My pregnable soccer team

My soccer team have been promoted after winning the grand final a few months back. However we are struggling in the big league. We have lost every game, and the nadir was two successive weeks when we failed to score. And I don't mean 1-0 or 3-0, try 11-0 and 17-0. Last week we conceded 25 goals, but finally got on the scoreboard ourselves, losing 25-7.

Both my big toes are just about worn out, the joints have only got about 25% of their flex left. On Friday night this guy on the other side twice did an interesting manoeuvre when I was trying to tackle him - he blocked me with his spare foot and managed to bend back my toes. He got both big toes and the toes next to them. They are now purple, and I am probably going to lose one of my big toenails. They were up something like 13-2 at that point, so it's not like it was desperation time.

The team is getting older all the time - our newest addition to the team just turned 45. When we get hurt it takes us a lot longer to get back to playing than it used to. Over the weekend as I hobbled around I certainly thought a lot about retiring. Each roster follows on immediately from the the one before, and that seems to make it harder to get off the roundabout. My bruises have mended enough over the last few days that I have already offered my services to keep goal if required this week. It's really very hard to stay away.

Bus

This week I've had a few bus trips home from work. I have badly bruised toes from my last soccer game, so I am taking a break from the long uphill walks home in the dark. And I've been loving the bus, I have to say. Here are my top 4 reasons why. (I aimed for 5 but fell short. I guess it is just a bus trip after all).

1. I have been catching the 6.15 bus. Downtown Hobart empties out pretty much immediately at 5.30, so much so that I am usually only sharing the bus with five or six others. It's a boutique public transport experience.
2. The evening light at that time (in September) is very nice, and as we head west out of town the foothills drift across in front of Mt Wellington in a cinematic way. Being high up in the bus, the lighted first floor windows we pass reveal little mundane scenes, one after another. The whole experience of being on a bus is like being in a German movie, especially if you have headphones on - your own soundtrack. Less so if the bus is crowded and if someone behind you is breaking up with his girlfriend on the phone - but that doesn't happen on this bus.
3. The bus stop is right in front of our house. It is not a long trip, but its long enough that disembarking right at our gate always comes as a little surprise. The bus door whooshes shut behind you, and the bus wheezes off up the road as you go up the front steps, somehow with an air of a departing magic carpet, after its job is done.
4. I used to associate bus travel with book reading. Waiting for the bus bored me to tears, and I actually couldn't stand to leave the house without a book. Sometimes choosing the book took so long that as I stood there by the bookshelf with my head at that book-choosing angle, I would hear the whoosh of my bus would going past. Now, I am listening to podcasts on my journey - which also allows you to look up and out and absorb the cinematic blah blah I waxed lyrical about above. While listening to amusing people talking about topical things happening in California.

OK Go - new video

 I hope you guys like OK Go as much as I do. I am going to reblog their videos each time they release one, because they just make me happy.

Peek, Freans and Flegg

 Do you think this clerk usually helped with the flour bags, or just decided to when the moving pictures crew turned up?

At work last week I was looking at a DVD of very early silent films, and there was a promotional film from 1906 of Peek Freans biscuit factory in England.

The film was amazing in various ways, but mainly to me as I'd completely forgotten that Peak Freans existed. The name got stuck in my head when I was very young, and we were on holiday in Sydney staying with my mum's parents in Burwood. Nearby in Ashfield there was a Peak Freans factory with a big clock tower,  and I guess we must have driven past it regularly. (I have Googled it and pinpointed where it was - it's now a Bunnings hardware).

The name Peek Freans is so weird, but at that age you just soak things up as they are. I probably found all kinds of things in Sydney very strange, and Peak Freans just crowded into my mind along with ferries, iced doughnuts, and calling suitcases "ports" as "Sydney things".

Another weird Sydney thing is Flegg. The former junior rugby league competition was called the Flegg Cup. If the season was on the rocks, a club might look to the future and "bring in some kids from Flegg". I used to think it was a made-up name for some kind of modified rugby, like Minkey for hockey, or Auskick for Australian Rules Football. But it's just named after a man named Mr Flegg.

If you love the Wiki...

