onionbagblog
Need to Know Basis
Things you (probably don't really) need to know:
With the first Big Weekend of the 'summer' (yeah, right) almost upon us, here's the scores on the doors.
Dulwich Hamlet go into the final game of the season on Saturday at home to Walton & Hersham with the South London side lying seventh in the table. The top six get promoted (don't ask) with the seventh place team playing a one off play off decider at home on Bank Holiday Monday against the corresponding team in the Northern Division.
I really can't be arsed to explain all the possible scenarios (more HERE), suffice to say that even a win on Saturday doesn't guarantee Hamlet automatic promotion.
The Supporters Team then have a prestige match (no, honestly) on the Champion Hill pitch straight after the game on Saturday. If promotion hasn't been achieved, I think we can expect a 'physical' contest.
Slotting into all of this of course is the London Towers basketball team, flying the flag for South London in the BBL play offs up in Birmingham on Saturday evening. Coverage on 5Live Sports Extra, my first genuine justification for forking out 100 quid for the Pure Evoke box of joy.
Assuming Dulwich are in a Do or Die play off match on Monday, not only is my tea bag buying budget going to go into overdrive over the next 72 hours, but I'll also miss out Surrey at The Oval taking on Hampshire and big fat Shane Warne in the Totesport League. With the likes of Warne around I'm surprised it wasn't named the Tosspot League.
Still, might just pop into The Oval for the freebie Seats of Shame on the way home from The Hamlet. Win or lose for Dulwich, either way I'll either be sky high on a PG Tips overdose or rather angry and ready to strike out the first overweight Aussie cricketer that I see with a shit haircut.
All of the above is of course subject to the posting of an invite in the comment box below whereupon verification of a legitimate email address from Cameron Diaz, I may just give up football, basketball and cricket this weekend and show her my collection of Non-League programmes from the past season.
Either that or shoot my load all over her face.
| Friday 29 April, 2004 |
Things you (probably don't really) need to know:
With the first Big Weekend of the 'summer' (yeah, right) almost upon us, here's the scores on the doors.
Dulwich Hamlet go into the final game of the season on Saturday at home to Walton & Hersham with the South London side lying seventh in the table. The top six get promoted (don't ask) with the seventh place team playing a one off play off decider at home on Bank Holiday Monday against the corresponding team in the Northern Division.
I really can't be arsed to explain all the possible scenarios (more HERE), suffice to say that even a win on Saturday doesn't guarantee Hamlet automatic promotion.
 I think we can expect a ‘physical’ contest |
Slotting into all of this of course is the London Towers basketball team, flying the flag for South London in the BBL play offs up in Birmingham on Saturday evening. Coverage on 5Live Sports Extra, my first genuine justification for forking out 100 quid for the Pure Evoke box of joy.
Assuming Dulwich are in a Do or Die play off match on Monday, not only is my tea bag buying budget going to go into overdrive over the next 72 hours, but I'll also miss out Surrey at The Oval taking on Hampshire and big fat Shane Warne in the Totesport League. With the likes of Warne around I'm surprised it wasn't named the Tosspot League.
Still, might just pop into The Oval for the freebie Seats of Shame on the way home from The Hamlet. Win or lose for Dulwich, either way I'll either be sky high on a PG Tips overdose or rather angry and ready to strike out the first overweight Aussie cricketer that I see with a shit haircut.
All of the above is of course subject to the posting of an invite in the comment box below whereupon verification of a legitimate email address from Cameron Diaz, I may just give up football, basketball and cricket this weekend and show her my collection of Non-League programmes from the past season.
Either that or shoot my load all over her face.
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Friday Fruit Cake
I love local eccentrics. Some would call them 'nutters', a term I prefer to reserve for past the point of no return top of the bus deck ding-a-lings.
Eccentrics add some colour to an otherwise dull day; a typically rain sodden Southwark morning was brightened up on Thursday with a local loon turning heads during the rush hour commute. Nope, it wasn't local Twat on a Stick Jamie Oliver, but a middle aged bike bird, peddling away and bellowing out some Bernstein at full blast as she cycled past a building site.
That's one hellava stylish gal. Especially so as she was riding an old Butcher's boneshaker bike and was sporting a pair of headphones that wouldn't have looked out of place on the head of a Cyberman in Doctor Who.
I used to stand (yes, that's STAND) on the terraces of an old First Division club behind some bloke who was one player short of a full team. Each time the opposition had the ball, he would shout out at tremendous volume:
'PIPES!!!!!!!!'
No explanation. You didn't really need one. Young kids used to stare up at him in awe, whilst the more weary of us just learnt to accept that he was a loon and let him go about his business.
You can't beat a good old fashioned Bag Lady and for a period of a year or so I use to 'look out' for one particular old hag. She took to wearing a cycling helmet at all times, 'for safety on the streets' purposes, of course.
The high regard that I placed on the dignified profession of being a Bag Lady was shattered however when one day I saw her pissing inside a red phone box in a full on squat style. Needs must and all that, but she could have chosen a more classy condominium such as perched up behind a post box.
An old favourite in my Nottingham days was Axe Man, an alarming figure straight out of the a scene from The Stones at Altamont. Clocking in at around twenty stone, denim clad from head to feet with the legendary 'Live to Ride, Ride to Live' embroidered on his jacket (probably by his dear old mum), Axe Man terrified anyone under the age of fifteen by demanding to know if they were a 'Rocker or a Smoothie.'
I think I was just about convincing during my own Market Square inquisition, opting for the Easy Rider option, despite my Patrick cagoule, Tacchini trackies and a copy of Crucial Electro 2 in my hand.
The ultimate Face Off for Nottingham nutters would have to be between Axe Man and Friar Tuck. The Good Friar was assumed to be employed by the local Tourist Board as he was seen most days walking around the city, fully robed and making conversation with local children.
The last I heard of him however was when he was up in court on charges relating to the carrying of a Machete underneath his brotherly robe.
In these days of broadsheet baloney in trying to define 'Englishness,' perhaps it is best explained as eccentricity; Morrissey, Darcus Howe, Mr Peel – all as mad as a wet hen, but role models all the same.
Footnote: Just returned from a swim at Brixton Rec where eccentricity was exemplified; a fat bloke wearing a pair of flip flops on his hands as he was doing the doggy paddle.
GENIUS.
| Friday 29 April, 2004 |
I love local eccentrics. Some would call them 'nutters', a term I prefer to reserve for past the point of no return top of the bus deck ding-a-lings.
Eccentrics add some colour to an otherwise dull day; a typically rain sodden Southwark morning was brightened up on Thursday with a local loon turning heads during the rush hour commute. Nope, it wasn't local Twat on a Stick Jamie Oliver, but a middle aged bike bird, peddling away and bellowing out some Bernstein at full blast as she cycled past a building site.
Live to Ride, Ride to Live |
I used to stand (yes, that's STAND) on the terraces of an old First Division club behind some bloke who was one player short of a full team. Each time the opposition had the ball, he would shout out at tremendous volume:
'PIPES!!!!!!!!'
No explanation. You didn't really need one. Young kids used to stare up at him in awe, whilst the more weary of us just learnt to accept that he was a loon and let him go about his business.
You can't beat a good old fashioned Bag Lady and for a period of a year or so I use to 'look out' for one particular old hag. She took to wearing a cycling helmet at all times, 'for safety on the streets' purposes, of course.
The high regard that I placed on the dignified profession of being a Bag Lady was shattered however when one day I saw her pissing inside a red phone box in a full on squat style. Needs must and all that, but she could have chosen a more classy condominium such as perched up behind a post box.
An old favourite in my Nottingham days was Axe Man, an alarming figure straight out of the a scene from The Stones at Altamont. Clocking in at around twenty stone, denim clad from head to feet with the legendary 'Live to Ride, Ride to Live' embroidered on his jacket (probably by his dear old mum), Axe Man terrified anyone under the age of fifteen by demanding to know if they were a 'Rocker or a Smoothie.'
I think I was just about convincing during my own Market Square inquisition, opting for the Easy Rider option, despite my Patrick cagoule, Tacchini trackies and a copy of Crucial Electro 2 in my hand.
The ultimate Face Off for Nottingham nutters would have to be between Axe Man and Friar Tuck. The Good Friar was assumed to be employed by the local Tourist Board as he was seen most days walking around the city, fully robed and making conversation with local children.
The last I heard of him however was when he was up in court on charges relating to the carrying of a Machete underneath his brotherly robe.
In these days of broadsheet baloney in trying to define 'Englishness,' perhaps it is best explained as eccentricity; Morrissey, Darcus Howe, Mr Peel – all as mad as a wet hen, but role models all the same.
