keresaspa: (Cartman)
Hell, even I think I've been away too often recently. The joys of growing up in a warzone, I suppose. And let it be known too that the following load of old rambling nonsense should have been published yesterday but my internet provider decided to give me a day of no service just to remind me who the boss is. Thanks as ever Virgin Media, I would denounce you as vermin but recent events have drawn me closer to that class of creature. Intrigued? Didn't think so but read on anyway, it's good for chilblains.

Read more... )
keresaspa: (Diggory)
The short version of this is that London was rather good apart from the going and the coming, which were hell on earth. On the off-chance that anybody is still reading this (and I note in my extended absence that I am now down to one person submitting regular updates on my friends list) I shall expand at some length about what took place.

The Austrian stork nurtures the kites )
keresaspa: (Jimmy Edwards)
Yesterday was spent on a wild goose chase of sorts, trawling out to Twinbrook on the off-chance of catching a match. When I got there, sure enough Glaston were indeed playing Sandy Row in the Brooke Activity Centre as promised (albeit with kick off fifteen minutes earlier than promised), but there was no access for spectators and so I was forced to watch it through a fence. Five minutes of that did me until I thought "swive this" and buggered off, content in the knowledge that even I'm not desperate enough to endure 90 minutes of the second tier of the South Antrim League. As such I must face the crushing reality that for me the football season is most likely over.

Still, I can't really complain I suppose because it has been a thrill ride if you like that sort of thing (which I do). 54 matches in all was a slight drop on last season's probably unmatchable total of 58 but it still represented a good haul of live football, starting on 28th June 2014 with Crusaders playing Airbus UK Broughton in a friendly and ending last Saturday with Brantwood wrapping up the Ballymena and Provincial League campaign with a 4-3 win over Newtowne. During the course of the season I witnessed 187 goals (give or take one or two when I got distracted) and visited 28 grounds including first ever trips to Holm Park in Armagh, Inver Park in Larne, Celtic Park in Glasgow, Dennyfield in Bradford, Imperial Fields in London and New Victoria Park in Newtongrange as I endeavoured to spread my tentacles into Britain a bit more.

There were good times and bad times. For the bad times I will do well to forget: a Monday night hammering for Donegal Celtic up in the mountains of Knockbreda in the League Cup in August; an undeserved 1-0 defeat at Harland & Wolff Welders soon afterwards (the first of many matches where DC played well but still lost); the horrors of Islandmagee the following Saturday where the crowd have to be the biggest load of agrestic, ugly, bigoted, small-minded shitkickers I've ever had the misfortune to encounter; the futile attempt to get a bus from Celtic Park whilst having to wait with all the drunks in Glasgow; the near funeral atmosphere at Seaview whenever Newington were playing and their three supporters turned up; and hearing a home side committee member refer to their only black player as "the N*gger" at Shankill United a few weeks ago. But then there are always the highs: the aforementioned Crusaders-Airbus match when anything would have done to break the monotony of no football but where they contrived to serve up a 3-3 thrill-ride; the 3-1 win at Newforge Lane the day after my birthday when a DC promotion challenge seemed a possibility; being the last man standing at Dundela when the rest of the travelling support deserted a 3-1 defeat during which DC were forced to play in a late 90s Carrick Rangers away kit; the crazy atmosphere at Armagh City, again despite defeat; the traditional ball-freezing conditions at the annual post-Boxing Day beano that is the Border Regiment Cup final; my annual day out to Paisley Park to see Albert Foundry; getting fed like a fighting cock in the boardroom at Bangor; my annual day out to The Diamond to see Rathcoole; seeing Colin Valley destroy 18th Newtownabbey OB 8-1 at Valley Park having attended the reverse fixture earlier in the season and been unimpressed by the toxic atmosphere 18th had created at their ground; and of course, above all, the final day at Lakeview Park, Loughgall when, against the odds, DC stayed up.

