A(nother) cunning plan

A cunning plan

In Baldrickian fashion, I've devised a cunning plan. As follows:

1) Write today's blog now, while MM runs the half marathon.

2) Watch the North London derby this afternoon (what else would anyone be doing? unless they're some sort of oddball, weirdo, commie pinko corduroy and sandals muesli-aisle-dwelling nutjob?).

3) Then whatever the result:

3.1) Writing (a lot) about a win can ease the Monday blues.

3.2) Writing (some lines) about a draw will merely add a tad to the frustration that is a Monday.

3.3) Writing (very little) about a loss won't be so painful when it's a Monday and painful in any case.

Here's hoping it's (3.1). Ade goes loopy again. Bale (an unholy cross between a human and a Cheating Chepstow Chimp) gets sent off too, two yellow cards both for diving. An earthquake hits the Seven Sisters Road area. Alan Sugar has a non-fatal heart attack, but is treated by Gooner paramedics he abused on some filthy slime oozing from the TV set (thanks Frank), who hook the defib machine up to the national grid and he gets a little bit fried (charring to 95%, hair unchanged). The broadcasters finally realise that David Pleat is a charmless, sanctimonious, kerb-crawling, bore and terminate his contract. One of those 'terminate with extreme prejudice terminations.

John Martyn – One World

An antidote. For anyone who read all the rave reviews and must-have album gumph about 'Solid Air', picked up a copy and was (probably rightly) disappointed. Martyn's voice is superb. The songs are strong. One World genuinely takes on those genre barriers and pigeon-holes and demolishes them.

I saw John Martyn, taken along by a friend who was a massive fan, at an unlikely venue, the Surbiton sports centre or somewhere like that. He played most of the gig on his own, with some tapes, several guitars and a vast array of effects pedals and other electronics. This was in the early eighties. Miles ahead of his time, such an incredible talent with the courage to back his ideas and go about things how he saw fit.

They just keep eating in the Sopranos

I've got the hang of it. Now, I've got the hang of it. You have to sympathise with anyone ever given the sorry task of trying to teach me. Season three, episode eight (or nine, we got a bit out of order, started doing the “don't recognise that character” thing, and had to take two in reverse order) and the penny's finally dropped. Unless you want to sit there itching to get into the kitchen and make some food, you need snacks to watch the Sopranos. I doubt that there's much more than five minutes without some food reference, Tony raiding the fridge, Carmela cooking something, or a scene in a restaurant, or coffee shop.

Best line (anything, anywhere, lately) was the two huge fat wiseguys, described as “Jesus Christ, look, it's 'before'...and 'way before'”.