big living.

Only now the cuts that are being heaped upon us are going to hit the very people who were powerless to stop the reason why they're being visited upon us.

As my little brain understands it, the banks had to be saved because they spent and spent without restraint. The taxes plugs the holes to save them because they're really important. And now the things that tax payers like - things like hospitals, decent rail services and local services like libraries all have to shut because the country can't afford them any more.

I have been reading around trying to find out what the 500,000 public service workers are going to do once they've lost their jobs.

And exactly how are they going to get some cash to live on since things like housing benefits are going to be cut.

I am sure an article will tell me in due course, perhaps the articles have already been written. I just need to surf the web to find it.

Of course once I've found it, Ill probably be quite gloomy.

Zen Times

2010-10-21T14:29:00.000-07:00

When I started on my yoga journey the idea was to stretch my limbs so that I could play football without recoiling every few weeks with terrible strains.

Of course the yoga didn't save me from a terrible clattering a few weeks ago, perhaps it was because of the yoga that I was in a good enough shape to be able to jump for the ball which enabled the goalie to take out my side.

But I don't want to enter into cause and effects too much.

Even though I am not going to be shuffling around the pitch on Saturday I went off to the yoga session because I just needed to evade the fallout from the shenanigans at the radio station.

Change, as Barack Obama once said, is a coming. Not quite sure what the French for that phrase is. But the powers that be have decided they want to change the way the English service is run. So now there is work on change. Mr and Ms Uberboss had a meeting about this on Tuesday when quite a few people were on strike or like sap boy me looking after the children whose teachers were on strike.

Ahoy there, sensitive superbosses, don't you see the gutless irony of your actions? Non? Well let me explain it to you in terms that you can never comprehend. It's not that cool to be so remote.

The social meltdown is underway at large in and managers at an underfunded radio station want to run down a service but don't have the courage to eliminate it.

That's so sad.

I thought a couple of downward facing dogs of a Thursday evening would put the horror into context.

It has in so far as change is a coming and the old world was a laugh and a half. Ghana, Beijing and South Africa.

"Nothing lasts for ever of that I'm sure," Bryan Ferry once sang. Or to quote the bad man from the Water Margin: 'You've had a good run prime minister, now die with grace.."

Or something to that effect.

But it's time to adapt. Mac is not here to talk to about this. What would he say? Stay calm. Survive. Keep your integrity because without that you've got nothing.

Bleak Books

2010-10-20T14:07:00.000-07:00

Fresh from reading Last Orders about how four chums go on a trip to dispose of a drinking mate's ashes, I am now into The Distance Between Us.

I found Last Orders disturbing because I still haven't decided what to do with the ashes of my dad. I might bury them in my garden once I reclaim my house. I can't bear the thought of scattering them somewhere.

I was upset on Monday and not much better off on Tuesday. The middle child is learning the saxophone which was bequeathed to her by my dad. She is finding it very hard and I wondered if she was getting weighed down by the implication of it all.

I spouted a tune about patience and learning a tiny bit at a time and we both ended up in tears which was all very sad. It was raining outside too.

Probably low blood sugar levels because after I'd made lunch me, her and the boy watched the Return of the Jedi from the sofa.

I think these strikes are fantastically good for father child bonding.

Society may be on the verge of meltdown but at least this family will burn together.

Reconditioning

2010-10-20T13:58:00.000-07:00

Never has an injury lay off been such a breath of fresh air. I have come to appreciate the joys of being able to stretch out. I am still nursing my traumatisme intercostal and though I am now capable of lifting my leg over my bike, I am still probably quite a way from being able to run around a football pitch.

So I won't.

The paper phoned up to ask me about how the eldest was coping at her college and about the shenanigans that the Lycee students are indulging in.

Well I guess the likelihood is that some of these kids' parents are out on the street being all anti-Sarkozy so why not the offspring.

To me there's something a bit strange about school kids getting politically involved. But I guess that I was just so institutionalised at 15 or 16. All I thought of doing was studying for my O levels or thinking about studying for my O levels.

I guess that is a default setting for someone who isn't that naturally bright. It never occurred to me to rebel. I figured that my best form of rebellion was to get educated and revolt that way against the constraints of poverty.

Gosh that's not so dumb. Perhaps I'll figure out how God was born.

London Past and Present

2010-10-18T06:17:00.000-07:00

It seems like self mutilation to return to London to be sad. But I can't avoid the past because London is very much part of my present and therefore my future.

I wander around bits of south London and think of how my Mondays used to be spent - dropping in to see my dad and then going on to work.

Now it is a case of sorting out his bits of paper and going to work.

I went round to his flat today as various junk mail people are still sending out the win a billion pounds coupons. The couple who live downstairs at his place save up the letters just in case there's something important.

I went into the Cancer Research shop on Balham High Road and bought a couple of things. Took a coffee in the Cafe Nero just opposite.

It would have been a bit too much to have sat at the window seat where me and him had a coffee just after a visit to the hospital in May 2009. That was in early May and I remember thinking what a strange way to spend part of the May bank holiday weekend.

But a month later he died. Ladies final Saturday at Roland Garros.

I guess he knew the end was in sight because he made sure to tell me that I should not fret nor worry. He also said that I shouldn't be sad and to look after the children.

I ought to follow orders.

New Phone Old Phone

2010-10-16T23:18:00.000-07:00

It was the irony that kept me going. Having decided to get a newer version of the iphone, I was locked into a spiral. I needed Mac OS 10.5.8 to be able to download itunes 10.1.

I couldn't do this with my computer which was Mac OS 10.4.1.

It was frustrating. But I remained zen and went and got the new software. The man in the shop warned me that I ought to store all the data before installing the software.