So, barring a minor miracle (rumours abound of a match next week in Portadown, although I'm not sure I want to shell out the fare just for a Mid Ulster League match, whilst there may be play-offs) the football season is now over in terms of my live attendance. Until the final week in June (hopefully) or the first week in July (hope not) I am forced to find something else to fill in the gaping maw of ennui that is Saturday afternoon, something made all the worse by the year ending in an odd number. If I really start to lose the thread I may have to bite the bullet and take in a couple of Wednesday night Women's League matches at Seaview and/or Solitude but we'll cross that bridge when we can to it. Until then, so many memories and roll on next year.
keresaspa: (Cynthia of Witching Hour fame)
You may well remember that in the chaos that was summer 2013 Donegal Celtic forgot to apply to enter any cup competitions, such was the uncertainty about their future. With an altogether calmer close season this time out such oversights were not repeated and so on Saturday the club finally made their return to the Irish Cup fourth round with a home tie against Ballyclare Comrades (I checked, they were formed by ex-soldiers not fellow travellers).

Given that the local game decrees DC take part in five knockout competitions (League Cup, Steel & Sons Cup, County Antrim Shield, Irish Cup, Intermediate Cup) I'm generally rather blasé to the whole affair but that turned to outright hostility when I went to pay in and found that the usual admission price of a fiver had been bumped up to eight quid. Apparently the tie required the best referees that money could buy, meaning a nigh on tripling of ref fees to £590 and a 60% increase on the gate in an (ultimately failed) attempt to make up the difference. Sod that for a game of soldiers.

Inevitably given how much he cost the ref was, well, as crap as they always are. He booked DC players seemingly at random, didn't even book any Ballyclare Comrades players after a 22 man melee broke out, disallowed a perfectly good goal for reasons unknown and his linesman awarded a Ballyclare goal that was about three yards offside. The usual in other words. Mind you, DC only have themselves to blame for the eventual extra time defeat as they were 2-0 up at one point and had a penalty saved after an extremely tame effort. On balance Comrades were worth their 3-2 win and no amount of crap refereeing can disguise that fact. It was especially disappointing given that the week before the exact same match had happened in the league and DC had destroyed their south-east Antrim opponents 4-1.

C'est la vie, I suppose. If Irish Cup games are to mean an extra three knicker on the door then I'm not particularly bothered about going out of it. It'll also mean a couple of free weekends as, as much as I've enjoyed missing only one DC match all season (and even then I was in Bradford so it was unavoidable), I'm rather starting to experience withdrawal symptoms from the non-league fayre I also took in last season and so will relish the odd free Saturday to reacquaint myself with the delights of Paisley Park, Skegoneill Avenue, the Diamond, Good Shepherd Road and the rest. An Intermediate Cup tie away to Carrick Rangers awaits on Saturday (probably a defeat in that one too) before the first blank Saturday of the year and a chance to return to lower levels. After all, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without the Northern Amateur League, now would it?
keresaspa: (Mikado)
The weekend just gone by was spent in Yorkshire, visiting [ profile] queenmartina and [ profile] burkesworks. Permit me to elaborate.

keresaspa: (I got the last dodo!)
Because of playing a suspended player DC sacrificed the three points won here and saw the game awarded as a win to Distillery so the eight point gap at the bottom over which I enthused was cut down to two with the hitherto dead and buried Distillery suddenly in touching distance. As such today's game at New Grosvenor took on extra significance and so I decided that I would by hook or by crook make my way out there to witness what unfolded.

But first a quick history lesson. Formed in 1880 by cricket playing workers from a Belfast brewery, the Whites spent most of their first century based at Grosvenor Park on the Grosvenor Road close to the Falls. They were generally a Protestant team and the area was fairly mixed (Gusty Spence lived there for a while) but following the outbreak of the Troubles and the rigid division of working class areas along sectarian lines the Grosvenor became all Catholic and suddenly Distillery seemed rather out of place. In 1971 a fire bomb went off burning the ground down and Distillery decamped, sharing grounds with Crusaders and Brantwood, until in 1980 they finally settled in the Ballyskeagh Stadium on the outskirts of Lisburn. They named the ground New Grosvenor after their old stadium but confusingly it is also a greyhound racing stadium under the name Drumbo Park. Yes, the same edifice has three names, two of which are not only still in use but are both sing-posted at the entrance.