Then you ought to keep an eye on bestofwikipedia - there are some excellent pointers for those wishing to amass more and yet more probably useless information.

For instance, although I have heard of the 70s Aussie rock band Tamam Shud (who I think made a comeback in the 90s) - I had never heard of the Taman Shud Case - a fascinating mystery involving an unknown dead man found on an Adelaide beach in 1948.

Sorry to freak you out with a picture of a dead guy. He looks pretty peaceful though.

 

Toilet paper planes

"So, what's been happening?" asked an old friend at the weekend. Hmmm - not much, I had to answer. I haven't blogged for a while, as things are just drifting along in that humdrum way that they do when you are middle class, middle-income, middle-aged and your lawnmower is broken. Everything is pleasant enough, but there are not many actual events worth taking up storage on a Google server on their secret island in Lake Geneva.

Our big dog is getting bigger. The weather has been wet. The toilets at work are as far away as ever, but they have been innovating - today there was new toilet paper, a bit like that typing paper from the old days. Really crisp, and I think it would take a fineline pen pretty well, without bleeding. When you scrunch or fold it, it crackles. You could probably make fine paper planes with it also.

I have been continuing to draw houses hunkered down below the road, with the dark steep bushy hill behind them, and their chimneys up like periscopes.

We had a very nice get-together with some old buddies at Nick and Anna's on Saturday. Our privacy-loving friends X and Y are moving back to Tasmania from steamy Queensland. X is slowly driving all their stuff down to Melbourne to bring it over on the boat, while Y and the girls have flown ahead to Hobart, to stay with her mum and dad and have tea with pals. They are actually settling in the tiny town of F in the far north-west, where X will be teaching at the district high school, starting pretty much immediately.

They are really sweet people and we have missed them since they've been away. They have been on the lookout for jobs here and something finally came up. The heat has been killing them. Y, also a teacher, described how the only room in her school with air conditioning was the computer lab, so she booked it for every single period  she could get her hands on. Mostly she didn't need to use the computers, but she sat each kid in front of one anyway, with strict instructions to get typing if anyone looked in.

I have just finished a book dad gave me called Imperium by Robert Harris. It's a novelisation of Roman history, which I'm pretty sure is an established genre now. Didn't Colleen McCulloch do three or four of them? I have never been attracted to them, but I really enjoyed it, and I feel like I have caught up now to Michael, who at six is the family Roman expert. The other day he was telling me something about the Parthenon in Rome - I started to butt in that I think it's in Athens, when he corrected himself. "Pantheon - the Pantheon I mean. That's in Rome. The Parthenon is in Athens". The kid seeks out his own books at the library, brings them home, reads them, remembers the stuff, and can then lecture on it. (As does Marcus, but he is still hooked on the Horrible History series, so much of what he is memorising is to do with maggots. He's pretty strong on the Tudors though.)

Anyway - Imperium. It follows the early career of Cicero, with cameos from Julius Caesar, Pompey, Cato and Crassus. Also it's chock full of Marcuses. Near the end of the book, after many ups and downs, election day has arrived. Cicero's secretary and slave Tiro is the narrator, and he describes matter-of-factly the standard procedure for getting an election underway.

...the entrails were inspected, the skies were checked for suspicious flights of birds, the blessings of the gods were invoked, all epileptics were asked to leave the field (for in those days an attack of epilepsy automatically rendered proceedings void), a legion was deployed on the approaches to Rome to prevent a surprise attack, the list of candidates was read, the trumpets were sounded, the red flag was hoisted over the Janiculum Hill, and the Roman people began to cast their ballots.

 Maybe our last federal election would have been over in less than two weeks, if someone at the AEO had just thought to ask the epileptics to take a raincheck.

Your tech reporter

OK. I Am writing this on an iPad. That,s right. I,m in the future now. I have had to bluTak it to the desk as it is ndot very desk=friendly, what with the curved underside and all. Not very typing=friendly either. You may notice I am having trouble finding the hyphen. In fact this is hellish == I am going to save this and resume with a real keyboard.

Hello again from a proper keyboard. Phew. We have a client who isn't sure what he wants us to do for him, but he knows he wants it to look iPad-y. Even though there are many, many photos available of the iPad and its interface, he has bought one and given it to us, so we have a really good idea how it looks.