Footnote: Just returned from a swim at Brixton Rec where eccentricity was exemplified; a fat bloke wearing a pair of flip flops on his hands as he was doing the doggy paddle.
GENIUS.
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Wonderful Walworth & Beautiful Burgess
The Aylesbury Estate in Walworth is a contradiction of style and sorrow. There is beauty to be found in the thirty year old blocks, and then with the disappearance of the sun behind a cloud, the old estate emerges as a much murkier proposition.
Covering the size of a small town, the Aylesbury is symbolic for giving Blair a bloody nose with local democracy standing up to grandiose Whitehall planning. Mr Tony chose the Aylesbury as a platform to launch his Social Exclusion speech shortly after the '97 election. Seven years later and the estate is still standing, even looking liking to outlast Tony, Tony, Tony.
Back in '99 the proposal was to completely demolish the 2,700 homes on the estate and build new private sector managed accommodation, 1,300 of which would be sold off for profit. That's a bit like the landlord in your local pushing past you and causing you to smash your pint glass on the floor, and then he has the cheek to charge you for a new one.
The residents were given the choice of allowing the private sector to rip up their protected local authority contracts (and allow big business to provide half the service at twice the cost), or carry on building their own community without fat cat interference.
The 70% NO vote back in 2002 proudly told the private sector to piss off back to the City - a euphoric rejection of New Labour's flagship 'Third Way' regeneration programme.
Housing 10,000 people on a site that is only half a mile from the pinstripes of the City of London, the Aylesbury remains the largest estate in Europe. Bolted together by a series of bridges and walkways, the landscape around Walworth is forever changing and provides you with a new perspective with every turn.
Famous local faces include Charlie Chaplin who lived on East Street and Michael caine, a regular at the many street theatres as a young boy.
To the East of the Aylesbury lies Burgess Park, 460, 000 square metres of inner city sanctum boasting a café, cricket pitches and Chumleigh Gardens - a wonderful inner circle cottage garden with old Almshouses still standing, a reminder of the industrial past of the nineteenth century before the area was landscaped.
Despite the recent upsurge in celebrating the local community, Walworth is ripe for gentrification. With the bulldozers now not moving in, it is only a matter of time before the Bright Young Things from the City enclave around SE17. Old school buildings are already being converted into loft space. Google Aylesbury and a page of poxy Estate Agents are thrown up.
Transport may stave off the takeover though; without a tube connection from some shitty Soho lifestyle bar, the upwardly mobile remain ironically stranded. You may be able to read a tube map Tallulah, but I bet you’d be lost trying to get your pretty little airhead around the fine art of planning a South London bus journey across town.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Thursday 29 April, 2004 |
The Aylesbury Estate in Walworth is a contradiction of style and sorrow. There is beauty to be found in the thirty year old blocks, and then with the disappearance of the sun behind a cloud, the old estate emerges as a much murkier proposition.
Covering the size of a small town, the Aylesbury is symbolic for giving Blair a bloody nose with local democracy standing up to grandiose Whitehall planning. Mr Tony chose the Aylesbury as a platform to launch his Social Exclusion speech shortly after the '97 election. Seven years later and the estate is still standing, even looking liking to outlast Tony, Tony, Tony.
The 70% NO vote proudly told the private sector to piss off |
The residents were given the choice of allowing the private sector to rip up their protected local authority contracts (and allow big business to provide half the service at twice the cost), or carry on building their own community without fat cat interference.
The 70% NO vote back in 2002 proudly told the private sector to piss off back to the City - a euphoric rejection of New Labour's flagship 'Third Way' regeneration programme.
Housing 10,000 people on a site that is only half a mile from the pinstripes of the City of London, the Aylesbury remains the largest estate in Europe. Bolted together by a series of bridges and walkways, the landscape around Walworth is forever changing and provides you with a new perspective with every turn.
Famous local faces include Charlie Chaplin who lived on East Street and Michael caine, a regular at the many street theatres as a young boy.
To the East of the Aylesbury lies Burgess Park, 460, 000 square metres of inner city sanctum boasting a café, cricket pitches and Chumleigh Gardens - a wonderful inner circle cottage garden with old Almshouses still standing, a reminder of the industrial past of the nineteenth century before the area was landscaped.
Despite the recent upsurge in celebrating the local community, Walworth is ripe for gentrification. With the bulldozers now not moving in, it is only a matter of time before the Bright Young Things from the City enclave around SE17. Old school buildings are already being converted into loft space. Google Aylesbury and a page of poxy Estate Agents are thrown up.
Transport may stave off the takeover though; without a tube connection from some shitty Soho lifestyle bar, the upwardly mobile remain ironically stranded. You may be able to read a tube map Tallulah, but I bet you’d be lost trying to get your pretty little airhead around the fine art of planning a South London bus journey across town.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Thank You For The Music
A man is defined by his music. LibDem leader Charlie Kennedy lists his all time favourite album as Let It Be. He gets my vote then. Prince Charles likes The Three Degrees which makes him a knobber. And a right royal one at that.
I've been struggling of late to define my musical tastes, and by extension, myself as well. That may sound as though it has been lifted straight out of sixth form philosophy essay, but you try finding some inspiration in a dull as ditchwater day with the needle permanently stuck sometime around '98.
Old enough to boast of The Beatles, Pistols and Mondays, TOO old to even give a shit about Sean Paul.
My internal jukebox (big nod to Smaked Face) has been fucked of late. I'm not sure if this is because I can't find anything worth playing or because my mind is more occupied with promotion woe for Dulwich Hamlet, a long hot summer without any ice hockey and a near on addiction rise in my tea drinking habits.
I think I've stumbled across the next great crap TV phenomenon though to replace all the endless Reality Celebrity Makeover nonsense. It's a take on Through the Keyhole; a confused 30something bloke allows some self-appointed music maestro (Anthony Wilson will do) to thumb through their CD collection and then define the man by his music.
It's not exactly Monkey Tennis but I'm sure ITV2 could accommodate it somewhere in their current steaming turd of a schedule.
This week I have mostly been listening to...
Brockie & Ed Solo – System Check, Ronnie Size – Strictly Social; that's the Drum n Bass boy in me.
A tape of Andy Kershaw's Radio 3 show from Sunday; never could say no to a Bolivian panpipe player puffing out a P-Diddy cover.
The Streets new album. It's a South London thing.
Late Junction nightly on Radio 3 – sod the music, Verity Sharp has the most seductive voice on late night radio. Well, you can't really knock off the wrist listening to Mr Peel now can you?
Asian Dub Foundation – Enemy of the Enemy; bet that's not on David Blunkett's playlist.
Hunky Dory; too many early evenings spent watching TOTP2.
The Police (that's ear shattering repetitive South London street sirens, and not ear shattering repetitive white boy piss poor third rate reggae wank sung by some egotistical Tosser who can't stop bangin' on about his sex life in public).
Richard Thompson – Old Kit Bag; never trust a hippy.
Trojan Rocksteady; the sound of South London in the summer.
Big Black – Songs About Fucking; kinda goes hand in hand, so to speak, with some of the videos I have been watching recently.
Like any of the above? You may also like...
Go on any music marketing fuckspuds – put me in a pigeon hole and try and sell me something based on the above choices. Not possible my friend, which is why music is so self-defining. Just because you like an apple doesn't mean that you want a pear. You might fancy a banana instead. Just ask Sting who would probably find somewhere interesting to stick his banana, and then no doubt write a self-centred song all about the life changing, orifice stretching experience.
I could quite happily pass away an hour or so sitting on the No 37 bus listening to Hall and Oates. According to Amazon's recommendation service I should also be listening to bloody Bruce Hornsby and his bloody Range. I'd rather trap myself in a lift all day and slowly go deaf with the sound of piped in elevator muzak. Chances are it will be the piss poor piano prat anyway.
Who needs the all consuming 50 Quid Man lifestyle (and its inherent doctrine of spend, spend and then spend some sodding more) when you can lead a tight arse onionbagblog thrift of a lifestyle instead. Albeit a tuneless, musical wilderness one of late.
| Tuesday 27 April, 2004 |
A man is defined by his music. LibDem leader Charlie Kennedy lists his all time favourite album as Let It Be. He gets my vote then. Prince Charles likes The Three Degrees which makes him a knobber. And a right royal one at that.
I've been struggling of late to define my musical tastes, and by extension, myself as well. That may sound as though it has been lifted straight out of sixth form philosophy essay, but you try finding some inspiration in a dull as ditchwater day with the needle permanently stuck sometime around '98.
Old enough to boast of The Beatles, Pistols and Mondays, TOO old to even give a shit about Sean Paul.