Another facet of New Grosvenor is its location. Nominally in Lisburn, it is in the arsehole of nowhere really, with Ballyskeagh one of a handful of very rural villages that Lisburn has swallowed up in a desperate attempt to convince us all it is a city. As such for a non-driver access was likely to prove a bloody nightmare. The first part was to catch the train although that involved a two mile walk to the nearest station, Belfast being a notoriously train free city. As usual I underestimated myself and made it in time for the half twelve train, rather than the one o'clock as I had intended meaning that it was before one when I decamped at Lambeg train station. A further mile and a half hike through a rural back route followed before I arrived at New Grosvenor a full hour and ten minutes before kick-off. Yikes!

It's a pretty decent stadium in terms of facilities it has to be said, not a million miles away from Bradford Park Avenue's Horsfall ground albeit with a dog track rather than a running track and a large executive box type area facing the main stand (closed today mind you as it's only for racing patrons rather than football ones). The home side had a decent enough following for a club lying bottom with the hearty band who came to follow DC heavily outnumbered. Nevertheless for all the sound and fury from the white-clad hordes DC, after a slightly ropey opening, soon took control of proceedings and dominated for most of the first half. So it continued after half time with livewire Stephen O'Neill, who had been the source of much of DC's creativity, scoring a nifty goal about ten minutes after the restart. And that was it. Distillery huffed and puffed a lot but they had no real chances and if anything DC could have scored another to put it beyond doubt. 1-0 it was and a five point cushion restored, with Distillery once again looking doomed. I'll not cont my chickens yet as anything could happen and there still might be a relegation play-off to "look forward" to but as it stands DC will need a big collapse to go down automatically. A lift back up to the station was procured to save me the hassle of trudging back up the hick trail and as such I was able to get an earlier train home, leaving me plenty of time to run right into a nice Apprentice Boys of Derry march not far from my house. Good old marching season, back with a bang.

Still good fun, good result and it takes my grounds visited total for this season up to twelve (in order of visit: Solitude, DC Park, Glen Road Heights, Newforge Lane, Dalymount Park, Skegoneill Avenue, Grosvenor Recreation, Windsor Park, Horsfall Stadium, Dub Lane, Wilgar Park and New Grosvenor). What more can you ask for from an otherwise unremarkable Easter Tuesday?
keresaspa: (Piggy Banks)
In a diversion from the norm I found myself heading eastwards this weekend for a spell in Yorkshire. As those of you who also subscribe to the Winter Palace will already be aware [ profile] queenmartina has bade farewell to the delights of Glencairn, Ligoniel, Turf Lodge and the Village and swapped it for the delights of Otley, Gildersome, Potternewton and Morley by swapping Belfast for Leeds. With this in mind yours truly was roped in to add rippling muscle/sagging flab (delete as applicable) to proceedings by accompanying her over for the Big MoveTM.

Friday started with a minimum of fuss. A taxi ride to the Middle of Sodding Nowhere Airport (Belfast International to you, Sunny Jim) saw the driver take a tortuous route through the mountains beyond the Glen Road (where GAA grounds abound for some reason) although ultimately it proved a fairly sensible option, avoiding as it did the worst of the traffic. The flight itself was equally painless, being virtually empty, leaving on time and arriving early. Leaving Leeds Bradford Airport, another taxi hauled us to leafy Headingly, the location of the new homestead, where [ profile] burkesworks and a load of boxes awaited. A session of my speciality - donkey work - followed, trailing the boxes upstairs and decanting the contents from therein. Too knackered for owt after that so a jaunt out locally for a bite of pizza was all that could be done that night. Were I only a fan of either cricket or rugby league I would have been laughing as the flat overlooks the Carnegie Stadium but neither the sound of leather willow nor portly northern gentlemen twisting each other's ears appeals.