I said I had storage somewhere but I bought some new storage anyway for the missus.

Lo and behold, the old data was stored and the new software was installed.

Itunes 10.1 was mine and the iphone did its things.

Almost seems a shame to have the same old photos and music on the new contraption.

But it puts progress into perspective.

Orange Tree

2010-10-14T02:27:00.000-07:00

I'm not so sure that reading a book is the best way to survive the Orange Store in Republique. The system won't change unless pure anger is poured forth by everyone.

I arrived at 1030 this morning to find a queue outside the shop. Even when it is closed there are people waiting.

Some bloke arrived after me and just silently pushed his way towards the front. This is where e can enter into national characteristics because of course "the French" don't queue like "the British".

So it allows people to do that kind of thing. But rather than getting bolshie at the queue barger I just kept cool because I knew that another 10 minutes wouldn't make much difference.

Besides I had alloted an hour to the whole process.

Hallelujah, the things that didn't work on Wednesday work on Thursday and I have the new phone.

I just have to go and get the protective film for the screen and a case to hold it.

At some point I have to work today.

More Battering

2010-10-12T12:26:00.000-07:00

After the crunch collision on Saturday morning, I decided to take my battered left side to the doctor. There was great news in that she said I didn’t have to go for an X ray.

But after getting me to lean left, right and contort, she declared I had un traumatisme intercostal.

This translates into one month off football and tennis. Since these are my principal methods of exercise, let’s look at those kilos in a month.

The doc said I could do anything as long as it didn’t hurt. Fortunately the local swimming pool has reopened following a revamp which took a month longer than scheduled.

The doctor’s chat was offset with some intriguing news from this morning about the school where the eldest goes.

Apparently there is no decree guaranteeing its future. This means that technically it could be closed down and we’d have no redress.

I like the idea of edgy education.

Perhaps as I sit out the next few Saturdays I can look into these kind of niceties.

The Battering

2010-10-10T07:03:00.000-07:00

Not quite sure where the book came from but it's found its way into my home. Am reading Last Orders by Graham Swift. Won the Booker Prize in 1996 so I am really in the groove.

Probably not the book for me since it is all about death and some drinking buddies going along to scatter the ashes of their erstwhile drinking chum.

Am getting through it in a methodical 20 pages a day way. Decided to leave in Paris for the weekend so I could concentrate on the newspapers and the magazines on the train this morning.

Was doing OK ploughing through the Sunday Times and the Mail on Sunday which the paper informs me is 70p cheaper than the Sunday Times.

When I returned from the restaurant car - that sounds so Orient Express - I found a rather long haired tattooed type standing next to my seat and talking to three women in the seats in front of mine.

They turned out to be members of the Cellestial Cello Quartet on their way back to London after doing a gig at Le Grand Palais. They'd lost the fourth member of the group. But it was interesting listening to their tales of being one of the warm up acts for Laurent Garnier.

They're going to be at the Savoy later in the month.

Their stories kept my mind of my aching side. Horribly crocked was I in Saturday morning's shuffle. The only positive about having my side bruised was that the team won 2-0.

I'd like to think it was the image of me jogging round the running track which inspired them. As it was those few laps wer about the extent of my exercise in the second half. I went back on, ran a bit as I did my bit to defend the 2-0 lead but when I tried to stretch a leg out, I realised I couldn'ty go on any more.

Off I went.

Don't know if I'll be back on the park next Saturday.

If I'm not, more time for reading and listening to cello quartets.

Sorting Times

2010-09-28T06:56:00.000-07:00

There must be something in the weather. Perhaps it is the season changing. I was on Tooting Bec Common on the bike on the way to work and I saw the conkers on ground.

That might have sparked the reverie. It certainly did take me back.

Was sorting through my dad's things today and found an exercise book from 1970. It had drawings of goalkeepers, warships and planes and on one page the question was posed: How was God born?

That has rather cheered me up. I think I might use it as a default response to an issue I'd rather not voyage into.

I wish I'd found the phrase earlier. It might have helped me write off difficult situations more quickly but then I might have had to endure the woe of being a a cop out.

Also found in dad's pile a little homily on aspiration. About looking past the immediate.

Seem to be coming to the split of London as the venue for contemplation and Paris as site for living.

Revolutions of Memory

2010-09-27T08:33:00.000-07:00

Nothing quite like a journey through the smog of London on a bike. Especially on a bike that does not do fast. Not that I would zoom all the time. But every now and again I need to know that I could.

My bike is a stately procession of a piece. This cannot go on. The seven fast gears do not seem to exist. Thus I am in a 14 gear cruiser state.

And on the flat bits that is rather frustrating. I don't have this kind of quandary in Paris. There the bike is technically worse. It is heavier and bulkier and I can barely lift it up.

But I can whizz through the city.

Going along at a languid pace does allow a certain amount of contemplation. The voyage from Streatham to work is full of memory. And they seem more vibrant because the journey is seldom undertaken.

I think about Character X going past a certain door or Character Y as I glide past the common. Is this what advancing years do to you?

There's a strong case for going somewhere completely new.

The Austro-Hungarian Empire

2010-09-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

There must have been something in the air. I was horrendously indecisive. Got off the train and thought about the Whitechapel Gallery or the Royal Academy. Could not decide.

So thanks be to London Underground who'd closed down the Hammersmith and City line for the weekend. That ruled out the Whitechapel so I trundled along on the Victoria line to Green Park and the Royal Academy to see the show about the art from the Museum of Fine Arts in Budapest.

Lavish stuff. Quite liked the picture inspired by a Heinrich Heine poem. The Kiss of the Sphinx by Franz von Stuck. The caption said it was all about the pleasure and torture of having one's soul drained by the embrace of this half woman half lion.