So far I have installed a few free apps (as we young people call them) on the pad - a chess game, a very simple paint thing, and a handy one that gives you a real time feed from all the traffic cameras in New Zealand. Brilliant.

For an outlay of $1.99 I could get the iPad Horse Name Generator. This is, no kidding, their best effort at selling it:

Want to name your new horse? Now with this handy app you can carry around a source of inspiration in your pocket. If you're an author looking to name your characters' steeds, then this is the tool for you.

 As it happens, I am an author working on a 16-part series of novels about equestrian vampires, and I am totally blocked on the very issue of what to call the ponies. So far I have got "Warren", "Snack Attack" and "The Dude". Help, Horse Name Generator!

The thing that is slightly worrying me is that in the AppShop it says it is rated 9+ for Infrequent/Mild Profanity or Crude Humour. I can see how this is going to go. Some netherworld demon is going to end up riding Arse Bandit.

Phone salesman of the Serengeti

Work colleague just bought an iPhone4 at JB HiFi, from a salesman named Ken Zebra.

Don Quixote, Sydney, 1974

The pic came from my Auntie Wendy, who has written on the back;

While his two sisters watch admiringly Chris, accompanied by his two faithful followers sets off to "Clean Up Australia" (Years later someone else will claim to have originated the idea).

Ms White Socks at left must be Sally, although it doesn't look like her. Wearing the very daring stripy number in the doorway is Jacki. In the Sancho Panza role behind me is our cousin Helen. I don't know who the happy guy she's strangling is.

Houses below the road

Cascade Road runs along one side of a valley. Our house is above the road, but all along the other side there are houses below the road. Behind them the land slopes down to the Hobart Rivulet, and beyond that rises steeply up to a hill called Knocklofty. I am trying to capture the strange appearance of the very low-lying houses just peeping over the footpath, with the dark steeply wooded hillside behind.

Working in an arts centre, I am surrounded by exhibitions and artists all the time. I am given plenty of opportunity to ponder what the hell I am doing with my art. I quite like the idea of mounting a guerilla exhibition, without actually organising it with anyone. I will just start taping drawings to the walls in the bathrooms and see how things go. Hopefully the all-pervading reverence for anything that is presented as "art" (no matter how crappy) will protect my work. I will not put my name on them, but the titles will be evocative and the prices will start from about $15,000.

Of course, thanks to the unisex toilets policy, I will have double the audience.

More drawings here.

Chess Success

Twelve of my chess kids took part in another tournament on Thursday, and did really well. The gun team in town, Princes Street Primary, did not attend, and this made our task a little easier. The hosts, Goulburn Street Primary, won pretty comfortably, but we came in second. Our top seven players shown above all collected medals, but we had five others who contributed wonderfully, two of them in their first tournament. I think everyone really enjoyed the day, although for the new kids playing seven games in a row was pretty demanding.

The top eight players at the end of the day were all Goulburn St kids, but next was Marcus. He won 5 of his seven games, and was the only one to beat the eventual champion. Angela (in the centre of the pic) is only in Grade 2 but was equal top girl in the tournament.

One of the dads, Rodney, volunteered to be there all day. By the end he was really fired up, and has announced he wants to help me with the Chess Club next term. Which is terrific because unlike me, he actually knows a thing or two about chess.

Round 22

I have kept my silence about football since May 2009, when I was so fed up with my team I decided to just put them on ice for 12 months. Exactly one year later, after round 6 this season, I sat down and looked at the pros and cons of going back to supporting the Richmond Tigers.

(Er - I just checked and I did in fact blog both the AFL and SFL grand finals last September. But those were more cultural event than football matches, right?)

After Round 6 they had lost every game, and were fielding a side that was being called "the worst AFL twenty-two to take the field since the days just before Fitzroy folded". I made some notes, and my expectation was that they would somehow win one game this year, and would actually never make the finals before 2020, when the club would be merged or relocated and cease to exist. That was my prediction.

So I decided to come back to Richmond and stick with them to the bitter end. I'd had my blissful 12 month holiday, where their problems weren't my problems. It was the respite I needed to build up my strength.