I never could say no to a Bolivian panpipe player |
I think I've stumbled across the next great crap TV phenomenon though to replace all the endless Reality Celebrity Makeover nonsense. It's a take on Through the Keyhole; a confused 30something bloke allows some self-appointed music maestro (Anthony Wilson will do) to thumb through their CD collection and then define the man by his music.
It's not exactly Monkey Tennis but I'm sure ITV2 could accommodate it somewhere in their current steaming turd of a schedule.
This week I have mostly been listening to...
Brockie & Ed Solo – System Check, Ronnie Size – Strictly Social; that's the Drum n Bass boy in me.
A tape of Andy Kershaw's Radio 3 show from Sunday; never could say no to a Bolivian panpipe player puffing out a P-Diddy cover.
The Streets new album. It's a South London thing.
Late Junction nightly on Radio 3 – sod the music, Verity Sharp has the most seductive voice on late night radio. Well, you can't really knock off the wrist listening to Mr Peel now can you?
Asian Dub Foundation – Enemy of the Enemy; bet that's not on David Blunkett's playlist.
Hunky Dory; too many early evenings spent watching TOTP2.
The Police (that's ear shattering repetitive South London street sirens, and not ear shattering repetitive white boy piss poor third rate reggae wank sung by some egotistical Tosser who can't stop bangin' on about his sex life in public).
Richard Thompson – Old Kit Bag; never trust a hippy.
Trojan Rocksteady; the sound of South London in the summer.
Big Black – Songs About Fucking; kinda goes hand in hand, so to speak, with some of the videos I have been watching recently.
Like any of the above? You may also like...
Go on any music marketing fuckspuds – put me in a pigeon hole and try and sell me something based on the above choices. Not possible my friend, which is why music is so self-defining. Just because you like an apple doesn't mean that you want a pear. You might fancy a banana instead. Just ask Sting who would probably find somewhere interesting to stick his banana, and then no doubt write a self-centred song all about the life changing, orifice stretching experience.
I could quite happily pass away an hour or so sitting on the No 37 bus listening to Hall and Oates. According to Amazon's recommendation service I should also be listening to bloody Bruce Hornsby and his bloody Range. I'd rather trap myself in a lift all day and slowly go deaf with the sound of piped in elevator muzak. Chances are it will be the piss poor piano prat anyway.
Who needs the all consuming 50 Quid Man lifestyle (and its inherent doctrine of spend, spend and then spend some sodding more) when you can lead a tight arse onionbagblog thrift of a lifestyle instead. Albeit a tuneless, musical wilderness one of late.
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Crap Match Report| Monday 26 April, 2004 |
Surrey all out (42.3 overs) lost to Glamorgan 147-3 (22.3 overs) by seven wickets, 25/04/04
Sunday League may be played in pyjamas but that's still no excuse for Surrey looking like they were ready for bed with a nightmare opening first few overs. My Sunday roast (OK, beans on toast) hadn't had time to settle by the time Surrey were 36-7 with less than an hour of play. 36-7 would not only be laughed off as a crap 20/20 score, but also pub cricket and probably even beach cricket as well.
It was a hot and sticky afternoon down at the (semi) Oval and Surrey were in a sticky situation. They weren't exactly hot though. Good to see that the Day of Rest was not only being observed by the Surrey openers but also the bulldozers at the back of the Vauxhall End which were silent. A bit like the sizeable Sunday afternoon Surrey crowd.
Put your top back on you tubby Taff |
Looking around the section where I was seated and the collection of dodgy 'tasches, ginger hair and cries of 'go on Lovely Boy' confirmed that I was amongst the Taffies. One such Lovely Boy was Robert Croft who stepped up to the wicket and removed Mushtaq with his first delivery.
Ormond soon followed for a cheap dismissal, playing a poor stroke and being caught behind by Maynard for two. 103-9 and Surrey would be lucky to make Nelson. The home team were now a beast with two heads (and we're not talking Gladstone Small here) with only one offering any bite as Salisbury strived to be on strike.
Salisbury caught an edge to the boundary to bring up his first limited overs half century, giving the scorecard a semi-respectable 134-9. With three over remaining, Murtagh was bowled by Dale for thirteen, leaving Glamorgan a 147 slog of a run chase.
Hopes of a great escape from Surrey were raised when Mahmood trapped Lovely Boy Croft lbw with his first ball for a lowly three. Wharf soon followed for five when Mahmood added a second wicket, leaving the Lovely Boys looking a little lily-livered at 11-2.
Powell and Aussie Elliot started to find the boundary though, just as the red faced Lovely Boys in the stands found their alcohol intake capacity reaching saturation point; sun-burnt, bare chested (Lovely BOYS, not GIRLS) and all with the swagger and grace of Tom Jones after he has drunk the Valleys dry. Welcome to an English Sunday afternoon of cricket.
With seventy five runs required and only two wickets down, Surrey signalled that they had more or less given up the ghost by giving Adam Hollioake a run at the crease. As Elliot hit home his half century with a six, unlike the love life of the torso tattooed Taffs, singles clearly weren’t on the agenda.
Powell promptly added fifty to his name but was stopped short from striking the match winning runs when Murtagh removed his middle stump with twelve runs required. Before you can say: 'put your top back on you tubby Taff,' Elliot edged home the winning runs.
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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crap match report compendium
surrey cricket
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Crap Match Report| Sunday 25 April, 2004 |
Surrey 418 & 203 lost to Middlesex 325 & 300 by six wickets, 24/04/04
I put on a clean pair of pants (a rarity), minded my Ps & Qs, packed a sliver spoon (not for my mouth, for my Pot Noodle) and crossed the river as Surrey took on our North London neighbours at Lords, the spiritual home of cricket. Imagine that the (semi) Oval is Somerfield; this makes Lords the Fortnum and Mason of cricket. As for the wicket on the middle of Clapham Common? That has to be Poundstretcher then.
Arriving an hour and a half late and I wasn't really missing out; despite four days of play, this game was going down to the wire with Middlesex facing a 297 run chase to win the match with all wickets remaining.
I laid a freshly prepared log within the Lords loo |
The breakthrough came with the final ball of the morning session (which was my first ball – told you I didn’t miss much); Koeing knocked up a useful 69 before being bowled by Mushtaq.
The Naughty North just doesn't DO cricket in the way that the Sexy South is accustomed to. Come the lunchtime break, Middlesex PA Man (face full of a plentiful provision of plums) actually encouraged us oiks sitting in the stands to mount a full on pitch invasion.
Buoyant with images in my head of the Sweaties 'taking' Wembley in '77, I scrambled over the boundary and made a move for the hallowed Lords wicket. A quick glance behind me confirmed that I wasn't being followed by the hoardes of the travelling Surrey Barmy Army (average age: 68), but a rather quaint elderly couple, Daily Mail in arm with the poor old bloke needing to stretch his legs to keep his piles at bay.
Not to turn down the opportunity to piss all over our local rivals, I pondered with the idea of peeing all over the pitch. It just wouldn't be cricket though. I did manage to shit on our North London friends though, quite literally; after managing to hold back at home a quite spectacular pebble dash brewed out of a bowl of Bran Flakes, I laid a freshly prepared log within the Lords loo.
And relax.
Having a lunchtime lumber all over the Lords wicket was actually quite nice although I couldn't see the logic in the Blue Coats being more concerned in keeping us off the pristine picnic lawns than a Test Match square.
Speaking of prized grass, Lords is THE place for a Charlie Watts spot; the Stones skin basher was clocked in a not very rock 'n roll moment strolling around the boundary at the break. Just as taking photographs of The Ashes, that frail relic of past English glory is not allowed on account of its decaying nature, I thought it best not to point my super seven inch zoom straight in the face of the Stones coffin dodger.
The overheard conversation wasn't quite sex, drugs and rock 'n roll in the Lords Long Room; arrangements were being confirmed for a Bar B Q at some old bird called Brenda later in the evening. Bring your own Mars bar.
Thankfully I was prepared with my own ever reliable flask and cheapo Sainsbury Coke as the aptly named Full Toss bar was closed. You would have thought there would be plenty of potential tosser customers within the St Johns Wood area.
Just as Middlesex came out of the pavilion all fired up for the afternoon session, I had my own explosive moment. Not another toilet trip, but apologies to the chap sitting in front of me who was woken up with half the contents of my can spraying all over his cricket whites. It was a Middlesex top though, and so I wasn’t that fussed to be honest.
As the afternoon session played itself out, Surrey struggled to make the breakthrough with Middlesex finding the boundary with ease. Once the 200 score was notched up just before tea, Middlesex then put their foot down and finished the job off before full time in the football fixtures.