Well there's an object lesson. There were a few other goodies around. I was rather taken by the paintings featuring Venus and her nymphs.

And the religious paintings had particular resonance. After the football team's first match of the season, a whole heap of praying will be needed not to plunge into the third division.

I said before the match that we usually lose when there are 15 and sure enough we lost when really we shouldn't have done. usual failings. Lack of concentration and a generosity of spirit.

Protocol of the games with referees says that each side should provide a linesman for each half and a ref for one half. As the visitors only came with 11 we provided all the officiating.

In one particularly splendid passage, there was confusion over a throw in. Rather than waiting for it to be settled. The visitors took the throw and promptly scored.

Impossible to play to the whistle as there was no whistle and obviously no sense of hang on let's all make sure this is the right thing.

Tough to lose that way but I guess it's better than winning against a team reduced to nine men due to protocol.

More Strikes

2010-09-23T08:19:00.000-07:00

Wow. Just when I thought it was safe to go to work, it's strike time yet again. Billions are out on the street protesting over plans to extend the years of toil before retirement.

Unions say 300,000; police say just over 65,000.

Whichever way it is, there's anguish. There were only one in two metros this morning. This meant that the trip to school with the eldest took on dimensions of stress.

For a 9am start, we left at 7.50am. I explained on the way to the métro why we had to leave earlier.

I gave her two worst case scenarios.

1. The métro is crowded and we can't get on the train. You arrive late.

2 The métro is crowded but we get on a train and we have to wait for 40 minutes in the café.

She realised that option 2 was preferable and option 2 is what happened. We met some other parents in the café.

Great minds think alike.

Travelling in Paris and London

2010-09-21T12:46:00.000-07:00

Went on the metro today and was a lot more wary. It was just like travelling on the Underground in London. I wonder if this is to be my last journey. I survey people.

How did it come to be like this?

When I was young we were all worried about nuclear armageddon and the build up of nuclear weapons. Well the weapons have been built up and it is just a person with a few bombs strapped to them that is likely to make the difference.

Not a 100 megaton warhead.

But that angst was all after I had played and lost the second round at the other journalists' tennis tournament. I played against the bloke I lost to last year. I actually won games this year. All those lessons have paid off. He has been taking lessons too. So I guess the key is to go on taking lessons and join the tennis club as my tennis coach Rafael suggests.

That's the way to make the step up.

Perhaps next year I'll lose to the same bloke.

I blame my gammy ankle for restricted mobility.

I blame the politicians for their policies that have left us exposed to the extremists.

The Symmetry

2010-09-20T07:23:00.000-07:00

Police are apparently running around Paris looking for a female suicide bomber. The security services have it on good authority from two sources that this lady is hell bent on destroying herself and a carriage load of people.

This is not good news. The suicide bombers have done their bit to make London super edgy and now they're angry with the French - more pointedly the Parisians

I'm just hoping it is a deflection story aimed at taking everyone's minds off the fact that the French government are kicking out the Roma from their midst.

The papers I read on the train over from Paris on Sunday were full of stuff about migration, immigration, work patterns, the need for foreign labour, the problems of foreign labour.

I guess I won't know how much substance there is to the rumours until a bomb goes off or the security services capture the kamikaze lassie.

It seems a shame that we can't all get along and grow old in peace. But I guess that was never the way of the world.

New Era

2010-09-19T06:36:00.000-07:00

Another season of football approaches and it could be fascinating. The final friendly was against a team from the third division. They didn't seem that bad but were slaughtered.

Perhaps it was down to the general ebullience of our two recruits who seemed to gel. I later found out that they played indoors each week with the star player Laurent. Well, it will be interesting when all three of them are on the pitch together.

I was dropped back to midfield to make way for the new man up front. The self-sacrifice.

It bore fruits as he scored a hatful and has pace. It means a kind of pass that I haven't been able to play - the one into space for him to run onto. I sense a learning curve coming on.

Tennis Times

2010-09-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

Not quite sure how this happened but I've become tennised up.

The annual journalists' tournament at Roland Garros is taking place at the same time - I was going to use contemporaneously - as another tournament for journalists at the nearby Tennis Club de Boulogne Billancourt.

I found out about the latter two years ago when I was in Beijing. While sitting at my desk in the Ice Station Zebra that masqueraded as the press hangar, there was this email from the Open ISCA to come and take part.

I duly registered and I was invited to play. I asked where the Open ISCA got my name from and the organiser told me they dipped into the database of journalists registered to cover Roland Garros and picked me.

I ended up playing against the same bloke that I played against at the Roland Garros tournament. Lost badly first at Roland Garros but a few weeks later with my post Beijing fitness returning I lost less badly.

Last year at Roland Garros I wasn't really in a fit state as I'd been dealing with my dad's death all summer and was paired in the first round against someone who clearly had played well before. Tournaments he told me as I attempted to break sweat after a 6-1 6-0 annihilation.

It was the same at the Boulogne Billancourt event.

However 2010 has brought a bit more success in that I won my first round matches at both tournaments.

On a Thursday full of fun I played at 10am in the Open ISCA and won and then at 1pm had to play my second round match at Roland Garros. Not ideal.

I said to the missus on Thursday night I don't know how much of a bearing that early match made on the second. I think I was in better physical shape than my second adversary but he had better technique and range of shots.

I am at least contented that I did better than last year. I beat the guys I should have beaten and that is a start.

I am going back to Roland Garros on Friday morning with my tennis coach Rafael.

The great thing is that after you've been eliminated from the Roland Garros extravaganza you can go back with a mate. So I shall try a few returns there before the whole thing closes down on September 25.

This rampant individualism detracts me from the team game that is my football side.

