Random meanderings on football, books and bike theft

Like, I assume, the rest of you, I'm listening to Hull v. Stoke City on Radio 5. We're 2-0 up and guaranteed survival, which pleases me mightily, though I'd like Hull to stay up too. I'm particularly happy that the entire world is listening to the match on the World Service. What a great way to encounter the quality, the class, the sheer magic of the English Premier League.

Over at the Hawthorns, West Brom are storming to a win over Wigan too: fantastic. We always beat them, they play attractive football and their fans are brilliant, so I hope they pull off a great escape.

I should be writing the final piece of this month's PGCE essay, but I've wasted the day reading the Guardian - which means ripping out more book reviews, leading to more purchases. There's a brilliant essay by Elaine Showalter on her favourite eight overlooked American female authors - a good corrective to the endless lionisation of cigar-chewing, gun-toting grand old men of American letters.

The only wrinkle on the day was the end of Neal's birthday. He left his bike at Wolverhampton Swimming Pool overnight, and found this morning that some utter wanker has smashed it up, really gone to town on it. If it had been stolen, I could understand the logic, but the sheer mindlessness of deciding to smash up somebody else's bike because it's there completely defeats me. (Obviously, the security cameras are only trained on the car park - cyclists are beneath the attention of all authority). Still if anyone has a housemate with spokes stuck in their shoes, let me know.

It's also a bit annoying because I gave Neal a micro-techno-super-pump and a bicycle bell for his birthday. Perhaps I'll attach the bell to his shoes.

Still - tonight I shall be attending the Star Trek movie. On my own, like a proper Trek fan.

Everyday is like Sunday…

I've popped home to see the aged parents for a day or so - I've got a taste for greenery now, and I couldn't abide being in Wolves while it's packed with triumphalist Wanderer's fans. Though it was really sweet to hear my boss and a student discussing their signing potential and premiership plans as though it was a proper grown-up football team. Still, it means that the mighty Stoke is still assured of an easy 6 points from West Mids teams despite West Brom's sad demotion. 

Today the spot list includes a gloriously unconcerned fox and two ostriches. Yes, there are ostriches living in Wolverhampton - in the yard of a pet shop near the railway viaduct. I wouldn't have seen them if I'd taken the train, but because it's a holiday weekend, we were packed into a coach which gave me the perfect vantage point to see these poor animals. 

I see the Observer's front page story is 'Key Minister savages PM over 'lamentable' failures'. As it's journalism, you have to overlook the two inaccuracies in 7 words - Hazel Blears isn't a key minister (the headline is an attempt to con people into buying the paper) and she doesn't 'savage' Brown, rather notes that some strategies haven't worked. 

Most astonishing of all, however, is the sub headline: 'We must appear more human - Blears'. Now, I've met Hazel Blears twice. The first time, she exuded all the warmth of a komodo dragon. The second time, the only connection between organic life and her was the komodo-like poison dripping from her lips (I say this as a Party member). You could easily find more empathy in your average traffic light than from Hazel. It's hard to describe how inhuman her little black button eyes are. Perhaps the closest I can get to summarising her is to say that she's the only person I've ever met who seems more real on television than in the flesh. If she zipped her head open like that Dr. Who episode, I wouldn't be at all surprised. She's classic New Labour, so obsessed with purging the few remaining socialists in the party by promoting more and more rightwing ideas that she has no vision left at all - she's HAL, running forever with no discernible purpose other than to betray her comrades. The only human character she reminds me of is Dolores Umbridge from one of the Harry Potter books - a threatening sweet smile which only accentuates the horror. 

There, that feels better. 

Yet more people have spoken

A student identifying itself as 'Albrecht von Hohenzollern' (you must be from from History or RS) wishes me to discuss Stoke City in more depth. Happy to oblige, though I detect a degree of sarcasm - you won't be laughing when we stay up and Wolves come to the obligatory juddering halt in the play-offs. 

I have £1 on Stoke qualifying for the Champions' League, thanks to Ben. Odds of 6,500-1. Then you won't see me for dust. I'll spend it on a plane towing a big banner over Wolves with some revolting jibe about the yam-yams. 

I also have £5 on Stoke surviving, which is money in the bank especially as we've another game against West Brom coming up. Cyrille Regis played for them the last time they beat us.