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report Compendium
surrey cricket
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Larkhall Revisited
With the first signs of summer starting to shoot up through the undergrowth, I thought it was a good time to return to Larkhall Park, one of my favourite South London open spaces. Plus I was bored and had time to kill waiting for the damn pizza to de-frost.
Lambeth Council has in recent weeks 'out-sourced' (read: cut corners) the management of all parks within the Borough. Team Lambeth has been disbanded and replaced by private sector firm Cleanaway, a company clearly with a commitment to South London, so much so that its Head Office is based down in Australia.
That's a hell of a journey to make when all you want to do is clean up a few cans of Fosters.
Cleanaway may be a stating the bleedin obvious name, but at least they're not called Litter-droppers, Spray-can-do or Step-in-the-dogshit. Which actually may be more apt, seeing as though the first task Cleanaway carried out to help the good folk of Lambeth was to lay off half of the staff previously contracted under Team Lambeth. 44 poor sods in total.
This wave of redundancies included some gardeners with over 25 years service and as it was a new company coming in, no redundancy pay-off was made. Swept under the carpet, so to speak.
Larkhall Park was always a Cinderella service anyway for Lambeth; never quite the mass appeal of Clapham Common and without the care and attention paid towards Brockwell Park. The upkeep under Team Lambeth was often under-resourced, but still, half of not very much at all still leads to a shoddy service for a space that is valuable to the SW8 community.
My walk around Larkhall on an early sunlit Friday evening showed the importance of a green space within an inner city; kids playing football, mothers meeting up for a natter and not to mention the yoofs who seemed to be huddled up in some corner carrying out what I suspect was some less than legal trade. We're not talking Ron Davies here either.
Unfortunately I think my inquisitive photography aroused their suspicions and so I made a hasty retreat. All I wanted was some nice pics of some pansies.
Fearing a Kevin Spacey situation developing, I legged it home, just in time for TOTP. Which was predictably crap. Phew, life in the fun Friday night fast lane.
friends of larkhall park
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Saturday 24 April, 2004 |
With the first signs of summer starting to shoot up through the undergrowth, I thought it was a good time to return to Larkhall Park, one of my favourite South London open spaces. Plus I was bored and had time to kill waiting for the damn pizza to de-frost.
Lambeth Council has in recent weeks 'out-sourced' (read: cut corners) the management of all parks within the Borough. Team Lambeth has been disbanded and replaced by private sector firm Cleanaway, a company clearly with a commitment to South London, so much so that its Head Office is based down in Australia.
That's a hell of a journey to make when all you want to do is clean up a few cans of Fosters.
Fearing a Kevin Spacey situation, I legged it home |
This wave of redundancies included some gardeners with over 25 years service and as it was a new company coming in, no redundancy pay-off was made. Swept under the carpet, so to speak.
Larkhall Park was always a Cinderella service anyway for Lambeth; never quite the mass appeal of Clapham Common and without the care and attention paid towards Brockwell Park. The upkeep under Team Lambeth was often under-resourced, but still, half of not very much at all still leads to a shoddy service for a space that is valuable to the SW8 community.
My walk around Larkhall on an early sunlit Friday evening showed the importance of a green space within an inner city; kids playing football, mothers meeting up for a natter and not to mention the yoofs who seemed to be huddled up in some corner carrying out what I suspect was some less than legal trade. We're not talking Ron Davies here either.
Unfortunately I think my inquisitive photography aroused their suspicions and so I made a hasty retreat. All I wanted was some nice pics of some pansies.
Fearing a Kevin Spacey situation developing, I legged it home, just in time for TOTP. Which was predictably crap. Phew, life in the fun Friday night fast lane.
friends of larkhall park
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Road to Nowhere
The Vauxhall Road to Nowhere is close to completion down at the Devil's Crossing. And I don't mean Belgrave Road which takes you northwards towards poxy Pimlico. The Vauxhall Cross Transport Interchange (that will be a fancy bus stop then) is almost accomplished – not that you'd know it judging from the half-arsed, half finished design.
The Transport for London website promises a 'fully pedestrianised bus station.' No mention though of a grotesque gridiron structure reaching upwards to spoil the Southbank skyline.
What you see is what you get. The pictures below capture the glorified ramp in almost all of its final glory. Looking more like a discarded prop by 70s motorbike madman Evel Knievel, the structure stretches up towards the sky, and then with all the poise of a Martin Keown air bound off the ball challenge, it just stops. End of story. No explanation as to why a girder has been left dangling on the landscape.
It certainly serves no purpose, apart from becoming South London Pigeon Shit Central in years to come (that's assuming our filth infested feather friends choose to make the mass migration from Streatham).
Any improvement to the notoriously bad transport infrastructure at the Cross has to be welcomed. This latest eyesore though isn't exactly going to help to improves Vauxhall's image as a place you pass through in order to escape.
But will the Vauxhall Veranda actually improve the transport interchange? Probably not if you are part of London's commuting underclass, aka a cyclist. To negotiate the criss-cross lane jumping at Vauxhall Cross on two wheels you need to be a veteran of the old computer game classic Frogger; you're damned if you do (stay in lane) and you're damned if you don't (and attempt a last minute lane jump to carry on ahead along the Embankment).
And let's not even get into the farce of the cycle lanes along South Lambeth Road which terminate abruptly with a bus shelter at one end. And all of this comes AFTER the major road works that were steamrolled through to make the junction compliant with the Congestion Charge.
Vauxhall has so much more to celebrate – The Oval, Vauxhall City Farm and The Tavern, where 'bent as an iron girder' may just fit well into the new SW8 lexicon.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Friday 23 April, 2004 |
The Vauxhall Road to Nowhere is close to completion down at the Devil's Crossing. And I don't mean Belgrave Road which takes you northwards towards poxy Pimlico. The Vauxhall Cross Transport Interchange (that will be a fancy bus stop then) is almost accomplished – not that you'd know it judging from the half-arsed, half finished design.
The Transport for London website promises a 'fully pedestrianised bus station.' No mention though of a grotesque gridiron structure reaching upwards to spoil the Southbank skyline.
It will become South London Pigeon Shit Central |
It certainly serves no purpose, apart from becoming South London Pigeon Shit Central in years to come (that's assuming our filth infested feather friends choose to make the mass migration from Streatham).
Any improvement to the notoriously bad transport infrastructure at the Cross has to be welcomed. This latest eyesore though isn't exactly going to help to improves Vauxhall's image as a place you pass through in order to escape.
But will the Vauxhall Veranda actually improve the transport interchange? Probably not if you are part of London's commuting underclass, aka a cyclist. To negotiate the criss-cross lane jumping at Vauxhall Cross on two wheels you need to be a veteran of the old computer game classic Frogger; you're damned if you do (stay in lane) and you're damned if you don't (and attempt a last minute lane jump to carry on ahead along the Embankment).
And let's not even get into the farce of the cycle lanes along South Lambeth Road which terminate abruptly with a bus shelter at one end. And all of this comes AFTER the major road works that were steamrolled through to make the junction compliant with the Congestion Charge.
Vauxhall has so much more to celebrate – The Oval, Vauxhall City Farm and The Tavern, where 'bent as an iron girder' may just fit well into the new SW8 lexicon.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Board Stoopid
I've always had a fascination with skateboards. Such a shame then that I turned out to be so shit at it. I blame my lack of balance on my first ever DIY board - a plank of wood found at home in the garage that I attempted to celloptape a rusty old roller blade to. I've still got the scars.
I just about remember the mid 70s first wave of skateboarding to hit these shores. Twelve inch blue plastic things that I vaguely recall Prince Charles twatting about with on some long lost news footage.
You could always
Google 'Prince+Charles+twelve+inch+blue+plastic,' but I can’t guarantee that the results will be office friendly.
After a twenty odd year skateboarding sabbatical, it was with immense joy on finding that Sunny Stockwell has one of the finest parks in the country when I first moved to SW8. With such a fine facility right on my doorstep, it would be rude not to give it a go. A bit like living in Cornwall and not giving inbreeding the benefit of the doubt.
Like a complete knobber with no sense of maturity, I was talked into forking out fifty quid for a board in some funky Soho board shop, man. Size clearly does matter for the youth of today. My childhood twelve inch wonder had been extended to more like twenty five, something that would no doubt put a spring in Charlie Boy's step.
Don't run before you can walk though. Or more like don't fall off and make a real monger of yourself in public when you can do it at home with some carpet as a crash mat.
I eventually made the short trip to the Stockwell Park. As a tactical necessity I decided to burn my rubber at 6am to avoid becoming the second biggest laughing stock in Stockwell behind the LIAR Lord Archer and his SW8 probation visits.