After 10 rounds we had still not won a game. My prediction was looking pretty accurate. The former drug addict big news recruit was suspended by the club for a week for punching a drunk teammate, then was hospitalised with "stomach problems". It all seemed to be sliding downhill as per the script.

Then the Tigers cracked their first win, and followed it up with four more over the next five weeks. After that they only managed one more win, but generally were competitive. Today was their last game of the season - after a valiant comeback from 54 points down, they fell short by 10 points. Our young full-forward Jack Riewoldt came good so spectacularly that he won the league goalkicking award. Our list which looked dismal in May now looks incredibly promising. The former drug addict recruit finished his footy career today, so the club will be all about youth and the future, rather than a sideshow to his smugness.

To be honest - just about everyone at the club has been unstinting in their praise of his efforts on and off the field. I have never liked him, didn't want him, and am glad he's gone. That's just me though.

As the Tigers never make the finals, Round 22 is the end for them. Each year on one weekend eight clubs bow out, and a number of champions are farewelled from the game. (The sad truth is that old players who aren't champions are usually elbowed aside earlier in the season, and make their last appearance playing in the Ballarat Bombers or the Preston Bullants in front of a crowd of 1377). The smug one has pulled a lot of focus this year, but it's really wonderful to see the warm and generous tributes that all these guys get from opponents as well as team-mates.

And I am optimistic for the Tigers next year. Will I never learn?

Zero gravity chinwag

Yesterday, Marcus spoke to an astronaut! He and nine schoolmates had the opportunity to talk to Colonel Doug Wheelock (above) on board the International Space Station, in orbit 350km above the Earth.

About 12 months ago South Hobart Primary applied through some kind of NASA/international amateur radio initiative - there was a lot of paperwork and negotiations. I think all the kids in the school wrote a question to ask and ten were selected. Marcus's question was "Which countries are involved in the ISS and where are the astronauts from?" Other questions included "How long does it take your mind to get used to zero gravity?" and "Is it frightening doing a spacewalk, and how many have you done?"

We crowded into Marcus's classroom with about 30 other parents, kids, some people from the local paper. One of the dads named Justin is an amateur radio aficionado, and he was running the show at our end. Up on the Smartboard he had a graphic showing the Earth's surface, the areas in night and day, and the current location of the ISS, indicated by an oval on the Earth about the size of South Australia. At 4.15 it was over Hawaii - by the time of our scheduled connection at 4.43 it was over the US midwest. The relay station that was contacting the ISS for us was Goddard Space Centre, near Washington DC. From there the link was coming via a radio operator in Kingston, South Australia. We listened to a lot of chit chat about the weather and so on while waiting for our astronaut.

The kids lined up and one by one Justin had them come to the mike, say their question clearly, then say "over". Colonel Doug gave long and detailed answers to the questions, and said to each kid "that's a great question!" (Marcus afterwards said "he should have varied what he said to each of us a bit, so it sounded more like he really meant it")

Listening to him addressing Marcus, I was just thrilled. He mentioned an astronaut from Australia, Andy Thomas, and then said "Maybe one day Marcus you will be an astronaut, and you'll be up here where I am now". Andy Thomas had to become a US citizen to get up there, though.

For the record, the ISS is a collaboration between the Space Agencies of Europe, USA, Japan,and Canada. The astronauts there now are from Russia and the USA, but previously there have been Canadian, Japanese, German, French and Belgium astronauts. Colonel Doug said yes, it is frightening to be out in space on a spacewalk, but you have a job to do out there and that takes your mind off it. He's done six of them. He also said the body gets used to zero gravity before the mind does, but that the transition is much easier than than going back the other way. After six months in space, once back on earth your feet and your back find they are unused to carrying such a load and can take three months to adjust.

Marcus was buzzing afterwards for hours. He had been anticipating the radio link for days and it lived up to his hopes. Unfortunately by the time Colonel Doug had given his extensive answers to seven questions, the ISS had moved out over the Atlantic, heading down towards Portugal, and reception started breaking up. The last three questions were answered by the man at Goddard. Then we had an extended farewell session where everyone thanked everyone on behalf of everyone they could think of plus a few others. It sounded a lot like when you are trying to get off the phone after a call to your deaf-ish grandma.

