Being Boring *

Here are some random ramblings from my world:

Last Saturday I saw off JJ and then proceded to catch the Old Firm game. It didn't take too much viewing to work out that Celtic would get nothing from the game. Some of our fans annoy me to extremes at times, particularly the real Weedgie types. One of whom was shouting his tits off during the match. We were 3-0 down and this chube then does the now familiar routine from many of our lot, namely, blaming the referee. Now, okay, he did brandish the yellow cards at our players a bit too much for my liking, but, come on, that nine Celtic players were booked and two from the opposition said much about which side had lost the plot. Also, the ref could not be blamed for the embarrassing defending, the midfield going missing and the forward line being, well, actually, we didn't have one. No, we were terrible, as simple as that. So Weedgie big mouth got an earful from yours truly along the lines of "shut the fuck up, we're fucking rubbish today and that's it!" So final whistle goes and Weegie big mouth gives it the "hail, hail, the Celts are here" routine and I think: "They might be here but they sure as fuck weren't at Ibrox."

Saturday night, got bored shitless watching the Rugby World Cup final. And there endeth my interest in rugby until the next world cup in 2011.

And on to Monday (Sunday, I did fuck all) and a little trip into town (did I mention I'm off all week as I have shitloads of leave to take before Christmas - 14 days after this week). Decided to get Tube to Green Park and head for pubs in Mayfair. Had a wee walk around and visited two or three nice pubs. One of the strangest places on earth is Mayfair, dripping in wealth and populated by strange people. It's one of those places whose shops don't display any prices for the goods on offer - probably a case of, well, if you have to ask the price, then you obviously cannot afford it!Sat in one pub and laughed my head off at the Guardian's Corrections and Clarifications column. Turned the page and found the not-so-funny news that Paul Fox of the Ruts had died. Got to agree with the author of the obituary that The Ruts' album The Crack remains a classic.

Then it was back home for quick bite to eat and then out here to watch Spurs put on a woeful display against Newcastle. Can't see Martin Jol lasting much longer.

Yesterday afternoon was spent helping ex clear out the boy's room in preparation for a room swap. Then it was another pub visit, this time to see what the refurbished Amersham Arms was like. I have to say that, for years, New Cross pubs were rather grubby. In fact, some, like the New Cross Inn and Goldmsiths Tavern, were real dives, even if, like the latter, they had some soul to them (and a brilliant jukebox). Refurbs of these joints hasn't really worked, which can be said for the Walpole also. In its defence, though, at least the New Cross Inn puts on gigs for local bands. And its all-dayers allow all ages in, which means that my boy gets to hear live music in the area. But, anyway, back to the Amersham. I was most impressed with what the new owners have done to the place. A peek at the menu shows that the food looks nice and reasonably priced also. I'll be back! Sat and read the paper and (obituaries again) found that Paul Raven of Killing Joke had died. What is it with post-punk musicians this week, eh?

Last night, I watched Rangers put on a sterling defensive display to take a point from their Champions League clash against Barcelona. Wait, let me rephrase that. Last night, I watched three of the most gifted strikers in world football - Messi, Henry and Ronaldinho - fail to get past a bunch of hun bastards whose idea of being adventurous was to only have eight men in defence when they themselves were on the attack. Oh well.

Today, I'm heading back round to help the ex with they boy's room. Can't be arsed doing so, but I suppose it's better than sitting in front of a computer screen doing fuck all for hours on end.

*Pet Shop Boys