Loathe as I was to miss my weekly dose of live football [ profile] burkesworks and myself took our leave on Saturday afternoon to go and watch the famous Bradford Park Avenue (their words, not mine) taking on the might of Solihull Moors in the Conference North. It was a new experience for yours truly, as I had never experienced the English game at this level before, but I found the Horsfall Stadium to be a decent ground that would not have looked out of place in our own Irish League. The action too was of a decidedly Irish League standard, with Avenue (or "Aven-yooooh" as the elderly chap close behind us was wont to howl at irregular intervals) very much in ascendancy for the vast majority of the match, particularly down the flanks. Unfortunately for BPA, who seemed unsure whether their club colours were green and white or red, yellow and black, they were well short of quality upfront and what should have been a thumping win ended up only a 1-0 triumph. Still, good larf and a worthy substitute for my usual fayre, whilst the mini-museum in their clubhouse was fascinating to the point where I reckon I could do a decent job on Mastermind answering questions on Len Shackleton following my visit.

I spent the Sunday in the city centre, although the shorter opening hours meant that I didn't get to see everything as I would have liked. A tip of the hat to the St John's Centre, a small shopping centre which contains two music shops and sundry discount retailers, a combination that I can only presume was designed specifically in anticipation of my visit, given my well documented love of buying CDs and discount tat. Smashing. I've been informed there is a market I should visit and a doll's shop that is likely to weird me out and be darling in equal measures but they will have to wait for another time as they were closed. Boo.

Monday was when I took my leave. After a scout round the local hokeys to see what could be seen we caught the bus out to a slummy area that resembled our own Harryville, from where I bade goodbye to [ profile] queenmartina and [ profile] burkesworks to get on my way back to the airport. With the weather having taken a sudden and unexpected turn to the apocalyptic the journey home was inevitably more of an ordeal with the plane delayed (only for a while admittedly), my stomach taking a boo-boo near the end of the flight and a long wait in the lashing rain for the bus back to Belfast from Middle of Sodding Nowhere Airport. Still, I made it in the end as this post demonstrates.

All in all a decent break from the norm. I'm feeling a might unwell today, due to a lack of sleep, the general pains from the donkey work and kipping on a settee, not to mention the fact that the snow made a brief return last night, chilling me to the bone but doing my bit and seeing new places was a fine way to spend my time.
keresaspa: (Mr. Grainger)
I know that I am in a minority of one here as every single one of you that has an interest in this sort of thing has moaned in my direction in the past, setting out your reasons for hating the man. But when have I ever been moved by any argument presented to me in my life, no matter how well constructed? As such I greet the news that George Galloway has won Bradford West with a sense of pleasure. Yes, he's a self-publicist, yes, he made an absolute fool of himself in a catsuit with Rula Lenska, yes, he never turns up anyway, yes any other thing you want to throw at him but more power to him for proving that a dissenting voice can still make the breakthrough in the right circumstances. All due respect to Caroline Lucas, who has been a pleasant surprise, but as the only real opposition MP in Parliament she has been a little too mousey and a firebrand bucketmouth who knows how to play the media game is needed too, the very qualities Galloway brings to the table. Of course if Danny Morrison still had a say in Sinn Fein he would have been back as West Belfast MP when Gerry Adams pissed off but the days of Morrison calling the shots are long gone unfortunately.

The vote is also another one in the eye for the execrable Ed Miliband and his woeful spell as leader of the Labour Party. Leading opposition to a cuts happy government forcing millions into poverty on the one hand whilst dealing out tax cuts to the super rich on the other should be a piece of piss by Miliband has still somehow managed to fall behind in the polls. When he should be going for Cameron's jugular he instead sits there pouting with his puppy dog eyes, looking like some reject from Twilight, failing miserably to make any impact. If Galloway's victory forces this fool out and forces the Labour Party into actually positioning itself as a proper opposition rather than a group of background whiners then so much the better.

Still, either way welcome back Gorgeous George. No matter what they say I'm glad you're back.
keresaspa: (Idi Amin)
Enough work for one day I think. Actually a surprisingly productive day after yesterday's unexpected absence (of which more later) but I feel I how now reached my limit and do not wish to continue. Rather, and in direct contradiction to what I said on Monday about not boring you all with the details, I will provide an outline of how I spent the weekend. Cut for the benefit of those of us who wince when somebody turns their journal over to describing a bunch of random events that happened to them recently (a category I sometimes include myself in, so excuse the hypocrisy). Anyway:

InFest 2008 )

So there you have it. A good time all and all and great to catch up with a number of you and meet various new people. On the negative side I was struck down late Tuesday night by a rather debilitating stomach bug (hence yesterday's absence) but luckily it now seems to have passed so i can concentrate on clearing up the work. And those of you who hate travel reports can come back now!