Duck in a basket

Pato is a game played on horseback that combines elements from polo and basketball. It is the national game of Argentina. Pato is Spanish for "duck", as early games used a live duck inside a basket instead of a ball.

 Thanks Wikipedia.

Another hung parliament

Our nation voted on Saturday. As of dinnertime Wednesday we don't know for sure who our government is going to be. It's a hung parliament, with something like 72 seats going to the Labor Party incumbents, 73 to the Liberal/National Party coalition, 1 Green (the first ever) and 3+1 independents. I say 3+1 as three of them are talking about voting as a bloc and the other one wants nothing to do with them. The conventional wisdom is that the three will back Labor, and the Green has already said he will do so, so they will retain power - for now.

Some countries (more flibbety-gibbet than our own, obviously) deal with this sort of thing all the time. We haven't  had a hung parliament since 1940 or something, so its a big deal. Record numbers of newspapers are being flogged to a populace desperate to hear the latest, and news sites are logging record visits.

There are two schools of thought about all this. One is that it is Uncertainty that will be bad for business, scare off investment etc etc. There is a grain of truth in that, but I think it also presents an ideal excuse to anyone looking for a reason to postpone something. "I know I said we would employ 1000 new people on this project but in the current environment of uncertainty we just can't take the risk, so we are only hiring twelve people and a robot".

The other school of thought says "Hooray! The big parties have been given a backhander for their lame policy-free election campaigns. Now some people from outside that shallow pool have the balance of power. They can not only influence decisions but make some fundamental changes to the way decisions are made."

Something that has not really been mentioned in the papers is that the recent Tasmanian election produced a hung parliament. After a cagey 3 or 4 weeks of talks, the Greens and Labor put together a working arrangement that seems to be going along fine.
 
One irritating aspect of the national campaign was the major parties deciding to blithely ignore the safe seats. We live in Denison, which has been a safe Labor seat for the last 7 or so elections. The long-serving member is retiring, and it was assumed by both sides that his replacement would just slot in - so they didn't waste any energy talking to constituents, or bother trying any pork barreling. Their candidates were no-names.

I decided to vote for the independent candidate Andrew Wilkie -  a guy of great integrity with an interesting background in the military, then civilian intelligence, who resigned in protest when Australia joined the war in Iraq on the basis of some fudged-up fakery. He moved to Hobart, got married and had some kids, and bought an antique rug business. It now looks like he has outpolled the Labor heir apparent. I am thrilled that we will have a voice in Canberra who answers to Denison voters and his own conscience, rather than to a party platform that has been triple-tested and focus-grouped to be popular on talkback radio.

As it happens, he is the one independent who is determined to go it alone. It will be a big challenge for him to have the eyes of the nation on him, without even some fellow travellers to share the burden, but I think he can do it.

On Monday some colleagues and I were walking back to work from the bakery when the local stringer for The Australian stopped us and asked if anyone voted for Wilkie. I said I did, and was interviewed for my trouble. At the end, as a throwaway line, I said if my vote for Wilkie resulted in the Liberal leader Tony Abbott becoming Prime Minister, I would feel pretty sick. In the next day's paper it came out as "I would be sick" - ie vomit on the spot. Which is a bit strong, but there you go. Next time I will type up a press release to make sure they get it right.

Robot Fight 2!

Robot Ten vs All Comers from chris rees on Vimeo.

Here is some footage and pics from Sunday's robot workshop. At this point Marcus had a very clear vision for what he wanted to do, and Nicholas and his dad Kim's suggestions were being politely rebuffed.

That's Super-Duper

Here is a list of various good things, to balance out my somewhat whingey list from the other day.
1.    Marcus is officially Australia's 12th ranked under 8 chess player. He is practically unbeatable at school now.
2.    Today I bought the Assassination Vacation audiobook with my iTunes voucher from my birthday in March (thanks Sal and Matt). It is John Wilkes Booth-tastic.
3.    In related news, the World Book encyclopedia (1979 edition) calls confederate general Stonewall Jackson "the bible-quoting lemon-sucking infantry genius". How much work do I need to do before I die, to earn a description like that? Lots.
4.    I like the quiet moment when you drive under a bridge in a rainstorm. A hiatus.
5.    There She Goes by The Las - perfect pop song from 1988
6.    The Devil With the Green Eyes by Matthew Sweet - perfect pop song from 1993
(I have tried and failed to embed little samples of these tracks - I'll try again when I am not doing it over dial-up).
7.    Hattie is a very predictable miaow-er. If she hasn't seen you for a while, you get a miaow. Pat her on the head - another miaow. Pat her again - another miaow. This goes on for about another 4-6 pats, with diminishing returns. Lately I have been taking advantage of her predictability, and dueting with her on Downtown by Petula Clark.