On Saturday there is the second warm up match before the season proper. If the first warm up game is anything to go by it is going to be a stiflingly long season in the second division.

The goal is not to be promoted and not to be relegated. The first division last season was not much fun. I don't think the third division would bring much joy either.

There are a couple of new players. A forward and a midfielder. I shall doubtless shuffle between attack and the middle as befits the needs of the team.

But at what cost to myself?

Hang on that sounds like faux woe.

Changing Times

2010-09-12T06:50:00.001-07:00

Apparently it's going to pour down in Paris later this Sunday. I'll miss the deluge as it's bright and sunny in London. As I strode to the metro station this morning, I suddenly remembered that I'd left my brolly behind in the flat.

My theory being that what happens in Paris usually hits London. So by the time I emerge from the office in London I'll be in the rain.

While men of yore circumnavigated the globe, these kind of conundrums are my beasts to conquer. Clearly I'll have to get a fold up umbrella for my locker iat the office n London. That way I can travel with confidence.

I bumped into my mate Robin at the Gare du Nord this morning. He was on his way to meet his mum and sister. Sister has her art on show at a gallery in London. The opening view is on Monday night and I might venture into Soho after my shift to mop up any glasses of wine.

That's the kind of art I can buy into.

The Symmetry

2010-09-07T14:20:00.000-07:00

London and Paris were a reflection today. There was a Tube strike in London and in Paris there was similar action. It's remiss of me but I haven't been following the details as to why the workers are angry.

How can I sympathise if I'm unaware? Well I went out on Monday night to Shoreditch House with a mate. I almost felt cool and trendy. Didn't overdo it as there was the small matter of returning to Paris on Tuesday morning.

Would the roads be clogged? The bus came at 6.30am and 20 minutes later I was at St Pancras. I was on the 7.27am and in Paris a matter of hours later.

For the sake of completion I took the bus from the Gare du Nord.

And as for the schools they were disrupted but four days into term. I'm not quite sure what impression this gives pupils but it's not what I'd call brilliant for the new children - ie the likes of my eldest.

They're going off on Wednesday for their half day.

At least the trains will be running.

La Rentrée

2010-09-05T12:08:00.000-07:00

The term rentrée should come with a warning. The children go back to school so that the trade unions can turf them out again because of strikes.

The season's first strike finds my eldest barely into her second week at secondary school. It's in the 15th arrondissement which is about a 20 minute metro ride from our flat.

Apparently there'll be one train in three on Tuesday so she'll be able to get there albeit in crushed circumstances. However the head of the school says she doesn't know how many of her teachers will be on strike. So effectively the eldest could get there and not have any lessons. The fact that the head knows that the canteen will not function merely underlines all the lurid cliches about the French.

Roland Garros Fun Day 1

2010-05-25T15:42:00.000-07:00

One day you’re in a final and the next year you don’t even make the second round. It’s a grim business this tennis circuit.

Sure the sun may be shining and the clay court technicians might be finding their angles and sliding into their shots but Dinara Safina was top spinning incarnate.

The former world number one was a double break up in the final set against the 39 year old Japanese player Kimiko Date Krumm.

But Safina, blew her lead, going down 7-5 in the decider. Safina’s elder brother, Marat, was renowned for blazing winners and glazing out of the zone.

A distinctly dazed Safina said after her defeat that she saw her opponent starting to suffer from cramps.
But rather than focusing on her own game, she committed the cardinal sin and let her concentration drift.
Fatal in tennis terms. Perhaps a family trait. But touchingly humane.

Date Krumm played her first French Open more than two decades ago. Indeed little Dinara was toddling around the kindergarten in her native Moscow when Ms Date was testing her mettle in the Parisian dirt.

Date added Krumm to her name after hitching up with the German racing driver Michael Krumm and it was his yen to see her play competitively that led her to return from a 12 year retirement in 2008.

Date Krumm is 40 in four months and I’d like to think that Safina took pity on a veritable grande dame in a grand slam.

There’s no such concept of succour in the house of Rafael Nadal. The king of clay was in all conquering form against the French 18 year old Gianni Mina.

As one of the top junior players in the world you could say Mina is a major with the minors.

He had a bash with the playground’s alpha male instead of revising for his forthcoming Baccalaureat.

The good thing about going up against the four times champion is that he won’t have to worry about missing more revision period.

Beaten 6-2 6-2 6-2 in two hours 22 minutes. It was a lesson.

The Star Gazer

2010-05-23T11:55:00.001-07:00

There are times in the Eurostar lounge whenit all seems worthwhile. The tennis world was over in the west of Paris at the French Open and I was on the train back to London.

I walked into the frequent travellers lounge and lo I noticed Ken Loach engaged auteur extraordinaire. I wanted to go up and say something but modesty forbad. Besides what can you say other than liked your films, look forward to seeing the latest.

I declined but he went up in my estimation because the woman he was travelling with loooked about his age. I'm sure that if I were a famous international art house director, I'd be going round with at least my third or fourth wife.

Only because that's what famous film directors are supposed to do. Not because I'm actually fickle.

Having resisted the temptation to go and hail Loach, I caved in when Ronnie Corbett entered. He looked so approachable. Not surprising really since I've been letting him into my sitting room for all my life.

I saw him and he had such a radiant face that I went up to him (and the lady accompanying him) and said something along the lines of sorry to disturb you but for all the hours of fun and laughter - thanks. Don't want to disturb you any more....

But we got talking and he and the lady asked me what I did and we had a rabbit about journalism and why they were in Paris.

I got into the office and recounted to my colleagues my brief interactions with the stars. One asked if Ronnie Corbett was really small.

I said he is shorter than me but I felt as if I was looking up to someone.

And of course I was. His brand of humour had put him right up there.