Aug. 26th, 2008 03:39 pm
keresaspa: (Nigella)
Well, I'm definitely back now as I'm already having computer problems! Gah!!! Anyway Bradford was a good laugh - too much alcohol and tobacco consumed for my own good and I feel a bit dead to the world today but I must soldier on as work still needs to be done. I'll not bore you all with the details as I can't remember a lot of them and they'll probably eventually turn up on [ profile] queenmartina but it was great to catch up with so many of you. Anyway, back to work I must go.
keresaspa: (Obelix)
An article appeared in yesterday's Sun1 in which people voted in a poll for TopUp TV (whatever that is) to pick their all-time worst football team of the Premier League era. The results came through thus:

Goalkeeper: Massimo Taibi (Manchester United)
Defence: Titus Bramble (Wigan Athletic); Jean-Alain Boumsong (Newcastle United); Darren Peacock (Queen's Park Rangers); Abel Xavier (Everton)
Midfield: Eric Djemba-Djemba (Manchester United); Luke Chadwick (Manchester United); Carlton Palmer (Sheffield Wednesday)
Forwards: Lee Dong-Gook (Middlesbrough); Tomas Brolin (Leeds United); Diego Forlan (Manchester United)

By and large rubbish, although there are a few I would take exception with. Chadwick fits more into the "youth product who didn't make it" category, whilst Peacock, Palmer and, to a lesser extent, Xavier all had their moments and, whilst hardly world beaters, were more your decent pros who were a bit on the crap side than worst ever material. Lee Dong-Gook also looks suspiciously like a poll being hijacked by Boro fans still smarting from his spell on Teesside. He was bad but in a few years he will be forgotten. Anyway, in the interests of killing a bit of time before the afternoon's work begins I will now present an alternative team with the same criteria i.e. all the players have to have appeared in the Premier League and been total rubbish.

1. Sasa Ilic - Saved a penalty for Charlton Athletic in the play-off final in 1998 and was hailed a hero despite his "unorthodox approach". That self same "unorthodox approach" made him a total liability at the higher level and Charlton were promptly relegated.2
2. Riccardo Scimeca - Played for a variety of teams in the top flight and was shite for every man jack of them. The very definition of out of his depth in the Premier League. Let's face it, if he hadn't been British he would never have gotten so many second chances. And no, I'm not just an embittered Albion fan remembering his hapless spell at the Hawthorns. Really.
3. Djimi Traore - Seemed to be at Liverpool for ages despite howler after howler and must surely rank as the only man to get his own Jacksons-based song about how clumsy he is at Anfield. Was equally consistent after moves to Charlton and Portsmouth i.e. consistently rubbish.
4. Ali Dia - OK, I'm guessing a bit with this guy's position but how can you have a worst ever Premiership XI without the guy Souness bought for Southampton on the recommendation of a pretend George Weah?
5. Branco - He won the World Cup, you know. One of a litany of crap Middlesbrough players down the years, he looked as if he spent more time in the pie shop than on the training ground. Classic Bryan Robson signing.
6. Winston Bogarde - Actually this one is a baffling omission from the original team as this guy was just awful. Came to Chelsea in 2000 with a big reputation and a massive wage, played a couple of games and them promptly disappeared. Seemed to have been signed to a twenty year contract as every season there would be a piece about the man who can't be arsed playing but is still getting a top wage. No doubt if you search hard enough he is probably still hanging around Stamford Bridge somewhere as we speak.
7. Ilie Dumitrescu - You know a guy's going to be crap when as soon as he moves to Spurs a prostitute scandal comes out. Still never worry if you sign a dud as king of the geezers and arch wheeler-dealer Harry Redknapp will take any old rubbish off your hands, including this waste of space. Was he crap at West ham? What do you think?!
8. Juan Sebastian Veron - Like Bogarde, this one is a surprise gap in the original team. Man United frittered away £28 bloody million in this idiot. The fact that they were even able to get half of that back from Chelsea shows how daft they are too. Only Shevchenko comes close in the big reputation but total crap stakes.
9. Andrea Silenzi - Before Stan Collymore became a professional headcase his departure from Nottingham Forest was seen as a huge loss. But never fear as the top scorer in Serie A is coming. Except he had once been the top-scorer in Serie B and his previous season's total was a mere four goals. 12 League games and not a goal say it all about a man who became almost proverbial at the time. Since been followed by the likes of Michele Padovano, Massimo Maccarone, Bernardo Corradi and Rolando Bianchi in the rubbish Italian forwards stakes but Silenzi remains the original and best.
10. Marco Boogers - Yet more proof that Harry Redknapp's tabloid reputation is based on shaky science. £750,000 bought H an admittedly somewhat deserved crunching tackle on Gary Neville and nowt else. Geez!
11. Brian Laudrup - Absolutely ruled Rangers for years but when he came to Chelsea things were different. All his ability seemed to drain away as soon as he arrived at Stamford Bridge and it ended up so bad that he even faked his own retirement to escape. Nice work.

