Dogs and Their Owners.

I am so fucking angry ….

What is it about some dog owners that makes them so arrogant (stupid?) that they think cleaning up after their dog is either not for them or applies to everyone else around them.

What, exactly, Mr Dog Owner do you think is good and right about the big pile of dribbly, smelly, steaming shit you have happily let your dog leave right outside my driveway? A place where other people walk. A place where children play.

What gives you the right to oversee and casually approve the littering of our pavements and walkways with your dogs waste?

In a civilised society where we all have to get on and live together who gave you the right of abstention (for Dog Owners, that means – more or less – not having to be like the rest of us …)?

I just cannot see how you can have a dog and, I assume, love it yet think there is nothing wrong in waiting happily as it shits all over the World we have to share? Is it not your problem? Is it not your responsibility? If not, whose is it for Gods sake? I do understand it is not yours.

I take it ONLY the welfare of the dog is your concern? Well, if that is so then the welfare of the dog therefore does not have to be my concern. If you are happy to accept that and as you have disregard for me, my property and my children I will have the same for your pet. I think that entitles me to endanger the safety and wellbeing of your ‘pet’ to the same extent you endanger me and my family.

So, taking this anyway you want, if this keeps happening I shall have to behave in as putrid a fashion against dog owners as they do to everyone else.

“Lock and load” is, I think, the operative description for what happens next…..

Dirty bastards.

Didier Drogba.

I went to watch my nephew (seven years old) play football recently. It’s good to watch kids playing football. They have boundless enthusiasm, a scant regard for formation or tactics but every single one of them runs until he drops. It’s not about winning, which is always good, it’s about being able to play their favourite game. On a muddy pitch. In the pouring rain. Just for the enjoyment.

Yesterday, however, I sat down on my comfy sofa to watch the Premier League game between Chelsea and Liverpool. Usual sort of thing really, no unexpected changes to either side and the potential for a fantastic game of football especially after both teams had not performed to their best in recent games.
The game started at typical Premiership pace and tackles were made with gusto. Tackles being made by men on men. Possession of the ball is contested in quite a physical manner and, ultimately, one or other of the contestants is successful in wining the ball. Sometimes, during the robust contest one or both may over balance or take a tumble. They are men. They get up off the grass, adjust their socks or shirt and get back into the game. This is critical as football relies on team shape and the tactics of attacking and defending are based on this shape.

But, in all this romancing about the great game as played by young boys in the mud or professional players on a ‘carpet’ I forgot about Didier Drogba. How foolish of me. He is a hard player to forget to be honest. He stands six feet and two inches tall. He has the build of a top athlete and muscles to make women (and some men) go weak. He also tips the scales at a hefty 14 stones and five pounds (approximately). He is, by no means, a slim, weak, submissive or easily dominated character. He looks like the perfect warrior and a man (that’s MAN!) you would always prefer to have on your side rather than against you.

Or, would you?

The young boys I watched playing with my nephew (seven years old) would prefer not to have him on their team. I, too, would prefer not to have him on my team.

Why?

Well, the opinion we both share (the boys and I) is that, despite his formidable outward appearance, Didier Drogba plays the game of football in a shameful, weak and, most often, laughable manner. He spends more time on the grass clutching random parts of his anatomy than he does contributing to his team. He regularly appears to have been targeted by military style weaponry, such is the manner of his dramatic meeting with the turf and subsequent writhing around in agony (note: Agony that is usually rectified by a single blast of cold spray). Even under the least robust challenge to be seen anywhere on a football pitch Didier Drogba ends up on the floor. His face is usually contorted due to the excruciating pain he has enduring. His body spasms due to the nerves in his body being overwhelmed by the electrical signals firing through them to alert his brain to the distress in his outer limbs. Many times it has appeared that only an ambulance and surgery will restore him to the vertical and that, most probably, prosthetic limbs will result.

Oh, hang on a minute. He’s getting up. Oh, thank the Lord. He is OK. Phew. And look! Look there, his leg (or arm or back or groin or face) isn’t broken. That is lucky. Especially after such a hard tackle.