Thing is, I didn't really know what to do. Sure, I'd seen the beanie kids do their thing, but I was more interested in their cool factor rating (look, boy on board, wearing funky clothes, like that's SO, um, unlike me) than their actual actions.
Where do you start from? How do you manoeuvre over a bump? Are they called bumps or am I really the most unsuited person in Sunny Stockwell to be giving skateboarding a spin? Could Lord Archer actually do a handstand on his skateboard, bang out a crap novel and have his cock sucked by a hooker all at the same time?
I placed the board at the 'peak' of the least threatening 'bump' (which was about a foot high), gently rocked backwards and forwards and waited for something to happen.
I fell off of course. And quite spectacularly as well. Bummer.
I wasn't about to quit though. The fifty quid hole in my meagre monthly budget saw to that. The 6am routine soon became a 7am trip. Then a mid-morning session until I was just about confident enough to actually skate from onionbagblog HQ to the skate park (you look a right twat walking along the street carrying a board – a bit like buying a flash mountain bike and then driving around like a total petrol head with it attached to the roof of your fuel guzzler – wtf is that about?)
Progress wasn't really happening though. My skateboarding skills involving pushing off from a flat part of the park, going along at a pedestrian pace for about 10 metres, then just as I was approaching a nasty bump, getting off and doing it all over again. It really would have been quicker to walk.
The scars and scabs were also starting to show as well and I was in serious danger of a career threatening football injury. That's a Brixton Rec 5-a-side football career ending injury of course.
Bollocks to it. I accepted that I was never going to be a funky urban boarder and I should stick to walking the dog. The damn board went up in the loft where it still remains today. There’s talk of offloading it on ebay, but I really want to avoid any contact with the cool skateboard kids as jealousy can lead to random acts. Like violently prodding the little fuckers in the ribs as they're so cool and I'm not.
The Stockwell skateboard park has recently received a £30k grant to repair the cracks that have started to appear. Despite what you may think, my bungled brief flirtation with the bloody board wasn't solely responsible for this damage. I do own up to the blood stains though.
Stockwell Park Estate is also going to take up management of the park which means that decisions regarding a local facility will be made by local people.
I'm not expecting the call up.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Thursday 22 April, 2004 |
I've always had a fascination with skateboards. Such a shame then that I turned out to be so shit at it. I blame my lack of balance on my first ever DIY board - a plank of wood found at home in the garage that I attempted to celloptape a rusty old roller blade to. I've still got the scars.
I just about remember the mid 70s first wave of skateboarding to hit these shores. Twelve inch blue plastic things that I vaguely recall Prince Charles twatting about with on some long lost news footage.
It really would have been quicker to walk |
Google 'Prince+Charles+twelve+inch+blue+plastic,' but I can’t guarantee that the results will be office friendly.
After a twenty odd year skateboarding sabbatical, it was with immense joy on finding that Sunny Stockwell has one of the finest parks in the country when I first moved to SW8. With such a fine facility right on my doorstep, it would be rude not to give it a go. A bit like living in Cornwall and not giving inbreeding the benefit of the doubt.
Like a complete knobber with no sense of maturity, I was talked into forking out fifty quid for a board in some funky Soho board shop, man. Size clearly does matter for the youth of today. My childhood twelve inch wonder had been extended to more like twenty five, something that would no doubt put a spring in Charlie Boy's step.
Don't run before you can walk though. Or more like don't fall off and make a real monger of yourself in public when you can do it at home with some carpet as a crash mat.
I eventually made the short trip to the Stockwell Park. As a tactical necessity I decided to burn my rubber at 6am to avoid becoming the second biggest laughing stock in Stockwell behind the LIAR Lord Archer and his SW8 probation visits.
Thing is, I didn't really know what to do. Sure, I'd seen the beanie kids do their thing, but I was more interested in their cool factor rating (look, boy on board, wearing funky clothes, like that's SO, um, unlike me) than their actual actions.
Where do you start from? How do you manoeuvre over a bump? Are they called bumps or am I really the most unsuited person in Sunny Stockwell to be giving skateboarding a spin? Could Lord Archer actually do a handstand on his skateboard, bang out a crap novel and have his cock sucked by a hooker all at the same time?
I placed the board at the 'peak' of the least threatening 'bump' (which was about a foot high), gently rocked backwards and forwards and waited for something to happen.
I fell off of course. And quite spectacularly as well. Bummer.
I wasn't about to quit though. The fifty quid hole in my meagre monthly budget saw to that. The 6am routine soon became a 7am trip. Then a mid-morning session until I was just about confident enough to actually skate from onionbagblog HQ to the skate park (you look a right twat walking along the street carrying a board – a bit like buying a flash mountain bike and then driving around like a total petrol head with it attached to the roof of your fuel guzzler – wtf is that about?)
Progress wasn't really happening though. My skateboarding skills involving pushing off from a flat part of the park, going along at a pedestrian pace for about 10 metres, then just as I was approaching a nasty bump, getting off and doing it all over again. It really would have been quicker to walk.
The scars and scabs were also starting to show as well and I was in serious danger of a career threatening football injury. That's a Brixton Rec 5-a-side football career ending injury of course.
Bollocks to it. I accepted that I was never going to be a funky urban boarder and I should stick to walking the dog. The damn board went up in the loft where it still remains today. There’s talk of offloading it on ebay, but I really want to avoid any contact with the cool skateboard kids as jealousy can lead to random acts. Like violently prodding the little fuckers in the ribs as they're so cool and I'm not.
The Stockwell skateboard park has recently received a £30k grant to repair the cracks that have started to appear. Despite what you may think, my bungled brief flirtation with the bloody board wasn't solely responsible for this damage. I do own up to the blood stains though.
Stockwell Park Estate is also going to take up management of the park which means that decisions regarding a local facility will be made by local people.
I'm not expecting the call up.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Stationary
There's no finer South London landmark than Battersea Power Station. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott's symbol of South London strength currently stands in a sorry state though.
What attracts me to the building is the attention to detail. A power station is a power station is a power station. Wrong. Scott had a vision for an icon of a building that wouldn't just pump out power - Battersea Power Station REPRESENTS power.
Four corners of indelible strength. A permanent reminder across the South London skyline of the majestic mechanical muscle housed within. Locate the pillars from across the City and you are reminded that London has a heart, and a mighty strong one at that. At its peak, a fifth of all London power came from within Battersea's industrial cathedral.
That was the case of course up unit 1983 when the last great gasp of energy was unleashed by Battersea Power Station. No surprises that the Tories were partly responsible for its demise.
The building has clearly seen better days. Like a bygone boxer still yearning for one last fight, it's a sad sight to see such a splendid old structure trading on its faded former glory. The knockout punch would be for some money men to move in and convert the once heartbeat of London into a ghastly Thameside Disney World nightmare vision.
South London just doesn't do tat. Well, not unless you strike Streatham High Road off the South Circular boundary.
You only have to look down river to see the potential that such a proud old powerhouse can achieve; Scott's other great London building, Bankside Power Station, is of course an energy source once again being responsible for breathing new life into a once neglected stretch of the river.
Like most public / private projects involving the less than philanthropic big business, the history of Battersea Power station over the past twenty years is the all too familiar all talk and no action.
Alton Towers Ltd purchased the land in 1986 but pulled out of the project three years later when funding was frozen. Parkview bought the lease in 1996 with planning permission finally completed in 2001.
So what great plans have Parkview for the property?
'A dynamic integrated environment of wide ranging occupational, recreational and residential functions and activities.'
Which probably translates as wall to wall vomit inducing burger bars, bowling allies and big business. Just what the local area needs.
What of an alternative? Well, some jobs would be nice. Ahhh, but won't the theme park power station generate these? You would hope so and indeed the unsightly Parkview website even has a jobs section for budding burger tossers.
Always been my ambition in life to be a tosser.
Can we have some REAL jobs please? Christ, the damn space is SO vast that there's room for everyone. Local artists, workshops for local people and an ice rink wouldn’t go amiss. You may even manage to flog some of your shitty fast food within such an environment as well.
It would be a shame if the only legacy left by Battersea Power Station was the naming of a crap mid '80s supergroup fronted by a coke addled cockface wearing a shit suit and a pair of Duran Duran rejects (which is going some).
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Wednesday 21 April, 2004 |
There's no finer South London landmark than Battersea Power Station. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott's symbol of South London strength currently stands in a sorry state though.
What attracts me to the building is the attention to detail. A power station is a power station is a power station. Wrong. Scott had a vision for an icon of a building that wouldn't just pump out power - Battersea Power Station REPRESENTS power.