Well, that's the end of that chapter. Feg and then work, methinks. Off to Bradford tomorrow and the buzz is that I will see quite a lot of you there so jolly good. TTFN to the rest of you.

1 Not that I read it, I just heard about it through another source. No, honestly!
2 Yes, OK, Taibi was far and away the worst but I've promised myself no duplicates.
keresaspa: (Rasputin)
Aiee! Still recovering from a weekend of debauchery at Infest, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. Quick rundown of what happened then I must get back to work to make up the lost time. Friday began thankfully not too early with the flight from Geordie Best, which was thankfully not too packed. Taxi into Bradford followed with a mix-up over room keys that eventually had to be sorted out by a lass who looked like the third and not so pretty Shetty sister. Eventually faffing about ceased and myself and [ profile] queenmartina decamped to the Titus Salt to meet [ profile] burkesworks for a couple of jars and some dinner. A couple soon turned into quite a few leaving us somewhat merry by the time we ended up at the place itself. As a result my memory of the night is a bit hazy, although I recall talking to all and sundry and seeing a bit of Portion Control. That being said, my old legs can't stand up to the bands as well as they used to and as such I spent most of the time outside having a feg.

Saturday began with a trip to that museum that [ profile] queenmartina is so fond of, on the way to which we passed the most drunk/stoned man in Christendom who, after staggering past the halls, fell over a barrier onto some waste ground. Takes all sorts! Proved a reasonably pleasant diversion due to a Bollywood exhibition that featured some rather nifty posters of what appeared to be Russ Meyer films Indian style. That thought kept me busy for quite some time as you can imagine! Back to the boozer for a bit of lunch and a drink where we met [ profile] purpledonna and a bunch of others before winding back to the halls then on to the nights entertainments. Not a lick of bands saw that night, with time once again given over to catching up with everybody and smoking. Ended up finding a settee near a bar which proved to comfortable to give up, especially as the place was deserted for the main band. Good laugh, which I seem to recall involved singing Victor Lewis-Smith jingles and laughing at a middle aged man in a loin cloth.

Sunday was an earlier start after a somewhat surreal trip to the Co-op. Seen a little of the delightfully named Painbastard before nipping outside to meet up once again with [ profile] burkesworks who had stopped by. Knocked about outside with the man himself for quite sometime, demolishing a few pints, a couple of bottles of wine that he had sneaked in and a glut of green shooter things, the name of which escaped me. Hung about to gone 11 before bidding Tez a fond farewell and heading back in for more boozing and fooling about.

