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.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
Sunday, 11 December 2011
The Silence
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 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.
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
The Quiz
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.
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.
Monday, 17 October 2011
The Law
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.
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.
Sunday, 25 September 2011
New Season
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.
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.
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Season's End
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.
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
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.
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.
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