Always been my ambition in life to be a tosser |
That was the case of course up unit 1983 when the last great gasp of energy was unleashed by Battersea Power Station. No surprises that the Tories were partly responsible for its demise.
The building has clearly seen better days. Like a bygone boxer still yearning for one last fight, it's a sad sight to see such a splendid old structure trading on its faded former glory. The knockout punch would be for some money men to move in and convert the once heartbeat of London into a ghastly Thameside Disney World nightmare vision.
South London just doesn't do tat. Well, not unless you strike Streatham High Road off the South Circular boundary.
You only have to look down river to see the potential that such a proud old powerhouse can achieve; Scott's other great London building, Bankside Power Station, is of course an energy source once again being responsible for breathing new life into a once neglected stretch of the river.
Like most public / private projects involving the less than philanthropic big business, the history of Battersea Power station over the past twenty years is the all too familiar all talk and no action.
Alton Towers Ltd purchased the land in 1986 but pulled out of the project three years later when funding was frozen. Parkview bought the lease in 1996 with planning permission finally completed in 2001.
So what great plans have Parkview for the property?
'A dynamic integrated environment of wide ranging occupational, recreational and residential functions and activities.'
Which probably translates as wall to wall vomit inducing burger bars, bowling allies and big business. Just what the local area needs.
What of an alternative? Well, some jobs would be nice. Ahhh, but won't the theme park power station generate these? You would hope so and indeed the unsightly Parkview website even has a jobs section for budding burger tossers.
Always been my ambition in life to be a tosser.
Can we have some REAL jobs please? Christ, the damn space is SO vast that there's room for everyone. Local artists, workshops for local people and an ice rink wouldn’t go amiss. You may even manage to flog some of your shitty fast food within such an environment as well.
It would be a shame if the only legacy left by Battersea Power Station was the naming of a crap mid '80s supergroup fronted by a coke addled cockface wearing a shit suit and a pair of Duran Duran rejects (which is going some).
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Any Old Iron
It's a sign of the times that a Steptoe and Son style slagheap of a scrap yard now trades under the name of an 'Architectural Salvage Company.' Situated on the corner of Southampton Way in deepest Southwark, the ASC is actually an Aladdin's Cave of period pieces that wouldn’t look out of place in some urban loft dwelling. And we're not talking pigeon lofts here.
Such a shame then that my request to take some snaps once inside the Salvage Yard was politely turned down. Given that the average clientele is probably some Nathan Barley 'fifty pounds for a pair of bath taps – BARGAIN' buffoon, they may have mistaken me for some fuckspud writing a 'ME ME ME' lifestyle piece for some shitty publication like Wallpaper*.
I hadn't the heart to break it to them that I was simply a humble onionbagblogger. And a crap one at that.
OK, so I wasn't going to buy anything, which may have hindered my photographic bargaining power. I once did spend a fiver in there though on a lovely piece of timber encrusted with an original Art Deco style mosaic design. Works a treat as a splash panel at the back of my sink.
Despite the price hike, it's hard not to dislike the ASA; it’s basically a junkyard for middle class young urban useless tossers – a growing market in some parts of SW London. Money is made by ripping out all sorts of crap from old Victorian properties prior to demolition, and then flogging them on to some Clap'am or St Reatham knobber type who really does believe that their poxy one bedroomed on the High Road above the kebab shop is just crying out for a rusty London Underground sign. Or even an Art Deco splash panel for that matter.
If you can navigate the creaky DIY shop structure of a shack, items for sale include industrial radiators, Victorian baths (with a variety of added stains for that oh so painful authentic appeal) and doorknobs which at £25 a pair, is just about the going rate for a couple of shiny knobs in Southwark. Or so I have been led to believe.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Tuesday 20 April, 2004 |
It's a sign of the times that a Steptoe and Son style slagheap of a scrap yard now trades under the name of an 'Architectural Salvage Company.' Situated on the corner of Southampton Way in deepest Southwark, the ASC is actually an Aladdin's Cave of period pieces that wouldn’t look out of place in some urban loft dwelling. And we're not talking pigeon lofts here.
Such a shame then that my request to take some snaps once inside the Salvage Yard was politely turned down. Given that the average clientele is probably some Nathan Barley 'fifty pounds for a pair of bath taps – BARGAIN' buffoon, they may have mistaken me for some fuckspud writing a 'ME ME ME' lifestyle piece for some shitty publication like Wallpaper*.
I hadn't the heart to break it to them that I was simply a humble onionbagblogger. And a crap one at that.
It’s a junkyard for middle class young urban useless tossers |
Despite the price hike, it's hard not to dislike the ASA; it’s basically a junkyard for middle class young urban useless tossers – a growing market in some parts of SW London. Money is made by ripping out all sorts of crap from old Victorian properties prior to demolition, and then flogging them on to some Clap'am or St Reatham knobber type who really does believe that their poxy one bedroomed on the High Road above the kebab shop is just crying out for a rusty London Underground sign. Or even an Art Deco splash panel for that matter.
If you can navigate the creaky DIY shop structure of a shack, items for sale include industrial radiators, Victorian baths (with a variety of added stains for that oh so painful authentic appeal) and doorknobs which at £25 a pair, is just about the going rate for a couple of shiny knobs in Southwark. Or so I have been led to believe.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Bridge Too Far (that will be Tower Bridge)
Winston Churchill once described the river Thames as:
'The silver stream from which the history of our city can be observed.'
Mind you, he was passing this information on to a young Queen Elizabeth at the time and she was probably more interested in what time tea could be taken at Claridges rather than listening to some balding old goat banging on about the retching river.
The tale of London can be told through its bridges, be they falling down, bombed or just plain wobbly.
Thirteen bridges, one sun drenched afternoon and only two Sainsburys cheapo Cheese and Onion Rolls to keep me going. It's enough to make you want to jump off one of them. That's bridges, not cheese and onion...
Battersea Bridge
Building Bridges: The original timber construction was built in 1771, with the current iron cantilever bridge being completed in 1885.
Bridging the Gap: The old wooden bridge was unpopular with river traffic which kept on colliding with the narrow spans. Ship captains being pissed out of their head on Mother's Ruin probably didn't help either.
Used by: Dogs and local females. Not a mutually exclusive category.
(click on thumbs to see large image)
Albert Bridge
Building Bridges: The original 1873 incarnation featured ornate pagodas.
Bridging the Gap: The limitations of a suspension structure led to a five ton weight limit being imposed on the bridge back in 1884. That's why you never see Vanessa Feltz trying to cross it.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: The evening fairy lights and the famous 'ice cream' colours makes the Albert Bridge popular within film scenes; Sliding Doors, Love Actually and any other crap chick flick wanting to add an 'ahh, water, bridge, lovely lights' moment to spice up a shit film.
Used by: Film extras.
Chelsea Bridge
Building Bridges: 1851, and being Chelsea of course, it was opened as a toll bridge. The bridge was re-built in 1935 after safety concerns over the foundations.
Bridging the Gap: Extortionate prices, shaky foundations, pretty to look at but ultimately going nowhere – anyone recognise the Chelsea FC comparisons?
Used by: Sloanes, Sex Pistols and dead princesses.
Grosvenor Railway Bridge
Building Bridges: Built in 1859 as the first railway bridge to span the Thames. The idea was to link the Beautiful South to the West End.
Bridging the Gap: The current bridge was re-built between 1963-67 due to the demands of increased commuter traffic into Victoria Station.
Used by: Choo choos.
Vauxhall Bridge
Building Bridges: Vauxhall Bridge was built in 1811 and was originally named Regent's Bridge as the plan was to link Greenwich with Hyde Park,
Bridging the Gap: Strong tidal pressure around this stretch of the Thames led to erosion, with a new bridge being built in 1906.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: As the magnificent Time Team demonstrated recently, the shores around Vauxhall Bridge are a significant area of archaeological interest – Roman coins, Medieval timber, 20th Century torsos – all can be found if you take your bucket and spade down to the riverbank on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
Used by: Spooks, Morrissey.
Lambeth Bridge
Building Bridges: Built on a site that was originally used to receive monarchs, Lambeth Bridge was constructed in 1860 to serve the growing population of the burgeoning Borough. The current bridge was completed in 1929.
Bridging the Gap: The Act of Parliament giving the green light for the Bridge was passed in 1809. Insufficient funds to complete the project led to the delay. Some things never change down at Lambeth Town Hall...
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: The colour scheme of red was chosen to represent the red benches of the nearby House of Lords. Likewise the green of Westminster Bridge signifies the House of Commons. What does this tell us then about the pink of Albert Bridge?