Up about 11 on Monday nursing a malefaction of a hangover that made packing and getting out of there a bit of a chore. Eventually made it away and got a taxi to the airport where a slightly loony driver was blasting Islamic devotional music the whole way. I'm pretty sure I heard "Mujahideen" in it and [ profile] queenmartina believes she heard "Al-Qaeda" at one point. The tobacco rattle in one of the voice made me want to laugh and I was really struggling to hold it in when a particularly whiny one put me in mind of Paul Whitehouse but luckily we made it without laughing. In the end there was no need to rush as the plane ended up being cancelled due to some cock and bull story about it breaking down at Manchester. 23 of us were chosen for reassignment (I wonder what became of the rest of them) and, after agreeing to transfer to Doncaster, were left waiting for a coach like a bunch of sausages until half four. Still, it gave me time for a fegs and a community spirit of sorts developed in the face of adversity. Eventually we made it to the ludicrously named Robin Hood airport and it was gone 8 before we got home.

Been pretty much done in the last couple of days as a consequence of everything but a good time was had by all. Nice to see so many of you (you know who you are) but now I must returned to the realities of chapter fettling. The end.
keresaspa: (Lorraine again!)
As you can probably guess I am still snowed under with the work and most likely will be for the foreseeable future. Saw the honcho during the week and he decided that one chapter could do with an extra section on France and Germany so I've been scrambling around trying to knock some old tat up in record time. He might have told me this a few months ago, the bugger!

Elsewhere I notice that some anonymous person has left one of those lj gifts on my user page. Very nice of you, masked stranger, a big thank you if you happen to be reading.

Well, it's Bradford and a lakes worth of alcohol tomorrow so I shall see some of you then and the rest will hear from me again sometime when I get five minutes away from work. Ta-ta.
keresaspa: (Default)
Just another quick line to report in. Work is once again consuming pretty much all my time so anything of substance here has to go on the back burner. Besides that I'm off to Bradford on Friday and so I want to get as much done as possible as I'll be losing a few days as a result. May report in before then but if not see some of you there (you in town this weekend [ profile] burkesworks?), see the rest of you later.
keresaspa: (Cookie Kwan)
Apologies for the break in communications, m’dears, but as you all probably know [ profile] queenmartina and my good self were off in Bradford for the long weekend. Still a tad cream-crackered from what, unsurprisingly, proved to be a mammoth booze session but, nevertheless, back to the grind I’ve been forced to go. Anyway, a brief rundown of events as far as I can remember them (which is probably not very well).

Friday began not too early thankfully as for once we had an afternoon flight. The entry was marred by being forced to take off footwear and ditch lighters* due to the severely OTT safety restrictions now in place at airports. Despite this the flight itself proved fairly OK, although the bus ride afterwards was a bit of a sickener due to road works. After finding Arkwright Hall (and faffing about thinking that it was miles away from anywhere when it turned not to be) we headed off to a local boozer to meet up with young [ profile] burkesworks for a few pints of Dragon something or other and a bit of a natter. Stumbled back to the halls for a quick bit of getting ready then off to Bradford Uni for the thing itself. By now, you'll understand that much of Friday night is a blur to me. I can recall talking to [ profile] fluffmitten about football and from then on it's a bit hazy. I remember seeing [ profile] psychokatuk, my personal smoke adviser [ profile] cyberglamour and a whole bunch of other people who either aren't on here or who's journals I'm not aware of. Apart from that I recall nothing.

Saturday began with a visit to that museum about the telly that our kid seems to enjoy. Killed a bit of time and provided some mirth with clips of Bruce Forsyth in the 70s a particular favourite. Saturday day was by and large a sober affair, with the tolerance of the bevy not being what it was, although Saturday night itself was again given over to the demon drink. Many were terribly excited about some outfit called Rotersand, although I by and large gave them a miss and took in some air and drunken conversation outside. Memory goes hazy again after that, I’m afraid.

Sunday resulted in more boozing, although I flaked out well before the end and spent the day drinking alcopops like a big girl's blouse. There was a bit of a winding-down atmosphere with everybody saying their goodbyes and by the end I was glad to find a comfy chair to flop into for a while. As I say, not as young as I used to be. Didn't stay to the very end as by that time my knees were completely gone, although the bouncers were still up for a bit of craic on the way out.

