keresaspa: (Robb Wilton)
I mentioned a previous excursion to the Diamond in Rathcoole on here a couple of years back and, once again, a visit to the match there today ended in another abandonment. Admittedly this one was rather less dramatic as, rather than a pitched battle between the two sides today's was on safety grounds after a Barn United player accidentally caught a ferociously struck clearance right in the face and was knocked spark out, prompting the two managers to eventually agree that the 70 odd minutes played would do and the result could stand. Ambulance and everything, so good luck to the lad.

Still it was a slightly anti-climactic ending to my own season as, so far as I can see, this will be my last game of the season before the summer shutdown. Having attended 57 games as a live spectator I'm one short of equalling my record but it's still a good return, encompassing 33 different grounds, including first ever visits to Dixon Park in Belfast, the Old Spotted Dog in London, Adie Moran Park in Bury, Plumpton Park in Bradford, Pennypit Park in Prestonpans, Ainslie Park in Edinburgh and of course Central Park in Cowdenbeath, a place that I'll be keen to get back to ASAP, even if relegation happens. There was also long overdue returns to Tynecastle and the Oval, both of which had been missed these last few years, as well as Houston Park and Aircraft Park, neither of which have. I even managed my first taste of European football since 1996 watching Bayern Munich destroy poor old Hibernian in the Women's Champions League.

I was perhaps a little less attentive with regards to following Donegal Celtic as I missed a couple of home matches for various reasons (something I haven't done in a few years) and largely eschewed any away games that were outside of easy access. I'm still trying to figure out why that was the case - perhaps my legendary love of the underdog means that a season of comparative success and being one of the big fish in the tiny pond of the Premier Intermediate League hold less appeal than the struggles of the last few years. Who knows?

Either way it has been a productive season all round for yours truly although, for once, I'm rather prepared for a few weeks away from it all and am not dreading the summer the way I usually do. Check in with me in a fortnight or so to see if that's still the case (I doubt it very much) but for now 2016-17 can be put to rest with a fond farewell and I can put my feet up for a while.
keresaspa: (Diggory)
These last few years of spending my Saturday afternoons (and occasional week-night) trailing around watching local football have delivered many things but not an abandonment, something of a surprise in itself given the awful weather we frequently endure in this part of the world. Well, that all changed today in some rather bizarre circumstances.

With my usual mob not in action I decided to check out Rathcoole's match with Sofia Farmer in the Ballymena League out in Newtownabbey. I hadn't heard of the latter club until this season but so far their few matches all seemed to end in very heavy defeats and, given that Rathcoole's last outing was an 8-3 win, I reckoned I had a chance of seeing a real hammering. Given that the Diamond lets you in for nitto the deal was sealed and so off I set.

Sure enough things went according to the script. Sofia Farmer played like eleven strangers and were 2-0 down within about five minutes. Rathcoole completely dominated and went four-nil up early on. Then however the pace slackened and the visitors came into their own a little bit, pulling a goal back to go in at half time 4-1 down.

The end of the first half and the start of the second half saw some flared tempers. Rathcoole's number 9 and Farmer's number 18 seemed rather poorly disposed towards one another whilst more than once the referee was surrounded by members of both teams disagreeing with decisions or demanding cards be shown for fouls, real or imagined. One member of the Sofia Farmer team in particular, a Neymar-lookalike whose number I didn't catch, got especially annoyed with the treatment he was getting and complained incessantly to the referee. In some cases his moaning was justified in others it was overreaction to what was fairly typical of this level of football. A fifth Rathcoole goal followed but the match continued in the same increasingly fractious spirit.

Then it happened. Out of nowhere the Neymar wannabe, at the end of a long whine, kicked his marker full force in the back of the leg. The ref whistled but the victim lost his rag and chased the Sofia Farmer player, quickly joined in his aggressive pursuit by three or four of his team mates. Next thing everybody was flying in with the vast majority of the players pulling, hauling and swinging at each other. As if that wasn't enough members of the Rathcoole coaching staff invaded the pitch, with one little man in a beanie hat aggressively swinging his head here, there and everywhere. By this point the referee had completely lost control and stood back watching as the mayhem ensued. Finally Neymar walked off the pitch and called the rest of the team with him. A few resisted and tried to calm things down, with a few Rathcoole peacemakers now also wanting to restore order, but there was no shifting the majority of Sofia Farmers who buggered off back to the dressing room. So that was that, match abandoned.