Used by: People doing The Walk, plus Bishops seeking sinful behaviour north of the river.
Westminster Bridge
Building Bridges: The capital’s 'second' bridge after London Bridge, the first crossing built was built in 1750 and soon became known as the 'Bridge of Fools.' Crossing the bridge nowadays and dodging the tourists buying all sorts of tat and you can see why the name still sticks.
Bridging the Gap: With the first bridge being deemed structurally unsafe in 1854, work on a new structure commenced.
Used by: SHAME Shirley Porter, picture postcard hunting tourists.
Hungerford Bridge
Building Bridges: Built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel in 1841, the bridge became extremely popular (and profitable) from 1848 onwards when Waterloo Station first opened.
Bridging the Gap: £50m was spent in 2000 to upgrade the bridge and re-open to the public after years of service as a railway bridge only.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: Hungerford Bridge is named after a long lost market on the north bank, and not a crazed lone gunman.
Used by: Stop the War campaigners, a brown nosing Jeremy Clarkson. Shame the silly petrol head can't drive over it.
Waterloo Bridge
Building Bridges: Built between 1811-16 by John Rennie, the first of the three Thames bridges that he designed. Originally known as Strand Bridge.
Bridging the Gap: Closed in 1923 after it became unsafe, the first of the new foundations were laid in 1939. With most of the male population engaged in war, Waterloo Bridge was mainly built by female labour. That's probably why it's slightly wonky then.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: If you can't blag a cheeky snog on Waterloo Bridge as sun sets over the City on a Friday night, you're either pug ugly or Ann Widecombe. Or even both.
Used by: Ray Davies.
Cannon Street Bridge
Building Bridges: First opened in 1866, the original downstream path was reserved as a footpath for use by railway employees only.
Bridging the Gap: The bridge has since been re-built twice – just after the First World War and then in 1981 by dear old British Rail.
Used by: Yet more choo choos.
Blackfriars Bridge
Building Bridges: The original construction was completed in 1760, becoming the third bridge to span the Thames. Etches of the first structure can be seen today under the archway linking Southbank to the Tate Modern. These are engraved on the walls, and not some tatty hand drawn colour by number efforts, as sold under the arch by some pikey.
Bridging the Gap: Queen Victoria officially opened the current bridge in 1869.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: Originally named Pitt Bridge in honour of the former Tory Prime Minister, the name was quickly changed after The Younger soon became public enemy number one. And you wonder why there’s no Thatcher Bridge in London. Plenty would like to see the old witch hanging from one though.
Used by: Fuckspud journos on their way to work at Daily Express, pondering what totally obscure and meaningless front page they can come up with today.
Millennium Bridge
Building Bridges: After winning a design competition in 1996, Fosters and Partners completed the building in 2000, only to see the 'Blade of Light' (yeah, right...) close days after opening because of wobbling defects.
Bridging the Gap: The highly scientific solution to stop the wobbles was to limit the number of people using it at any one time.
Used by: Funky 21st Century 'lifestyle' types who think nothing of forking out three quid for a lukewarm latte and then poncing across the metallic structure juggling their PDAs, iPods and uPricks whilst trying to read the crappy Consume section in Time Out at the same time. Plus people with a good sense of balance.
Southwark Bridge
Building Bridges: Another John Rennie design, Southwark Bridge first opened to the public in 1819.
Bridging the Gap: The dismantling of the old structure took eight long years, finally being finished in 1921 after the interruption of war.
Used by: Archbishops.
London Bridge
Building Bridges: Excavations reveal that a bridge had stood at this site since AD 984, around the time of the Roman rule of London.
Bridging the Gap: A variety of timber and stone incarnations have been erected over the years. Revenue was raised by renting out shop space. John Rennie's design was built in 1831. This lasted 140 years until the narrow design led to Queen Elizabeth opening the current structure in 1967.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: London Bridge is Falling Down dates back to the Viking raids in the 11th Century when our Nordic friends firebombed the old wooden structure.
Used by: City boys, cabbies and confused tourists wondering when the bridge will next lift.
London Bridge is falling down. Just like my legs after 14.9 miles of South Bank cycling. Ya Boo Sucks and wave my willy in the air at Tower Bridge. Shame David Blaine isn't still hanging from there.
Various bridges
| Monday 19 April, 2004 |
Winston Churchill once described the river Thames as:
'The silver stream from which the history of our city can be observed.'
Mind you, he was passing this information on to a young Queen Elizabeth at the time and she was probably more interested in what time tea could be taken at Claridges rather than listening to some balding old goat banging on about the retching river.
The tale of London can be told through its bridges, be they falling down, bombed or just plain wobbly.
Thirteen bridges, one sun drenched afternoon and only two Sainsburys cheapo Cheese and Onion Rolls to keep me going. It's enough to make you want to jump off one of them. That's bridges, not cheese and onion...
Battersea Bridge
Building Bridges: The original timber construction was built in 1771, with the current iron cantilever bridge being completed in 1885.
Bridging the Gap: The old wooden bridge was unpopular with river traffic which kept on colliding with the narrow spans. Ship captains being pissed out of their head on Mother's Ruin probably didn't help either.
Used by: Dogs and local females. Not a mutually exclusive category.
(click on thumbs to see large image)
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Albert Bridge
Building Bridges: The original 1873 incarnation featured ornate pagodas.
Bridging the Gap: The limitations of a suspension structure led to a five ton weight limit being imposed on the bridge back in 1884. That's why you never see Vanessa Feltz trying to cross it.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: The evening fairy lights and the famous 'ice cream' colours makes the Albert Bridge popular within film scenes; Sliding Doors, Love Actually and any other crap chick flick wanting to add an 'ahh, water, bridge, lovely lights' moment to spice up a shit film.
Used by: Film extras.
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Chelsea Bridge
Building Bridges: 1851, and being Chelsea of course, it was opened as a toll bridge. The bridge was re-built in 1935 after safety concerns over the foundations.
Bridging the Gap: Extortionate prices, shaky foundations, pretty to look at but ultimately going nowhere – anyone recognise the Chelsea FC comparisons?
Used by: Sloanes, Sex Pistols and dead princesses.
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Grosvenor Railway Bridge
Building Bridges: Built in 1859 as the first railway bridge to span the Thames. The idea was to link the Beautiful South to the West End.
Bridging the Gap: The current bridge was re-built between 1963-67 due to the demands of increased commuter traffic into Victoria Station.
Used by: Choo choos.
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Vauxhall Bridge
Building Bridges: Vauxhall Bridge was built in 1811 and was originally named Regent's Bridge as the plan was to link Greenwich with Hyde Park,
Bridging the Gap: Strong tidal pressure around this stretch of the Thames led to erosion, with a new bridge being built in 1906.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: As the magnificent Time Team demonstrated recently, the shores around Vauxhall Bridge are a significant area of archaeological interest – Roman coins, Medieval timber, 20th Century torsos – all can be found if you take your bucket and spade down to the riverbank on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
Used by: Spooks, Morrissey.
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Lambeth Bridge
Building Bridges: Built on a site that was originally used to receive monarchs, Lambeth Bridge was constructed in 1860 to serve the growing population of the burgeoning Borough. The current bridge was completed in 1929.
Bridging the Gap: The Act of Parliament giving the green light for the Bridge was passed in 1809. Insufficient funds to complete the project led to the delay. Some things never change down at Lambeth Town Hall...
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: The colour scheme of red was chosen to represent the red benches of the nearby House of Lords. Likewise the green of Westminster Bridge signifies the House of Commons. What does this tell us then about the pink of Albert Bridge?
Used by: People doing The Walk, plus Bishops seeking sinful behaviour north of the river.
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Westminster Bridge
Building Bridges: The capital’s 'second' bridge after London Bridge, the first crossing built was built in 1750 and soon became known as the 'Bridge of Fools.' Crossing the bridge nowadays and dodging the tourists buying all sorts of tat and you can see why the name still sticks.
Bridging the Gap: With the first bridge being deemed structurally unsafe in 1854, work on a new structure commenced.
Used by: SHAME Shirley Porter, picture postcard hunting tourists.
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Hungerford Bridge
Building Bridges: Built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel in 1841, the bridge became extremely popular (and profitable) from 1848 onwards when Waterloo Station first opened.
Bridging the Gap: £50m was spent in 2000 to upgrade the bridge and re-open to the public after years of service as a railway bridge only.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: Hungerford Bridge is named after a long lost market on the north bank, and not a crazed lone gunman.
Used by: Stop the War campaigners, a brown nosing Jeremy Clarkson. Shame the silly petrol head can't drive over it.