The Day Out

2010-04-27T14:29:00.000-07:00

It is a rite of passage. Madame Tussauds and the attendant excitement. The middle child was so excited she didn't sleep properly and spent the day trip in a state of dozy contentment holding my hand at every possible opportunity with the exception of the hamburgers and chips at Soho House.

The eldest child who took full credit for the idea was just joyous. Seeing Johnny Depp and some bloke from High School Musical sent her off in screeching delight. And she was a voracious poser next to the wax works.

What I liked was the middle one sitting right next to Aundrey Hepburn and looking as gamine.

The eldest seemed freaked at the waxwork, claiming the leg was moving.

My bank account certainly moved. Entry and pictures of offspring with various stars sent it downwards. But the pleasure.

Without measure.

The Air Chaos

2010-04-25T07:14:00.001-07:00

I don't particularly like airplanes, so travelling between Paris and London by train seems a perfect fit. But it's been sticky on the trains of late as the volcanic ash in the skies forces the air lot down to the ground and onto the train. I was asked a few times if I had suffered any problems because there were stories on British TV of horrific queues.

Well I suffered. We had a baggage scare at the Gare du Nord. An unattended item and the terminus was evacuated. That was terrible. Well that's what I thought until I saw the ashen faces of the international stranded.

The Missing

2010-04-09T03:16:00.000-07:00

What could be worse than going missing from your own blog? Writing another blog and not cross referring it. That is what I've been guilty of. While in Angola for the radio station I wrote a blog about travelling around the country. And my what a journey it was.

Here is the link to some of the pieces and I am glad to be back in good old France. Getting ready for Roland Garros and the World Cup in South Africa.

The Big Day

2009-12-25T09:38:00.000-08:00

Seems a relief not to be anywhere near a train. Church this morning was rather sombre. It was a Eucharist service which meant lots of recitation. Agnus Dei. Very high stuff. Not many carols. It was for the high hards. The church was cold but that's not the point. The point is to go along and hear a tiny bit about the big day.

Certainly did that. Usual Christmas fare and then the snooze. At least these days I've got a three-year-old to cosy up to for the siesta.

And then there's the viewing. Dr Who the two part special which culminates on New Year's Day. So that was a non-starter as we won't be here on New Year's Day. But then again with Eurostar......

It Is Coming

2009-12-22T13:52:00.000-08:00

So the trains are running again. And there's a chance to go to London. You just have to take it really. So Wednesday is the day. Only five days after we were supposed to travel. And precisely one day after I had psyched myself up to staying in Paris. But the children ought to see their grandparents. But I am sad since this is the first Christmas for a while that I won't be having it with my dad. I cry from time to time. Actually the strangest things set me off. But this, I guess, is normal. Having a blocked nose doesn't help.

Not sure if my current state is really travel worthy. But you just have to try.

The Non Christmas

2009-12-21T13:21:00.000-08:00

Even though I may have been neglecting my blog duties of late, it seems that one of the planks of my lifestyle has gone into retro mode.

Eurostar has been crippled over the past few days due to the wrong kind of snow getting into the electrics of the locomotives. Services have been cancelled between Paris and London since Saturday - the day we were supposed to be heading over the England.

I have informed the bosses in London that I cannot come and do my duty as I am at the mercy of a train that cannot do snow.

It was a shame then that I finished editing and writing this for the radio station's website as I had a few extra days. But perhaps the deadline was a good thing. I got it done.

I also got a second passport done so I could travel to England. The first passport is with the Angolan consulate getting the visa inserted for the big trip in January to the Africa Cup of Nations.

There'll be no snow in Angola. But they do have mines.

Those definitely aren't good for trains.

The Picture

2009-12-13T06:11:00.000-08:00

Quite a palaver getting a picture taken. An old friend was visiting with her two children and I decided to take them to Le Grand Corona for a coffee. I thought there would be a photo booth at Alma Marceau. No. I asked at the ticket office and the lady said go to St Philippe du Roule or Franklin Roosevelt. Off I went to St Phil and sat in the booth. It swallowed my euro and then refused to work.

So back I went to Franklin. To abridge: it took me ages to get a picture. The pose that I managed to muster was remarkably calm given the trauma of the prelude.

The picture is now in the Angola visa dossier and I await the next step. We will fly out on January 5 on Ethiopian Airways. The radio station has not paid the broadcast rights.

I am still unsure as to whether I will be able to get into mixed zones and the like to interview the players.

If that doesn't happen, then it will be a very tough competition to cover.

The Experiment

2009-12-09T14:02:00.000-08:00

And just as I thought it was safe to avoid the joys of Paris....

Thought I would try adding a bit of technology to the blog. The little breakfast extravaganza is available from a cafe called le Grand Corona which is just on the Place de L'Alma.

You could be macabre and say it is the perfect place to take a coffee before going to see where Princess Di and Dodi met their ends.

But I'm not like that. It is just a choice venue to watch the fashionable people and cars go by. It is also the best tartine and coffee I've had.

The Season

2009-12-09T13:48:00.000-08:00

It's an absolute disgrace. Nothing added since the last time. But of course since then there has been abject failure on the football field which, let's face it, has been the main thrust of the blog.

The season in the top flight is a top fright. Each weekend brings another atrocity. But at least it's not a profession.

Good job too. But how long can it go on? Not long for me as I am out this coming game. Did something rather odd to my left leg a few weeks back.

I went last Saturday to go and be the linesman but as one player could only do 45 minutes and another turned up and just about managed to warm up, I waddled around. But it was very unsatisfying. Unable to accelerate at all was frustrating.

I am gradually becoming restored. But by the time it happens I should be in Angola. Going to cover the African Cup of Nations for the radio station.