Monday was travelling again. A taxi ride to the airport and a quick plane ride over to Belfast (which was thankfully half empty rather than the usual brigade of unwashed Leeds festivalers), that is. This time I managed to smuggle a lighter with me which made me the focus of much attention from total strangers outside Georgie Best. Talk about taking precautions too far. Finally home and my own bed. Bliss! Still, all in all a good time was had by all and it was great to catch up with a lot of you. There may or not be drunken pictures of me which I may or may not share as and when they arrive.

Meanwhile keep your fingers crossed for me as a have a bit of a thing that needs doing tomorrow and I need a bit of luck with it. All for now. Bye.

* Yes, as you've probably noticed the quitting smoking thing didn't last long
keresaspa: (Communism)
That's all for the time being as I'm off to Bradford for the bank holiday weekend. See some of you tomorrow sometime (plane security delays permitting!) the rest I'll see (in a virtual sense) on Tuesday. Enjoy.
keresaspa: (Fidel Castro)
Back to the usual business after being away for the long weekend. Pretty tired after burning the candle at both ends and holding about ten matches to the middle of it.

Got into Bradford very early on Friday and spent a while faffing about, trying to find out where we were supposed to be staying. Ended up on the campus of Bradford University, which was handy as. After a bit more arsing around myself and [ profile] vulcanlolita met up with [ profile] burkesworks for a few jars and a bit of craic (cheers for the stuff, Tez) before heading off to the main event. Unsurprisingly I was a bit worse for wear by later on and can remember very little about the night. In fact, that was the theme for most of the weekend. Just not as young as I used to be. I vaguely recall waffling about football to [ profile] fluffmitten and [ profile] industrialgod at various times, as well as talking to a plethora of people some of whom I knew and some of whom I'll probably never remember again. In all, good laugh, even if most of it is a haze. Photos will come along eventually and I'll no doubt begin to get flashbacks when I stick them up. My mood was dampened a bit by the Baggies losing to Birmingham Shitty, but lightened by the long overdue death of Fitt the Brit, a man guaranteed to send my blood boiling. Good riddance.

All for now. More as and when photos appear (and you wont escape the merriment this time, [ profile] burkesworks). A lot of stuff to be cleared up, so tata.
keresaspa: (Scrubber Daley)
Off to Bradford tomorrow, so just tying up a few loose ends today. Some of you I will see tomorrow, the rest I'll see you Tuesday. TTFN.
keresaspa: (Grape Ape)
Just killing time before I trundle off back to Bradford on Friday. At some point this week the honcho will need to be tracked down (chance would be a fine thing), but otherwise I'm looking at a very uneventful four days, the highlight of which will probably be getting a haircut (if I can be bothered). Invariably, with it being the silly season and all, there is bugger all of interest happening, with even dear Tony living it up in Barbados. A fine 2-1 win over Pompey was the highlight of an otherwise equally uneventful weekend. All for now. Off to waste some more of my extra icon allowance.
keresaspa: (Stanley Unwin)
Got back from Bradford yesterday and I now have the knees of an eighty year old, a throbbing left arm from lugging a heavy suitcase and the craggiest throat I've had in years from puffing on the Dickie Davises* for most of the weekend. Apart from that I musn't grumble.

As you can imagine the weekend was a sea of liquor that has dulled my memory and senses in general. Some sort of German (I think) spirit that was consumed in shots and tasted like cough medicine played a role in that as did my propensity to down Southern Comforts. After traveling over on the Friday [ profile] vulcanlolita and myself met up with [ profile] burkesworks in a bar and town and had a few jars and a bit of craic. Twas a pleasure to finally meet you, our kid. I was comfortable and would have gladly stayed for a skinful were it now for the night-times doings. The result was that Friday night saw me totally rat-arsed and it became a theme over the next two nights as well. Plus running into fellow Celtic booze-hounds like [ profile] industrialgod just encouraged me to fill up even more. Not that I needed much encouragement, mind you. I'll wait for [ profile] vulcanlolita's run down as I'm now having trouble remembering.

All for the time being. I really need to chase up some work stuff.

*Benson & Hedges ciggies


keresaspa: (Default)

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