This is what happens week in and week out when Didier Drogba pulls on a Chelsea shirt. It’s laughable and it is embarrassing. How the pure English grit and bravery of John Terry can stand to witness this is something I struggle to understand. How he (JT) doesn’t ‘have a word’ with Drogba is amazing.

It’s a game played by men. Grown men. It is a game that has physical contact where you seek to out muscle your opponent for the ball. It is a game where you have to stand fast, stand strong, make the most of your physical attributes and use them as an asset for your team. Exploit the strong. Dominate the weak. But, not for Didier Drogba it isn’t. It is a game to fall and tumble like a primary school gymnast. It is a game to roll on the grass more than you run on it. It is a game where deceiving the referee is the main aim. It is a game where, win at any cost means compromising your status as a man. It is a game he makes a mockery of week in and week out. Blessed with so much talent and such a stunning physique the only mark he really makes on the game is that left on the grass.

Towards the end of the game played by my nephew one of his team mates slumped to the ground in the opposing penalty area where he stayed pulling bits of grass from his socks and slowly retrieving his shin pads. As he did, not once, but twice a team mate shouted “get up you big girl!”. The team had to defend and the team had lost all its shape. Wise words from young mouths.

So, Didier Drogba, get up you big girl! The under-sevens said so.

British Muslims, foreign lands.

I am not racist. I am not ‘anti’ any religion specifically or religion in general. I believe people have a right to follow whatever religion they choose.

However, it does seem to me to be bizarre to the point of hilarious the way British Muslims are getting exceptionally hot under the collar, ‘invoking’ the name of Osama Bin Laden and calling for the West to get out of their lands. I refer, of course, to the recent convictions of Muslims in England charged with plotting to blow up seven transatlantic flights and, in the process, killing thousands of people.

So, for British Muslims, where are “their lands”? East London, it seems. Now, we have a fairly multi-cultural Britain at present so I wonder who else they would like out of East London. That would be interesting. Or, if I have misunderstood things, and they value the sovereignty of “their lands” so much why do they choose not to reside there? Surely, the best place to protect your land is from within repelling invaders, whatever form they take.

This is not a “go back to where you came from” rant, either. They are British. That is understood. I accept they may have taken a vacation in the land of their fore-fathers but, it seems they have returned to their home land (Britain) and accepted its trappings as a modernised first World country and all that it affords – good standards of housing, hygiene and wealth; The money to buy bomb making components, cars to travel around in, houses to sleep in and construct weapons of death in and good food to sustain the body and mind during all this activity. These standards elude many of their Muslim “brothers” back in “their land”.

So, what is it actually that they are referring to here? It certainly is not “their lands”, so what is the expression of disgust that results in mass murder all about? It looks and sounds like little boys trying to play at big boys but in many ways is far more hilarious. It is not hilarious because that are (or claim to be) Muslims. It is hilarious ( the situation the men put themselves in, not planned mass muder) because they cannot see the contradiction and flaw in all they rant about. I wonder what level of intelligence and education the convicted men actually possessed. They were directed from Pakistan which again leaves more questions. Who, when considering their actions, decides that taking advice and instructions from someone thousands of miles away is a good idea and a fast-track to immortality and glory? When I was a boy, an older boy gave me a bag of dog excrement and told me to go push it through a neighbour’s door whilst he watched from a safe distance. I got caught, he didn’t. I was unable to “play-out” for some time but he remained on the street and laughed with our friends. I was asked “why did you just do what he told you? Have you no mind of your own?” The answer is irrelevant but the similarities are undeniable apart from, of course, I describe the actions of children.