Shameful scenes didn't do it justice and where this leaves Sofia Farmer is anybody's guess. Indeed, given how poor their start has been, I wouldn't be amazed if they just pulled out of the league altogether. Still, if punishment is to be dealt out (which, presumably it must), it would be wrong not to deal with both clubs. Neymar's unprovoked attack on his marker followed by the walk-off is so far removed from the norms of football that it's ridiculous but the home side didn't cover themselves in glory either. The way they chased after the attacker with vengeance on their minds was deplorable and the fact that members of their staff jumped onto the pitch to get involved also needs to be dealt with, as the Diamond was far from a safe environment for its visitors today. Rathcoole is hardly the most welcoming place in the world as it is (not specifically the people, who are in my experience as much of a mixed bag as those anywhere else, more the paintings of machine guns that greet you when you enter), whilst Sofia Farmer had no supporters, only one man who wasn't playing and there were several young guys boozing at the ground (none of whom, I hasten to add, got involved in the melee but still provided a threatening backdrop for any opposition). There's also the fact that at least nine of the Sofia Farmer players were BME and, as far as I'm aware, they're all immigrants, something that a few members of the crowd had already commented upon during the course of the match. None that I heard used specifically racist language, but nonetheless the ethnic identity of the opposition players was deemed worthy of comment by more than one supporter. Mind you, I personally didn't hear anything to do with ethnic or national identity said during the brawl so, for my part, I'm not making claims in that direction. Ultimately the referee's handling on the whole incident was very poor, although again the lack of assistants and fourth officials at this level meant he was effectively on his own so I can't really blame him for bottling it. It's catch-22 of course - increasing the number of officials at matches like these and you price a lot of these smaller clubs out of the game and force them to drop down to the junior levels.

Ultimately football was the big loser today as a bad-tempered match turned into a violent farce and two clubs are left with a cloud over their respective names. I was able to catch the last half hour of an altogether more uneventful encounter between Rathcoole's next door neighbours Rathfern Rangers and their opponents Donard Hospital but I found it hard to concentrate after what I had just witnessed. A bad and crazy day for the local game.
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: (Cookie Kwan)
You've got to love Newtownabbey, don't you? All the tat you could ever want at knockdown prices, more crappy little Amateur League grounds than you could shake a stick at and just right distance to walk to from my drum if I have an uncharacteristically energetic day. That and wonderfully misspelt signs, with two cock-ups in the one notice.

Well done old chap or chapess. That's real devotion to idiocy right there.
keresaspa: (Cynthia of Witching Hour fame)
After spending the last three Saturdays in Poleglass, Rathcoole and Sydenham respectively my hopes of finally returning to DC were scuppered by the success of next opponents Limavady United in the William Craig Memorial Cup, an intermediate competition in the north-west, and the enforced postponement of the league game so as they can play their quarter final (I think). Still, "never mind" I thinks to myself, "as the east coast equivalent, the Steel & Sons Cup, is having its quarter finals at the same time and I quite fancy a return to Paisley Park for Albert Foundry's clash with Crumlin Star". Except that's gone west as well as, in the sort of cock-up between club and IFA that DC supporters are well used to, Foundry are out of the cup, their replacements are the erstwhile Ulster Poly team and the match is in the depths of Newtownabbey on Friday night. A real shame as Foundry-Star would have been a ding-dong (and is potentially an Irish League rivalry in waiting) and I always hate to see a team excluded from a competition for any off-field reason. It also means that come Saturday I am left with a straight choice between Iveagh United out in Twinbrook or one of the Newtownabbey pair of Mossley or 18th Newtownabbey O.B., all in Division 1C of the Amateur League. Don't let it be said I don't lead a glamorous life!

As for Roy Hodgson's joke I'll not say much as too much has been written about it already but my own take is that it wasn't intended as racist but it was a daft choice of metaphor by an otherwise intelligent man. But, on the positive side, it has overshadowed the inevitable slew of "we can win this" rhetoric from the press and the more deluded members of the England support. Oh, when will they ever learn?! And I should probably declare now that, given my usual side Paraguay have failed to make the cut (finishing rock bottom of the CONMEBOL standings no less), my support at the next World Cup will be given to Bosnia. Why not?
keresaspa: (Seagull)
Monkstown is one of the historic old townlands that make up of County Antrim and it is - along with Carnmoney, Glengormley, Jordanstown, Whiteabbey, Whitehouse and Whitewell - one of the seven villages formally merged in 1958 to form Newtownabbey, a new town on the outskirts of north Belfast that is now Northern Ireland's fourth largest settlement. Inevitably, what with Newtownabbey being, for the most part, solidly loyalist, there are a number of loyalist sink estates dotted around the area, but the place is probably best known for it's medium-light industrial estates (heavy industry is all but dead here now outside the shipyard and even that is only kept open to stop the UVF coming out in insurrection). Canadian telecom giants Nortel were formerly a big wheel in the area but the recession claimed them and their factory is now a memory. Despite this the Nortel social club continues to exist and their football club, formerly known as Standard Telephones & Cables, continue to function under the moniker Nortel FC. With Donegal Celtic kicking their heels on account of their previously documented failure to enter the Steel & Sons Cup it was to this area that I decided to decamp today, in order to watch the aforementioned Nortel face the might of Comber Rec in the Premier Division of the Amateur League.