Jolly decent of them too. Will have to work ferociously hard. But oh the sun. Get those short sleeves out baby.

And of course what DVDs to take? I took the Matrix trilogy last time. And I remember waking up at various moments during the night hearing the pounding soundtrack.

It was a bit too pompous. I am thinking Die Hard or even the Rockford Files - perhaps the latter as the dialogue is good and who knows it might give me a few ideas for my reports.

The Aftermath

2009-11-19T13:09:00.000-08:00

Good grief it's only a game. But this is a far far bigger thing than all of us. The Irish FA want the France Ireland match replayed. Oh please the last one was bucklingly dull.

To play it over again? But why not since it was decided by outrageous cheating. Outrageous skill was never going to decide it so why not resort to the dark side.

Thierry you are no Jedi. Ho hum but the French football association and FIFA don't care about honour. it's results that count and what bigger result than getting to the world cup finals.

But at what cost to your mortal soul? Me soul? That went long ago.

I've seen enough on a Saturday morning with clunkers like me to know that odd things happen with people and football. The corinthian precepts go out of the window.

Perhaps that's why I would never have made it. I wasn't brought up to be like that and I never had being like that thrust upon me.

I once wrote in a blog that for me football is about how you can dine out on the game. Spouting off and being told to be quiet because no one wants to hear about the fantastic angled ball to set up a goal or the sliding tackle to avert a goal.

But these are things that can be dampened with good humour. Would you ever try to dine out on: "I handled the ball and got a cross in for my team mate to score. We were all pleased. The ref didn't spot it."

And with cameras galore watching the ignominy. You win a game. You lose the right.

Ta Ta Ti Ti

2009-11-18T15:30:00.000-08:00

Quite how you are supposed to teach youngsters the joy of participation when you see the professionals being ever so dodgy.

France got through to the World Cup thanks to their captain Thierry (Titi to his team mates) Henry handling the ball and then passing it for William Gallas to score.

It wasn't the ball hit me hand ref, it was more I made sure I controlled the ball with me mits.

Oh well. France through and Ireland out. No feat of genius. No flash of skill. Just plain old fashioned cheating.

The match was tough to watch. Indeed it was dire fare and I don't think I was seeing the potential world champions battling it out.

Went off for supper before the match with me mate Charlie who was over from London. And then we saw the match from about the hour mark. What with extra time, it was about an hour's worth of "top quality" football. Dire.

While at tennis practice, there was a cacophony outside the tennisdrome. Klaxons galore as the Algerians all came out to blare their happiness as their team had beaten Egypt 1-0 in Khartoum to advance to the finals for the first time since 1986.

No element of a handball in their goal.

But then they're not the former world champions.

The Laugh

2009-11-15T11:59:00.000-08:00

Early train from Paris. Into London and bright joyous sunshine. What are the options with a few hours to kill before work? A cycle along the canal to the zoo to make the most of my new London Zoo all year entry card? Or a bit of art?

Art. Royal Academy art. Anish Kapoor is gracing the galleries though I wonder just what it takes these days to be called art.

The boy Kapoor has done well. My favourite bit was having a canon fire a 50lb globule of wax at one of the white walls. This is art? This is damn lucky.

I guess the creativity comes from having the guts (and the back catalogue) to say to the curators: "Look, what we're going to do is explore the relationship between violence and formation in the supra context of global reduction." I paraphrase of course.

But the canon went off and caused a flurry of chattering. It was a loud bang and the splat of wax was equally impressive.

One room was devoted to sludges. It reminded me of Paris. Lots of doggie dejections piled up high. Needless to say I thought these particular pieces were crap.

Loved the mirrors. Anybody who gets people in to look at themselves while looking at his art gets my vote.

Gets my laugh too.

The Overload Over

2009-11-13T13:34:00.000-08:00

I might well be able to be all athletic on the football pitch but after three evenings of yoga, I might be too zen to be competitive.

Small price to pay for being able to stay on the field. But what's the point of being on the pitch if you're not going to be aggressive.

Be corinthian. Not being like that at the moment in Egypt where tensions are boiling over the match against Algeria.

But world cup qualification is at stake. The match takes place on Saturday. Shortly after the match. The match being our latest attempt to win a game.

The star striker is playing for the first bit and only 12 players are available this weekend. Unlike last weekend when 15 turned up and it was chaos.

I sense a result.

Even if we don't get one me and the missus are going to try a new restaurant out in the evening. It's North African cuisine and is owned by the man who runs Momo in London.

Give us a cous cous.

More like give me a break. The TV is on France 2 as the France v South Africa international has just finished. It's the loto draw brought to us by two young and wholesome people.

Balls flying around everywhere. Presage of the morning's activities.

The Overload

2009-11-11T13:57:00.000-08:00

Day one of a mass of yoga nights. Not that I have become over enthusiastic, rather the time limit on my card is soon to expire and I had about five lessons left.

Cue an intensive run. This means I should get my money's worth by the end of the week. But by the end of the week I shall be so chilled I won't really care about having fulfilled the demands of my card.

I was trying to watch the tennis on TV but it is on the pay channel and I have stumbled on Barcelona TV. All very interesting. At the moment talking about a Barcelona academy - school work and football. So have to 'watch' the tennis via the internet.

At the Paris Masters over in Bercy which I guess I could have gone to, top seed Roger Federer is doing his best to lose to the home hero Julien Benneteau.

Get the feeling that after winning his 15th grand slam at Wimbledon and having twins, winning more tournaments isn't going to be that easy.

Maybe he needs more yoga.

The Trawl

2009-11-07T07:18:00.000-08:00

There's one good thing about the football at the moment. The matches are in the morning so they're over and done with and you can get on with the rest of the day.