“Don’t mess with the Muslims” they say in their ‘suicide’ films. I think the West ‘messes’ with terrorists and those that harbor terrorists. I have never heard a military or political spokesperson describe activities and operations that are intended to target Muslims. They target terrorists. If the two are one and the same then so be it. If the terrorists were Christians or Mormons it would be the same philosophy. Eliminate the terrorist. By their actions they are further justifying this approach by the West rather than having any impact on it or helping to change it. In their hate fuelled words (from followers of a faith based in Love?) they actually demonstrate a lack of education, understanding, intelligence and moral responsibility rather than any progress in making changes for the better in any part of the World. Why that is not obvious is beyond me. It makes them look stupid and, by implication through their insistence that they speak on behalf of Muslims, also makes Muslims in general look stupid. I state that they are not and the massive generalisation from their own kind is disgraceful. So disgraceful, in fact, that I find it difficult to understand how moderate Muslims cannot seek to rid their culture and religion of this type. They either can’t or wont.

So, I feel sympathy for Muslims in general. These men are making a mockery of the religion and their claims to support the “struggle” to free their lands. If they were men of integrity and intelligence then maybe they could have seen the ridiculous nature of the nonsense they spout and the fact that the actions they planned to execute were the most comprehensive contradiction of everything they think they stand for.

Soldiers of a Muslim army fighting for the freedom of “their” lands? Well, I don’t think so. The justification makes me smile and almost laugh. The only thing that stifled the sounds is the realisation of what they planned under the guise of fighting for freedom of a place they do not belong to. They claim to follow a religion that has roots and history in the country where they may have family origins but it most certainly is not “their land”. Something that is blindingly obvious to everyone else.

And one more thing – Soldiers? Fighting for freedom? Fighting for anything? I know soldiers. We see details of soldiers who have died on the news almost daily. Now whether the cause of any war or battle is justified is also irrelevant when taking the soldier as an individual. A man doing a job. In the main they are brave. They follow orders and do what they must to ensure their survival and that of their fellow men. The convicted Muslims claimed to be soldiers right up to the point they were arrested and prevented from carrying out their “mission”. They then distanced themselves from everything they claimed to hold at their heart. They denied any involvement. They claimed the suicide films were made for a documentary! This, greater than shaming them, shames the name of “soldiers” they claim to be. How brave and committed do you have to be to give up all you claim to stand for at the first sign of trouble?

Muslims? So they said. Soldiers? Not by anyone else’s definition. Freeing “their lands”? Last time I looked, there had been little change to the multi-cultural harmony of East London.

Swine Flu – do I have it or not?!

I ache, but I don’t have a headache. I have soreness in my mouth but not a sore throat. I feel tired but not exhausted and I have blown my nose (and discarded the tissue safely) but I don’t have a running nose. So, is it Swine Flu? Is it a cold? Is it normal flu? What do I do?

Being safety conscious and very compliant I checked the NHS website. Oh good, they have a ‘symptoms checker’. I always wanted to be diagnosed by the Google-Web!

I clicked the link and started to answer the questions. A mouse handling error meant I was suddenly advised to dial 999 as it was possible I was having a heart attack. Well, if I wasn’t previously, I was now! Thank God for the ‘back’ button. I was on my way again and soon detailing my partial ailments to the World Wide Web.

Having answered a few very generic questions I was presented with a congratulatory tick and informed I had Swine Flu. I was also told what to do – stay in, find a Flu Buddy, and practice good hygiene.

I must say, after such generic and general symptom specification I was alarmed to find out I am infected. Indeed, it seemed that from my own actual ailment list, only the aches and the tiredness were really of any use in my diagnosis. So, the web site efficiently told me I do have swine flu.

This worried me greatly as this diagnosis is enough to put me on the road to a batch of Tamiflu and few days off work.

In reality, I believe I am tired and ailing for nothing more than the weekend but, as I live in in a country that is obsessed with sensationalism in the media and panic at every possible threat I am now one of the ever increasing number who are affectionately termed ‘the infected’.

People are staying away from work based on this sort of diagnosis. Families are panicking because someone who goes to school with little Jonny has it. But do they? Were they diagnosed by this exact process? If so, then are they really infected? How accurate is the diagnosis and therefore the figures produced about how rapidly the disease is spreading?

If it is this sort of generic diagnosis approach that exists on the Government websites, in the NHS walk-in centres and at the over-worked GP’s then maybe, just maybe, the spread of the disease is not as wide as currently thought and, therefore, neither should the panic be.