My decision was informed by the good grace of the otherwise execrable Translink Metro bus service to bring back the £2 Saturday day ticket meaning that I could be spared the near nine mile hike and thus was free to explore the outer reaches of the Greater Belfast non-league scene. Nortel's Monkstown Avenue home is on the edge of Cloughfern, an area I don't know very well, so I had a right job finding the place, especially as the entrance to the ground was for no particular reason concealed from all view. In the end I was lucky to make it in time for kick-off, despite arriving fifteen minutes early. Mind you, that's pretty typical of this place as most football clubs, bar the very biggest, get very shoddy treatment from their local councils when it comes to grounds and I suppose Nortel should be thankful they have one at all.

NAFL rules demand that all intermediate teams must at least have a fence round their ground and that's about as far as Nortel have gone in terms of development. Still it didn't put the supporters off as a decent crowd turned up, including about twenty or thirty from Comber (pretty embarrassing given that last week, two leagues higher, I was one of only nine who made the short trip to support DC in a losing effort at nearby Distillery) and, for some reason, two separate and completely unrelated miniature schnauzers. The match itself was, rather surprisingly, a total belter. Less than five minutes in Comber had a penalty, a cheaply given-away affair in which the Comber man backed into the defender until he fell for it and put his arm across the Comber guy, allowing him to crumple as if hauled down. For all the good it did them though as the Nortel keeper saved it and it galvanised the team as they took a 2-0 lead, with their number 11 running riot down the flank to set up two goals for the number seven. Nortel dominated the first half and could have had a few more, missing a couple by inches and hitting the bar.

Comber came back after the break, helped by some duff refereeing, and were soon back in it with a well-taken goal. Then all hell broke loose. A strapping, bald and rather fat gentleman wore the number four shirt for Comber and had put in a good shift in defence when he suddenly lost the bap and took a swing at a short shaveling who had come on as a substitute for Nortel. Naughty boy received his deserved marching orders and the game became rather needlesome thereafter but ten man Comber refused to lie down and scored a second with a wonderfully struck free kick. The man advantage soon told though as the profligate Nortel had wave after wave of attack, finally bundling the winner in late on with what appeared to be an own goal by the Comber keeper. A couple more could have been added, including a strike that hit the post, but in the end 3-2 was to be it.

Monkstown Avenue is unquestionably a poor ground, even by the standards of the league, it's very difficult to approach and the whole industrial estate vibe is rather soul-destroying. But despite all this the football on display was a wonderful exhibition of blood and thunder enthusiasm and was as good a way as any to spend a fine autumnal day. And heck, DC could do worse than have a look at Nortel's number eleven whose passing was startlingly accurate for this level. DC's administrative screw ups were ludicrous and an embarrassment to the club but if all these off weeks can be filled up with football like this then I'll not really mind after all.
keresaspa: (Obelix)
It seems my head has now got itself into the mindset that Saturday afternoon must be spent watching live football rather than my previous routine of watching Jeff Stelling watch live football. However today there was one problem, and that is that thanks to the Royal Black[shirts] Preceptory the last Saturday in August is always a total bust in Belfast. Officially that's not the case as everything is open as normal but the streets are taken over by these hoary old bigots and due to the sectarian intransigence of the mouthbreathing lumpen flute bands that follow the old bastards this year violence ensued. With all that in mind, and seeing as my route to Solitude passes through Donegall Street, I was loathe to go up to Cliftonville and with Donegal Celtic having played last night I was left with few options.

However a quick google of the lower divisions provided the answer - Sport & Leisure Swifts were at home against Ballyclare Comrades in the IFA Championship 2. What do you mean you've never heard of Sport & Leisure Swifts?! To tell the truth neither had I but their ground being on the Glen Road Heights, not far from DC, meant that it would avoid north Belfast entirely and trouble would be unlikely due to it being deep in Fenianland. So off I went.