8.    I like the fact that "cyborg" sounds a lot like "sideboard". I can see a day when I have a long, low cyborg, maybe with beautiful walnut veneer. When someone asks 'where are the salad servers?' I will say "top drawer in the cyborg there" - and they probably won't notice a thing until the cyborg's drawer opens automatically, and it maybe does a bit of a dance.

That's Ridiculous

Some things that have got my goat.

1. Encore Edition. Tonight on ABC1, before the start of Foreign Correspondent, a little disclaimer came up saying "Due to our election coverage, tonight's Foreign Correspondent is an Encore Edition". Come on ABC - if it's a repeat, just say its a repeat.
2. Faux Republican. Julia Gillard, supposedly a republican, says that the time to talk about an Australian republic is when this queen has passed on. But, ahem - then there'll be a new monarch. Possibly a younger, more exciting one. There'll be dancing in the streets, bunting, a big coronation, new coins and stamps throughout the Commonwealth. The tradesperson with the paintbrush will just be heading out to re-do the monograms on all the letterboxes, when Julia will say "Excuse me - can I have some shoosh - sorry everyone. Hello? OK. I'm ready to ditch all this anachronistic rubbish now! Who's with me?"
3. Hazard lights. Quite often in traffic I see a truck by the kerb indicating, and I think "I'll just help out that fellow by letting him in" - then I see that the fellow has actually just run into the shop for some fags, and does in fact have his hazzies on. Is there any electro-mechanical reason why the same lights that go "blink... blink... blink" to indicate, couldn't go "blink blink.... blink blink.... blink blink..." to say "look out -  I really just needed some fags" or "I have broken down" or "I think I just ran over a quoll, I've gone back to check"?
4. My new phone. I lost my mobile some months ago and have just got around to getting a new one. The cheapest handset you can get with 3G coverage cost about $65, and includes a video camera, still camera, audio recorder and MP3 player. Which is pretty amazing really - even cheapskates like me are now carrying around the equivalent of a radiogram, a telephone, a Betacam, a tape deck and an Instamatic, in their pocket. That's why whenever Paris Hilton, a fatal earthquake or any other hideous phenomenon happens, everyone in sight gets out their phone and points it at the action. I have started using mine to take happy snaps and, yes, OK, I have shot a bit of sub-Dad-with-a-borrowed-Betacam-in-the-80s footage of the dog, sure. Yesterday I tried to get all that stuff off the phone onto the Mac, using the included Mac-compatible software. Wasn't happening, so I emailed tech support to ask why their "How To" bore no resemblance at all to what I was seeing on screen. The answer today: actually, the Mac version of their software doesn't do any of those things. I think it lets you back up your phone book, full stop. All that other "media" is there on your phone forever! Although I can send it to other people, so if you want grainy footage of a substantial labrador, let me know.
5. Trivial Medical. I had to have a medical today - all fine BTW. I have been trying to get an appointment to see this guy for months. My appointment was definitely for 10, but when I arrived, reception told me to come back at 12. Never mind, I had a nice walk. At 12 I was back - doc took my blood pressure, all good, then asked me my height and weight. And that was it. So, two nice walks.
6. A cafe write-up in The Australian last weekend. It's a vegetarian organic cafe, and the article talked about their winter comfort food. Restaurateur: "People often cry when they try our food - the flavours remind them of when they were little". People often cry? I simply do not believe you, sir. Someone, slightly imbalanced, may have cried in your cafe, once. At the end of a really bad day. Your polenta may or may not have had something to do with it.
7. Flag proportions. The US flag should correctly be in the ratio 19:10. Come on - is 2:1 really too long, America? Meanwhile, if you don't mind, Denmark would like to be 37:28. Well I'm telling you now, Denmark - it looks ridiculous. (Even though I can go to jail for saying that, since Princess Mary is actually in town as I write, visiting her Dad. I like to think he's cleaning out the garage and is making her take back home a carton of old Dolly magazines and mix tapes).