So, do I have Swine Flu? According to the NHS, the Government and the ‘suits’ obsessed with statistics, the answer is most definitely, yes. I think I rather disagree. Bring on the Weekend.

The King is dead?

I’m sure they wrote this about Elvis too….

So, Michael Jackson has died. It is sad as, even though he was 50 years young, I’m sure he still had more music in him. Maybe not music, singing and dancing on the O2 stage but he could have offered more.

His early work was undoubtedly ground breaking and brilliant. To me, he lost his way somewhat (Earth Song anyone?) but his legacy is littered with classic pop tracks. His death will result in covers, tributes and remixes I am sure of that.

But, as a man. Genius? Pervert? Freak? Misunderstood? Persecuted? Abused? Exploited?

Yes. To all, which is probably the key reason why he was as he was.

Personally, “Beat It”, you can’t.

Just fuck off to “Glasto” if you are going and leave me alone!

“hey man, you not doin’ Glasto?”

“No, man. I am not.”

It seems that, to a fair chunk of the population, this exchange makes me “well un-cool”, unable to have fun and live a little. I disagree. In fact, I think *not* going to Glasto (please …..) is far more cool than joining the mob of part-time hippies, drug bingers and the self appointed uber-cool who think it is THE mark of an all embracing, free-spirit, “I’m crazy, me!” partying type would ever be. Far from feeling I have missed out on Glasto (man), I am not actually sure what there is to miss out on.
Now then, queue more replies, all preceded or suffixed with man. Or dude. I tried to work out what I missed out on. Man. What I could come up with is this list.

• Huge crowds gathering in a field to jostle for a position at the front to get your face on TV and able to claim “I was there, man”. OK, I go to gigs and have been to gigs. They have been fun and held indoors in reasonably sized venues. I really enjoyed them too. However, I am not sure how being outside (with a large chance of being in the rain) improves the experience. Why does being in a field to watch a rock band make it any better?

• Huge crowds, being stuck in the middle and drunken students hurling beer around. Like the above but even worse. Being in the middle of a seething mass trying to see your favourite band on stage whilst enduring a constant shower of warm lager or (more likely) piss makes it even less desirable. OK, this could happen at normal gigs, but it doesn’t

• Toilets. We are living in a modern age and in a developed country. Why would anyone subject themselves to the toilets? It isn’t hygienic and it definitely isn’t part of the fun. “oh, you big wuss!” people will cry. Wuss indeed. If wuss means I like 21st century sanitation, being clean, being able to go to the toilet when my bowls decide the time is right and being able to complete my toilet time without wanting to wretch or without living in fear of being toppled over then, get me the Big Wuss t-shirt. I go camping; I know that we cannot always have a five star bathroom at our disposal ….

• The mud. I have seen The Sun front page and The Daily Mirror. I know what “hammy” and “eggy” from Newcastle look like after hilariously throwing themselves around in the mud in a “hey, man, I don’t care, I’m at Glasto” attitude. It may look fun but is it really? Honestly? And, how cool do you look dripping in mud? You don’t. In fact, to everyone apart from a hormonal teenage girl you look like a twat. It’s not big, it’s not clever, it doesn’t make you cool or “crazy”. It makes you look stupid. Stop it.

• The queues. The English, we love to queue. For everything. Queues for tents, queues for toilets (see above – you actually have to wait for the toilet experience!), queues for food, queues for beer, queues for drugs (probably) queues to get in and queues to get out. I may have missed the bit that said “yeah man, queues are like … well cool, man”. They are not.

• Weekend Warriors. Go to Glasto (man), drink heavily, get stoned and try some recreational drugs. Brilliant. Totally spazzed idiots stumbling around the place, not knowing where they are, where they want to go, where their friends are or how to speak. I’m sure drugs can enhance the “Glasto Experience” (man) but when taken with a little fore thought. Just tossing every pill you can down your neck and every line of powder up your nose will do very little to enhance things I’m sure. And, the worst thing is that half these people do it for the first time or only do it once a year. They are annoying, a bore and if you ever have to try and take care of one or guide them back to the camping fields … God help you. Take your drugs properly, enjoy them and stop being a twat. Again.

