The Neglect

Simply outrageous. Have gone missing from my blog. What kind of commitment is that? Pretty poor is the answer. And what is more I've been channelling my energies on another blog.

Oh cruel perfidies.

The fruits of my blogging loins can be seen at RFI's english website until the end of the French Open.

Once Rafael Nadal has completed his romp home, I'll be back to my first love.

The Beginning

A few days in London and the highlight was the latest Star Trek movie. The idea is how Jim Kirk became the dynamic captain of the Enterprise with his band of heroes.

Utterly brilliant especially since I have just acquired the DVD set of the original episodes. There was only one inconsistency in the film. But there you go you can't have it all.

Had to go and see the film at Screen on the Hill and it took ages to get back home especially with Tooting Broadway closed for maintenance after 10pm.

Oh well it's only north to south London.

Tuesday was a jolly affair at the Guardian. The Speaker of the House of Commons decided he had to resign after being fingered as the gatekeeper to the junket that is an MP's life.

They've been claiming for moat clearing, having their light bulbs changed and their mortgages paid by the taxpayer.

And Michael Martin, the Glaswegian boy pauper who's risen to one of the most prestigious posts, is the one who's been offered up for protecting the indefensible.

All quite a barrage of reactions and speculation. Left me dazed on the train back to Paris. In fact slept. Clearly going out late and then working on the perpetual slush fund that is the mother of all parliaments left me dazed and in fact I went to sleep.

No more London for a while, it is tennis galore for the next few weeks as Roland Garros comes to town.

I am growing weary again and I must finish as I am watching Balance of Terror - the first time the Romulans make an appearance in Star Trek.

Pleasing unity about that as there were maverick Romulans doing terrible things to the universe in the film I saw on Monday night.

No element of overacting. Really no overacting. Brilliance of the then and now.

The Strike Latest

There's been a strike at the radio station. The technicians were off. And so eventually was I. No programmes. None of the listeners were to be told about Barcelona's Copa del Rey victory or Manchester United's surge to the English title.

Oh so what. It's only 200 odd redundancies. The early cut allowed me the chance to go and have afternoon tea with the missus and collect the boy from creche.

Well 'twas truly domesticated. Praise be to industrial action.

The Vote

Actually the vote whether to go up to the top division has been more interesting than some of the games that we played in the top division.

Anyway the figures have come through. Six for going up, nine against and eight abstentions. Well you can't argue with democracy.

These things shouldn't have been put to the vote. Either you go up or you go to the salt mines. So there we go. No promotion and an overwhelming Corinthian ethos.

It has to be said it is very impressive that the diehard mentality can exist chez moi so late in life. I'm a bit sad that we won't be testing our collective capacity at a higher level next season but given that I plan to be away for about five weeks in January, it is easier to talk about going up but you've got to put in the hours.

The Routine

Thanks to the crocked left leg, the usual trip to the tennis lesson was cancelled. This afforded me the opportunity to partake in Tuesday night family rituals.

I cooked supper and then settled down on the sofa with the bairns to watch an episode of the A Team. Have to say this was my idea of game, set and match.

Injury isn't so bad after all.

The Democratic Way

Two days after the battle of wounded leg, I was dragging my frame up Highgate Hill and I thought why am I dragging my wounded frame up the hill when in fact I should be guiding it down the hill?

Simple really. I came over all zen after the morning yoga stretch and I decided not to race into Oxford Street to buy a portable CD player rather I would buy one in Paris with the money from the all the voice over work which tired me out which probably made me susceptible to injury.

There is an interconnectivity. I have seen the light too late.

There is a vote underway within the football team as to whether we should go up to the first division.
However if we keep on only turning up with nine or ten players then we're staying where we are.

I have said that I am up for going up. However there is a body of opinion which says that they're not up for going up and being beaten up as we were two years ago.

This is logical. Back to the Star Trek DVDs.

The Trains

The front page of Liberation says there’s a debate about SNCF deciding to devote whole carriages to families during the summer rush.

Sharing a carriage this morning with about 30-odd adolescent girls on their way to England, I say why stop there?

Why not special carriages for school trips? Why no special carriages for frequent travellers? Why not carriages so special that no one can go in them?

Some families told the paper they’d had snotty comments from people and that’s why they wanted them.

Anyone who is narked about children during a train journey should, in my view, be thankful they don’t have them when the journey is over.

I have to admit that before I had children I never noticed them on a journey. Now that I have three of the darlings, I notice the noise.

If there’s a tot screaming, I’d never go up and rail at the parent. Equally if someone came up to me to moan about one of my children, I’d listen to their complaint and then probably ask them to go and arrange their upgrade with the train manager.

Most people, I would imagine, would look for another “less noisy” space.

But it does seem strange that the perception of public domain doesn’t take in other members of the public.

Most people anyway do seem to be locked into their private worlds. It is rare to see anyone these days without their Ipod or earphones tapped into their computers.

Do they really hear that much of the outside world at the best of times?

As I turn up the music on my earphones, I might ask the Guardian if they fancy a travel piece on it.

The Shift

The end, when it comes, is as rapid as a demise in Star Trek. Unable to go back to sleep after the boy woke up coughing. So what to do? Come and update a neglected blog and tuck into the newly acquired box set of Star Trek.

There's a new film out which tells how Capt Kirk, Spock and the gang got together. Well there are must sees and absolutely vital sees.

This could be in the latter category.

I might be able to drag myself to a cinema on Sunday night. Recompense for an odd turn of days. We got back from London and I headed off to the radio station.


I had big plans but they were waylaid when I had to go and do a voiceover. Well there's money in it. Plans for a triumphant surge to promotion were waylaid when the team's star goalscorer injured himself at work.

That meant that for the second match in a row, we started with 10. And unlike the team of a few weeks ago, the one on Saturday night was much better.

When muggins here managed to get crocked, the team went down to 9 and the opponents then scored four goals to win 5-1.

I have veered from exhausted to peeved. But as I said to the missus when I got home, if we can't get a dozen or so people together three games from a possible promotion, then either I'm taking it too seriously or I'm taking it too seriously.

So as I watch Star Trek and nurse my injured left leg, I will channel the competitive edge into solitary exploits like my tennis and rather take each football game as it comes.

Besides, the last time we were in the top flight I missed a load of games as I went to Ghana for the Africa Cup of Nations. In fact it was a good half a dozen games and it took me a few matches after that to get back in the swing.

Have to be fair, can't take it to heart when it suits me.

Logical captain.

The Big Games

While the rest of the footballing world is waiting for the UEFA Champions league semi finals, I am thinking of three games with a little more relevance to my little football life.

It is, as Sir Alex Ferguson describes this part of the season, squeaky bum time. The football team is four points ahead of our nearest rivals inthe old shufflers league with three games remaining.

The third placed team played their game in hand over the weekend and won it 1-0.

We've now all played 19 games. We have 49 points and the next two have 45.

More importantly we meet the team in third in two weeks. And worst part of that importantly is that quite a few of the side's best players are going to be away.

Essentially if we draw the last three games we're up as we have a better goal difference than them in third. However the ramifications of it all are enough to give you a squeaky bum.

So it is best to go out and win the right to go up. No ifs, no squeaky buts.