There's no time for pre match nerves. The kind of thing I suffer from.

So I viewed a 9am start with very mixed feelings. Upside was that I would be home for lunch. Downside was that I would have to get up early to wend my way to the venue.

When I set my alarm it was for 7.15am. Early early I thought. But not really because I get up half an hour before that to go to the swimmig pool during the week.

So in fact it was a lie-in. Lazy boy.

Perhaps that sluggishness was transmitted to the team. For here was an immensely winnable cup match against lower league opposition but as norma when 15 of our team turn up, we were useless.

Well it was one particularly bad formation which cost us two goals. I scored so that's the third of the season in four games. That's not a bad strike rate for a midfielder.

But they've all been face saving exercises adn have never come to put us in the lead. Maybe I should take a lead and go up front.

Maybe I should take a lead and be more up front.

I went home and said to the missus - same old story when they're 15 of us. She asked me if I'd made my observations known. I reminded her that this was the team that voted to stay in the second division so that people could turn up and play. The idea was to win but not at all costs.

Better to have 15 turning up and to lose on a Saturday morning than eight saps in the dressing room wondering why the others haven't bothered to come.

The Sexology

2009-11-04T15:47:00.000-08:00

I'm not quite sure when it was bought but I got the Die Hard box set. It was called the Quadrology. And in it was eight odd hours of Brucie going bang crash wallop against a plethora of baddies.

I've had Star Wars Episodes IV, V and VI more or less since I've had a DVD player. Though I was never a great fan, I got the prequel epsiodes.

Trip to Burgundy last week was a joy of autumnal sunny flourishes and a trip to Chablis to stock up on me bottles.

For the children? The chronological rendition of Star Wars. It finished on the middle child's birthday back in Paris and the eldest has had her eureka moment at the end of episode three. "Oh now I know who Darth Vader," she cried out after Obi Wan had left his former pupil a severed mass in the lava of some volcano cum planet.

The middle child was just very sad that the cute little blond boy of Episode I had mutated into a bloodthirsty Sith lord.

The boy just did the Vader like breathing.

I have watched the first three that were made many times and it's the first time I've watched I-VI so rapidly. It was because of the children and it gave me a whole new realm of pleasure. The joy of sexology.

The Side Effects

2009-10-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

Now this seems to be a throwback. Up at ridiculously early hour because of a wandering child. At least I have a DVD player to watch my favourite recuperative programmes.

It's 5am so it must be time for an episode of Star Trek. How can I stay awake while watching Kirk, Spock and the gang.

Maybe the child has nothing to do with it. It could be a side effect. The first pill has been taken - four more to go. There's an ointment to rub all over my gammy right hand. I am wondering how an ointment can help a hand.

The pills are supposed to be anti inflammatory but the pharmacist told me I had to take it in the middle of a meal otherwise there would be rumblings in my stomach.

I thought a gammy tummy to remedy a gammy hand. What kind of choice is that. And besides I can't take pills to stop pain. We have to get to the source.

So the radiogramme later on Friday and then the neurologue after the holidays.

I was a bit tearful earlier as my dad had to take lots of stuff which had horrible side effects like a gammy tummy. He spoke about the difficulty of it all. It made me sad to recall it. Still does.

But he was battling cancer and gammy legs. At the moment I'm fighting a dicky hand and a boy who does not be too keen to sleep.

He has a siesta at school which renders him buoyant of an evening. Perhaps when the siestas stop he will be more malleable and tired at night time.

Auxiliary controls as some characters would say on a 1960s sci-fi series.

The Course

2009-10-22T00:31:00.000-07:00

The trip to the doctor was its ever drawn out self. The appointment was for 10.20am. But we've been going for years and we know that 10.20 means some time after 11.

This relaxed approach to the time vortex has knock-on effects.

I spent the prelude to the visit showing the middle child Sex Pistols videos on YouTube.

Then the big child came into the kitchen and we watched a few numbers from the Specials. By the time the boy came in we were onto Madness.

Apt really. Because that's what I thought had enveloped me when I sat at 1050 waiting for my 1020.

Exasperation hit at gone 11 when I realised that the trip down nostalgia lane had ramifications.

I had not taken my cheque book nor my health card.

Sat in the waiting room without the vital pieces. I declared my incompetence to the doctor immediately and said I would come back immediately after the appointment.

She said I'm not moving from the surgery.

The point of the visit is a gammy hand. I cannot grasp anything with my right hand.

Is it repetitive strain injury? Is it a trapped nerve?

Well I'm on the merry-go-round. Off for a radiogramme thang on Friday morning and then I'm seeing a neurologue in early November.

Following my visit to the cardiologue in September, I'm feeling very integrated.

As middle age and its attendant crises take a hold, I am going to try and see if I can pass off a mistress as a sexologue.

The Cafe

2009-10-20T08:24:00.000-07:00

This is what we love. A quick entry while waiting for the eldest who's at her tennis lesson. I am recovering at a cafe after a hard day of administration. Methinks there should be more to a Tuesday than sorting out bank statements but actually no. I did my time in London and now I'm back in Paris the whole thing has to be sorted out. Such a shame I felt so ropey this morning. Must be the sheer joy of being with my family. Am literally going to make a splash later. It's children and parents at the swimming lesson. Perhaps that will help my gammy hand.

The Long Weekend

2009-10-13T15:33:00.000-07:00

Good grief it doesn't seem that long ago that I was cycling along the Regent's Canal from Kings Cross to get to London Zoo. That was a pleasant journey. Marred only by the fact that I had to get off the bike and wheel it through Camden Lock market.