Talking toast

Michael has been inspired by an activity at school, where they had to design a poster promoting the good food in the canteen. He did one poster at school that we haven't seen, and has knocked out a few at home featuring things that I'm pretty sure they don't actually stock, such as hamburgers and cans of Coke.

This one was further inspired by us running out of milk this morning. Marcus was put out that he'd only had one bowl of cereal, then Elf suggested some honey on toast.

The message of this motivational poster is:

It Dosen't Matter! (just have honey on toast.)

Bakers Bread: Put me on a plate!
Bakers Bread (afterthought): But put me in a toaster first!
Soft Butter: Spread me on Mr Bread!
Golden Bee Honey: Spread me on Mr Butter!
Knife: Use me!
Spoon: Use me too!
Toast: You herd em! Man!
Mouth with legs: Yum!

I am thinking of nominating this as the best thing ever. Seconded?

The Damned Utd by David Peace

This is a novelisation of real events in the world of English football, in the late sixties and early seventies. It's told in the first person by Brian Clough, who in these years managed (coached) Derby County successfully, then Leeds United very unsuccessfully.

Leeds are the "Damned Utd" of the title. Clough had a seething hatred of Leeds Utd, and especially their manager over fifteen years, Don Revie. Revie and Leeds were the dominant force in football, and widely reviled for their "anything to win" attitude. Revie once brought a deliberately weak side to Derby for a match, saving his better players for a more important match a few days later. After Derby beat them easily, in front of a thunderously booing crowd who had come to see the champions play, Revie refused to shake hands with Clough.

Years later when Revie was chosen to manage the England team, Leeds asked Clough to replace him, and incredibly, he accepted. The Clough character in this book moves in, chops up Revie's old desk with an axe, then takes it out to the carpark and burns it. He addresses his new charges:

As far as I am concerned, the first thing you can do for me is to chuck all your medals and your caps ... into the biggest f***ing dustbin you can find, because you've never won any of them fairly. You've done it all by bloody cheating.

44 days later, with only one one win from six games, he is sacked.

That's the background. I found the book unputdownable, gripping, in spite of the writing style which is painful. The tension in the telling of the story is remarkable, and it may be that it is actually thanks to the style. The first two words in the book are "Repetition. Repetition." You could say that professional sport is intrinsically repetitive - each week you do the same things. David Peace winds the repetition up to a level where I suppose it's meant to be a bit like a mantra. But I was always just flipping the pages maniacally to see what happened next.

Although I was alive in these years, its seems like an era I have never given any serious thought to. The scene as set here, the English Midlands and Yorkshire in the early seventies, seems incredibly grim. Poor people had nothing else in their lives but football. Rich people had no better way to express their wealth than football - as chairmen or directors of clubs.

Clough is an alcoholic. He spends days in the claustrophobic world under the grandstands, a world of corridors and offices, changerooms and lounge bars. He seems to be constantly walking down corridors and around corners. Constantly drinking and smoking and swearing. Cup of tea, bacon and eggs and chips, swearing at Jimmies and Johnnies and Alans, Jags and Vauxhall Victors, bottle of scotch, a week in Majorca, sideburns and ducktails and Brylcreem, Match of the Day on the telly, then more tea and cigs and a couple of pints and eggs, beans and chips, champagne, brandy, more swearing at Johns, Billys and Roys. Then sack a tea lady or two for laughing when the team has lost.

Clough is such a bastard, but I found myself willing him to succeed, even though I know what really happened and that it must also end in tears in the book. (Years later he was astonishingly successful with another club, Nottingham Forest).  Unlike Australian Rules football, players are bought and sold every week of the year. After months in the reserves they might be given a game just to showcase them to potential buyers. Everyone has a price.

I haven't had a book in a long time that I have read so avidly, yet couldn't really imagine anyone else enjoying.