Admittedly I don't know the Glen Road very well and, whilst I had sussed it out a bit on Google Maps, my laptop absolutely hates Google Maps and freezes constantly when I use it so I had to abandon that avenue without the full knowledge. Fortunately I spied the sign for the ground from the black taxi but quickly found that it was located near the top of the mountain up an eerie dirt road. The IFA Championship 2 is the third-highest tier of football in Northern Ireland but by the standards of England you're talking around Mid-Sussex League standard so whilst the one tiny stand looked a bit crappy I was actually pleasantly surprised that it was any more than an open field. Certainly however this was the highest ground I've ever been to and quite probably the highest (and windiest) in Belfast.

As a town/village/hamlet Ballyclare is effectively Newtownabbey's arsehole but to be fair to the Comrades they are slumming it a bit in the Championship 2 and would really be more suited to life in the next division up. As a result of the 80 or so hearty souls that scaled Divis mountain to witness the spectacle probably about sixty of them were bumpkin visitors there to cheer on the Comrades. For my part I had no idea who was who, being unfamiliar with football at this level and it took me about half an hour before I had worked out which team was which (the home side wore red but the Comrades' supporters wore red scarves and they outnumbered the home fans so I got confused). The standard of play was pretty dreadful, even compared to what I'm used to with a lot of ball-chasing by both sides and a lot of the players getting heavy sweats on and going down with cramp. If you hear me denigrating that efforts of DC or Cliftonville in future remind me of this. As always happens when I go to a match the away side dominated the first half without scoring, although much of that seemed to be because Swifts were made up of mostly teenagers, padded out with a couple of older, fatter chaps. Their number nine in particular, as seen in the middle of this image, was possibly the shortest footballer I've ever seen and would have had to look up to headbutt Dennis Wise on the chin. West Belfasters in general are small people, unlike us strapping South-Eastenders, but even the local shorties were calling this dude wee man. Comrades had their own hooligan firm, made up of about four teenagers, one of whom attempted to get into slanging matches with a couple of home fans but he was such a little shrimp that he elicited only laughter. A slap round the bap would have done him the power of good but I was only a guest and he didn't look at me sideways so I couldn't get involved.

When the second half came round Ballyclare began to make their dominance tell and scored twice to establish an insurmountable lead. Swifts tried a half-hearted rally late on but they never looked like scoring and in the end Ballyclare might have won by more than 2-0 had it not been for their own wastefulness in front of goal and a good save by Swifts keeper. All in all a good laugh though. It is unquestionably the lowest level of football I have ever paid to attend but there was something grimly honest about the whole experience. Whilst Glen Road Heights is unlikely to ever become my first port of call on a Saturday afternoon if I find myself at a loose end again I might seek it out once more.
keresaspa: (Geoffrey of Monmouth)
We all get them. The begging letter from a deposed general you have never heard of promising you untold riches in return for full access to your bank details and maybe a bit of scrouse to get the ball rolling. After all what self-respecting Nigerian billionaire doesn't want to hand over half of his hard swindled fortune to a total stranger on the other side of the world? Well kudos to the scammers for a recent example that I received which at least demonstrates that (a) they know how to be topical and (b) they are finally sending their fake offers from people you might actually have heard of if you don't have a PhD in Nigerian military history. Observe:

Dear Friend,

This mail may not be surprising to you if you have been following current events in the international media with reference to the recent protest in Egypt.I am Mrs. Suzanne Mubarak, the wife of Deposed Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak who is seriously ill and has slipped into coma.

Ever since the turn out of events and even prior to the protest,I have been thrown into a state of antagonism, confusion,humiliation, frustration and hopelessness by the present military leadership of the Egyptian Liberation Organization.I have even been subjected to physical and psychological torture.As a woman that is so traumatized, I have lost confidence with everybody in the country at the moment.

You must have heard over the media reports and the Internet on the discovery of some fund in my husband secret bank account and companies and the allegations of some huge sums of money deposited by my husband in my name of which I have refuses to disclose or give up to the corrupt Egyptian Government. In fact the total sum allegedly discovered by the Government so far is in the tune of about $6.5 Billion Dollars.And they are not relenting on their effort to make me and my sons (Gamal & Alaa Mubarak) poor for life. As you know, the Muslem community has no regards for women, more importantly when the woman is from a Christian background, hence my desire for a foreign assistance.

I have the sum of 62.5USD(Sixty-Two Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars) with a financial firm in Europe whose name I can not disclose for now for security reasons until we open up communication. I shall be grateful if you could receive this fund into your bank account for safe keeping and any Investment opportunity. This arrangement will be known to you and I alone and all our correspondence should be strictly on email alone because our government has tapped all our lines and are monitoring all my moves.In view of the above, if you are willing to assist for our mutual benefits, we will have to negotiate on your Percentage share of the 62.5 USD that will be kept in your position for a while and invested in your name for my trust .