There didn't seem to be anywhere else to go. But once through that it was tranquil cycling. I thought it would be an interesting piece to write on the different buildings lining the canal.

the industrial buildings and then the canalside residential developments. Some of them obviously brushed aluminum interiors while others were clearly not so plush.

I would simply settle for the regency type extravaganzas near Regents Park.

They must be cheap nowadays.

The First Match 2009

2009-10-10T14:37:00.000-07:00

Nice place Conflans st Honorine. There were tennis courts next to the football pitches and I felt more inclined to go and play tennis.

Well at least we got beaten on grass. That was a nice experience. They were better. But it still gets me when people start doing all that holding on stuff at corners. This is not professional football.

But clearly it makes people feel better.

One of their blokes kicked the ball away when it was our goal kick. It was a bizarre moment. They were 4-1 up with 10 or so minutes to go and he did that.

I can't get my head around that. And that's probably why we should be in division two rather than in division one with such idiots.

The Peace Prize

2009-10-09T13:27:00.000-07:00

Must say I was quite surprised that Barack Obama was handed the Nobel Peace Prize. It was clearly a slow news day because there were enough people on the box wondering whether he deserved it.

I visited the Nobel foundation place while in Stockholm a few summers back just to get a flavour of the whole thing. My attitude is: I'm never likely to win one so well done to anyone who does.

Matchday I 09

2009-10-09T13:22:00.000-07:00

First taste of the big league in the morning. Preparation was hit by the cancellation of the yoga class. How can I be as one with the ball without my Hatha session from the night before.

Questions. Perhaps getting a decent night's sleep might help.

I was ousted from the sofa by the middle child after being shunted from the bed by the boy. Well at least it meant an early breakfast and an episode of Star Trek to keep me going.

Went back to bed after I'd taken them all to school and visited the town hall.

Had to do that to get the railway discount card. Proof that I am in a couple.

Would have thought the bags under the eyes was testament enough.

The Bee Book II

2009-10-07T14:31:00.000-07:00

Have started the book about bees. First chapter tells the importance of bee imagery throughout the centuries, throughout the millennia.

Everyone has had a wise word about the insect and as for the work they do in pollinating crops. Ooh they're busy.

The Fashion Crowd

2009-10-07T14:22:00.000-07:00

I joined the fashion gang today. Lunching with the in crowd at the Palais Royal. Well it was an old friend of mine who was in town for the Paris fashion shows.

We ate and then I accompanied her to her next show at the Carré du Louvre. There was lots of flash photography and in she went into the melee.

What a life. I awaited the bus to take me to the radio station to find out the latest about the wide wonderful world of sports.

Before I got the bus I did notice a few of the late arrivals racing for the door. But they were all in these high heels and unable to advance very swiftly or gracefully.

Good looking girls in a hurry. Most unappetizing.

The Next Book

2009-10-06T00:55:00.000-07:00

After getting through Barbara Tuchman's The Guns of August, I have moved onto something no less important.

It is written by Alison Benjamin and Brian McCallum and called A World Without Bees. Subtitled The Mysterious Decline of the Honeybee and What It Means For Us.

Well I know it won't mean blood drenched fields mutilation and rampant nationalism but I will dive in and learn and keep blog readers posted.

The Retro Journey

2009-10-06T00:30:00.000-07:00

There's been a calculated policy of avoiding politics in the blog - you don't want to put people off - but there comes a time when you just have to have a say.

My nanny - the lady who looked after me when I was a kid and mum was out at work - told me that thee were a couple of things I shouldn't do.

1 Don't smoke
2 Don't tell anyone your politics

Being an obedient kind of kid, I have followed her counsel to the letter.

Of course over the years there's a natural assumption that because I work for the Guardian that I must be some furrow browed liberal.

But I'm a complex chap and I have learned over the years that many a prejudice emerges from assumption.

I've been working on the politics website over the past couple of weeks and it's been party conference time in Britain.

The Labour one was full of fighting talk about the party not going lamely to the gallows of the next election.

The Lib Dems seemed to be saying we've got some very good ideas and on Monday the Tories seemed to be saying we will mess up our chances of a whopping victory by reminding people exactly why they voted for Labour back in 1997.

The election has to be held before June 2010 and so far there's been talk of chopping benefits, making the NHS more efficient by offering people a "post bureaucratic" landscape.

And then there's a kerfuffle over participation in Europe. A desire to maintain certain powers for the national government rather than have a European wide modus operandi.

I just love it. I said to one of my colleagues listening to the radio before I went to work made me feel I was back in 1993 when this was the talk on the airwaves.

No need for rejuvenating facelifts. Just bring on the timewarp Tories and feel as if you have not developed.

A very sharp contrast to The Tomorrow People.

The Tomorrow People Not I

2009-10-02T13:24:00.000-07:00

Well from the euphoria of watching two episodes of the Tomorrow People, I have some sort of meltdown in the software and could not watch episode 3.

Very discontented. Must not let it affect the performance in the first run out of the season. A cup match against a thoroughly unpleasant team whose saving grace is that they put on a lavish spread of bread, pate and wine after the match.

Shame that it is a home game and our hospitality in comparison is rather poor. But at least we're rich in spirit of fair play.

The question is do I potentially wreck my calm trying to get this website stuff to work or not. Maybe it is a con website in that it works for one evening only to torment poor nostalgia seeking saps like me.

Oh woe.

The Tomorrow People

2009-10-01T15:46:00.000-07:00

Just love the techno age. Have just got a hold of the software to watch The Tomorrow People, a series from my innocent youth. Never saw all of them because I think I had piano lessons or something like that.

This is all from the 1970s and the acting is as plonky as the sets.

Top nostalgia. Only eight seasons to catch up on. Doubt I'll be doing much sleeping over the next couple of weeks. Will have to show it to the children.