• Old bands, being labelled as “the best in the World” by people seeing them for the first time round even though they have been producing and playing music for over 30 years. Status Quo, stop it.

So, “Glasto man, are you not going?”.

“No, man”. See above.

Lime Hawk Moth

This was resting outside our door last night. Initially we had no idea what it was but super naturist (not naturalist!) Martin managed to identify it.

Lime Hawk Moth

Charlie May

Wow! Props to my good friend in Newcastle for the link to the hour mix Charlie May did recently for Transitions. It really is incredible and seems to be, from the track listing, mostly work of his own fair hands!

Charlie May – Transitions

Incredible production.

That reminds me, I must go get some more bump-bump-screech sounds bubbling from my studio.

Sleep Hygiene, anyone?

WTF is Sleep Hygiene? Some arse of a doctor somewhere has made this up surely?! Sleep ‘kin hygiene?

Trying to get my new and beautiful daughter into something like an acceptable sleep routine i.e. she goes to sleep without protest and then stays asleep until next feed time, is difficult. So, resorting to the Google-Web I happened upon discussions of “your babies sleep hygiene” and “your own sleep hygiene”.

I wasn’t aware I, or anyone else, slept dirtily. I must find out who else does and what it entails.

As for F our little girl, she is trying but I think things such as gurgling, smiling, looking around, blowing bubbles and wriggling are far more attractive than actually taking any sort of nap or night time sleep.

As the sleep deprivation persists these posts may suffer also.

Right back atcha!

I’m no great strategist (yet) and my hand reading still has several stages of development to go through but I enjoyed this one.

FullTilt, small stakes full ring cash game. OK, the money almost makes things irrelevant but we all have to start somewhere and some of us n be like Durrr and play with gay abandon at nosebleed stakes. $0.50/$1 is my ambition … 🙂

So, I sit and watch villain raise almost everyhand then stick in a generous (over sized) protecting continuation bet for 80% of the hands and it pisses me off. He did it to me once before I took notice. I wait for a (semi) hand against his range and play back at him

He didn’t like this one bit! In fact, that isn’t just a FOLD … it’s a monumental time out! It’s a case of he just had no idea what to do. A simple min re-raise on the flop was his usually ploy to frighten people off. I didn’t buy it and he was lost. OK, you may say he was away .. after investing in the hand? I doubt it. And I know how draw heavy the board is etc but this guy had been showing up with the likes of J-6o, A-Xo and betting them to the hilt and having everyone fold to him.

More telling though was his conduct after this hand. He stuck in quick pre-flop raise in the next hand of $1 and, when he got no takers he sulked. He didn;t play a hand for the next 9 or 10 minutes. Now, for a guy (I assume …) running at 69/18/3 up to that point that is telling. I wonder if he was really sulking or even desperately fighting tilt.

Full Tilt Poker, $0.05/$0.10 NL Hold’em Cash Game, 9 Players
LeggoPoker.com – Hand History Converter

UTG: $11.17
UTG+1: $10
UTG+2: $4.67
MP1: $1.85
MP2: $2
CO: $1.84
BTN: $15.42
SB: $9.49
Hero (BB): $9.99

Pre-Flop: J K dealt to Hero (BB)
6 folds, BTN calls $0.10, SB calls $0.05, Hero raises to $0.40, BTN calls $0.30, SB folds

Flop: ($0.90) T 8 J (2 Players)
Hero bets $1, BTN raises to $2, Hero calls $1

Turn: ($4.90) Q (2 Players)
Hero bets $2, BTN calls $2

River: ($8.90) 5 (2 Players)
Hero bets $5.59 and is All-In, BTN folds

Results: $8.90 Pot ($0.59 Rake)
Hero mucked J K and WON $8.31 (+$3.91 NET)

Thanks for the smiles my over aggressive friend!