Please note that this is a golden opportunity that comes once in life time and more so, if you are honest, I am going to entrust more funds in your care as this is one of the legacy we keep for our children.In case you don't accept please do not let me out to the security and international media as I am giving you this information in total trust and confidence I will greatly appreciate if you accept my proposal in good faith.I am aware of the consequences of this proposal. So I ask that if you find no interest in this project that you should discard this mail.

I ask that you do not be vindictive and destructive. If my offer is of no appeal to you, delete this message and forget I ever contacted you. Do not destroy my family reputation because you do not approve of my proposal.

Please expedite action

Yours sincerely,
Mrs. Suzanne Mubarak

Yup that's right, Mrs. Hosni Mubarak wants to make me rich and is playing the poor traumatised damsel in distress harassed by those evil "Muslems" despite being totally innocent card. Now there's no denying that 62 million United States Dollars would come in handy but on reflection I have decided to pass on your generous offer "Suzanne" and will instead be vindictive and destructive by publishing your little e-mail for the amusement of my millions and millions of fans. Well, even if it actually is her (which it isn't), the days when Mubaraks could deal out pain of Alessandro Moreschi proportions are well and truly over. And if that's not the case then eep. Sorry Suzanne, as the Hollies would say, let's you and me have dinner some time.

And meanwhile, in lieu of actually thinking of anything to write about myself, I shall fall back on my former position and follow a meme that is doing the rounds.

Books )
keresaspa: (Meg)
It having been three months since my last blood-letting today saw the malevolent beast that is haemochromatosis demand the spilling of gore once again. A new system was in place today for me to get used to whereby the burden of treating us iron-loaders had been shifted from the junior doctors onto a dedicated nurse in another part of the hospital. For once though it is a change for the better as the dedicated nurse was as nice as ninepence and was a complete pro who slid the big needle in and out of my arm with the minimum of fuss. A marked contrast to the junior doctors, a mixed bunch at best who might be good but equally might be shaky messy dolts who stab the needle deep into you and then watch in dismay as it falls out again, a crimson tide gushing down my arm as they scratch their heads in confusion. More than once have I had to stroll home from the Falls Road desperately trying to conceal the bloodstains on my shirt as a consequence of a dose of incompetence from some kiddywig. The spectre of disappointment has also been banished as it is now an appointments system instead of the previous way which required you to turn up when you felt like and hope somebody would take you. Waiting for an hour was not unheard of and I was even turned away once as nobody could be arsed doing it. So all in all as pleasant as it is possible for the medicinal draining of blood to be and I can now get away without another one until the 16th of December (assuming my ferrotin levels haven't mysteriously shot up). As is inevitable after these I'm feeling a bit ropey now but the new system definitely gets my seal of approval.

Meanwhile I've jumped on the meme bandwagon after being donated a y from [ profile] bombardiette. You know the score, ten things you like beginning with that letter so if you want a letter ask away.

*Yoko Ono - isn't she the craziest? Better than John Lennon in the opinion of me and nobody else.
*You are the Ref - annoyingly addictive comic strip/puzzle from the golden age of football magazines, thankfully now resurrected as a weekly feature over here.
*Y Tebot Piws - The Purple Teapot to you, sir. Wacky psychedelic funsters singing in Welsh whose opus "Y Gore A'r Gwaetha O'r" I now possess thanks to [ profile] queenmartina's birthday present haul. Their best song? Why "Mae Rhywyn Wedi Dwyn'fy Nhrwyn" of course.
*You didn't wanna - Harry Enfield's finest ever creation from the good old days when he was actually funny. Come to think of it I don't know what this character is actually called but he has always been "you didn't wanna" in my house!
*Yogi Bear - classic Yogi from his original couple of series set in Jellystone Park only mind you. Once they started sending him into space and equaly ludicrous plot devices interest waned.
*York Street - seedy place on the outskirts of Belfast city centre that leads onto the Shore Road which in turn leads to Newtownabbey. Nice and grim and has a decent low-end shopping centre.
*Yamara - silly humour strip that used to appear in Dragon magazine back in the day. I haven't role played since forever but this would remind me of my later childhood so much.
*Youjeen - adorable Korean singer to whom you should all listen. Power ballad-tastic.
*Yellow-Legged Gull - gulls are my favourite birds of course and this is as fine a specimen as any.
*You Bet! - compellingly awful charity/game/variety show from the early 1990s featuring "celebrities" you have never heard of, daft challenges involving model planes or synchronised dog displays and Matthew Kelly in a sumo mawashi. It couldn't be much more Alan Partridge if it tried which makes the reruns unmissable in a car crash sort of way.


keresaspa: (Default)

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