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Waterloo Bridge
Building Bridges: Built between 1811-16 by John Rennie, the first of the three Thames bridges that he designed. Originally known as Strand Bridge.
Bridging the Gap: Closed in 1923 after it became unsafe, the first of the new foundations were laid in 1939. With most of the male population engaged in war, Waterloo Bridge was mainly built by female labour. That's probably why it's slightly wonky then.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: If you can't blag a cheeky snog on Waterloo Bridge as sun sets over the City on a Friday night, you're either pug ugly or Ann Widecombe. Or even both.
Used by: Ray Davies.
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Cannon Street Bridge
Building Bridges: First opened in 1866, the original downstream path was reserved as a footpath for use by railway employees only.
Bridging the Gap: The bridge has since been re-built twice – just after the First World War and then in 1981 by dear old British Rail.
Used by: Yet more choo choos.
Blackfriars Bridge
Building Bridges: The original construction was completed in 1760, becoming the third bridge to span the Thames. Etches of the first structure can be seen today under the archway linking Southbank to the Tate Modern. These are engraved on the walls, and not some tatty hand drawn colour by number efforts, as sold under the arch by some pikey.
Bridging the Gap: Queen Victoria officially opened the current bridge in 1869.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: Originally named Pitt Bridge in honour of the former Tory Prime Minister, the name was quickly changed after The Younger soon became public enemy number one. And you wonder why there’s no Thatcher Bridge in London. Plenty would like to see the old witch hanging from one though.
Used by: Fuckspud journos on their way to work at Daily Express, pondering what totally obscure and meaningless front page they can come up with today.
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Millennium Bridge
Building Bridges: After winning a design competition in 1996, Fosters and Partners completed the building in 2000, only to see the 'Blade of Light' (yeah, right...) close days after opening because of wobbling defects.
Bridging the Gap: The highly scientific solution to stop the wobbles was to limit the number of people using it at any one time.
Used by: Funky 21st Century 'lifestyle' types who think nothing of forking out three quid for a lukewarm latte and then poncing across the metallic structure juggling their PDAs, iPods and uPricks whilst trying to read the crappy Consume section in Time Out at the same time. Plus people with a good sense of balance.
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Southwark Bridge
Building Bridges: Another John Rennie design, Southwark Bridge first opened to the public in 1819.
Bridging the Gap: The dismantling of the old structure took eight long years, finally being finished in 1921 after the interruption of war.
Used by: Archbishops.
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London Bridge
Building Bridges: Excavations reveal that a bridge had stood at this site since AD 984, around the time of the Roman rule of London.
Bridging the Gap: A variety of timber and stone incarnations have been erected over the years. Revenue was raised by renting out shop space. John Rennie's design was built in 1831. This lasted 140 years until the narrow design led to Queen Elizabeth opening the current structure in 1967.
onionbagblog Brucie Bonus Point of Interest: London Bridge is Falling Down dates back to the Viking raids in the 11th Century when our Nordic friends firebombed the old wooden structure.
Used by: City boys, cabbies and confused tourists wondering when the bridge will next lift.
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London Bridge is falling down. Just like my legs after 14.9 miles of South Bank cycling. Ya Boo Sucks and wave my willy in the air at Tower Bridge. Shame David Blaine isn't still hanging from there.
Various bridges
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Crap Match Report
watch towers dancers video (two for the price of one - that's vids, not dancers...)
London Towers 96 Newcastle Eagles 94, 17/04/04
I arrived at The Palace to be told that the ball game was running late – a bit like the Towers season which has gained massive momentum since the slow start. One game away from the Birmingham play off finals is an amazing achievement considering the team was totally re-built after a shaky start.
The delay was down to sunlight shining in through the windows. Playing in a venue with CRYSTAL in the title, um what were you expecting guys? This slight oversight that can be put down to Towers season not normally being extended and played out in BST. Still, it was nice of the management to consider my vanity; the sunlight wasn't half playing havoc with my balding head and wouldn't have looked good in those photos should Coach Peers give me the call up to take to the court. Coach Peers? Hello? HELLO? Back to the burgers then.
King Ralph Blalock set the scene with a three pointer straight from the tip off. More of those please fella. Both teams played out the opening exchanges at breakneck speed and we looked set for high scoring ball game.
All the early excitement was clearly too much for Neil the DJ who had somehow been transformed in the space of a week from a mild mannered man of the mic to South London's very own incarnation of P-Diddy:
'D-FENCE! D-FENCE! D-FENCE!'
All delivered in the style of a grizzly bear with tonsillitis after snogging the ghost of Barry White. But we like yer style and a Saturday night simply wouldn't seem right without your enthusiasm, plus your hit and miss music of course.
With everything to play for, both teams matched each other basket for basket. A buzzer beating steal from the Towers set up a 35-30 game come the second quarter. This was pure play off basketball and with all the excitement of 'watching' non league football on Ceefax, we were even treated to updates from around the league in the other play off matches.
Towers took to the court after the short break looking tired. Their rhythm wasn't there, a bit like me twenty four hours earlier down at Caesar's on Streatham High Road; my own make or break big night out had ended in failure, embarrassment and a trip to the Clapham Common clap clinic. I'm sure Coach Peers would swap sexual stigma for a sense of rhythm if it meant a place in the final four for Birmingham. A late surge before the buzzer drew the scores level at 54-54.
Confirmation that this game would be tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm came at the interval; regular readers will observe how the half time heroics of Towlie tend to set the theme for the Towers. Even the master court wiper was being challenged by Towlie 2 (a kind of Mini Me Towlie) in the halfway line shoot out stakes. This game’s too close to call.
And so the Towers' season came down to twenty fixtures condensed to twenty minutes of make or break basketball. That's a hell of a lot of p-teasing from the Towers Dancers, plenty of overdosing on the dreaded Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and not forgetting some shite music to suffer, all wrapped up in a time period that I'm often struggling to meet when de-camped in the smallest room in my flat after a curry night.
It was brown pants time out on the court as well with little to separate both teams. A third quarter characterised by basket for basket trading and frequent fouls from both sides gave Eagles the slight edge ahead with a slender 71-72 lead come the buzzer.
Eagles once again took the initiative in the final quarter, stretching to a seven point lead and forcing Towers to call an early time out. This is what Coach Peers is paid to do – revitalise, inspire and transform. Someone give that man a pay rise then. Towers took to the court and delivered one of the slickest moves of the season, bringing the score back to within two points and forcing the Eagles to re-group, calling a time out themselves.
Tense stuff.
Eagles were now on the backfoot and playing a defensive game, pressuring the Towers all the way back in their home court, rather than try and push ahead themselves.
Forty eight seconds to go and still we were receiving the joyous news of the latest crappy Krispy Kreme Doughnuts raffle winners. There's a bloody ball game breaking out here, not a feed yer face on some US sugary shite that makes you gain seventeen stone in one sitting.
With three seconds remaining, Youngblood did the business. And business is good for the Birmingham bound Towers right now. Capitan Mon Capitan claimed the game winning basket with a beut of a three pointer that led to a highly comical (and just a bit premature) court invasion from Neil the DJ.
Anyone know the number for a (CHEAP) B&B in Brum?
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
Crap Match Report Compendium
london towers official
towers dancers
whats bev - uk basketball forums
| Sunday 18 April, 2004 |
watch towers dancers video (two for the price of one - that's vids, not dancers...)
London Towers 96 Newcastle Eagles 94, 17/04/04
I arrived at The Palace to be told that the ball game was running late – a bit like the Towers season which has gained massive momentum since the slow start. One game away from the Birmingham play off finals is an amazing achievement considering the team was totally re-built after a shaky start.
The delay was down to sunlight shining in through the windows. Playing in a venue with CRYSTAL in the title, um what were you expecting guys? This slight oversight that can be put down to Towers season not normally being extended and played out in BST. Still, it was nice of the management to consider my vanity; the sunlight wasn't half playing havoc with my balding head and wouldn't have looked good in those photos should Coach Peers give me the call up to take to the court. Coach Peers? Hello? HELLO? Back to the burgers then.
It was brown pants time on the court |
All the early excitement was clearly too much for Neil the DJ who had somehow been transformed in the space of a week from a mild mannered man of the mic to South London's very own incarnation of P-Diddy:
'D-FENCE! D-FENCE! D-FENCE!'
All delivered in the style of a grizzly bear with tonsillitis after snogging the ghost of Barry White. But we like yer style and a Saturday night simply wouldn't seem right without your enthusiasm, plus your hit and miss music of course.
With everything to play for, both teams matched each other basket for basket. A buzzer beating steal from the Towers set up a 35-30 game come the second quarter. This was pure play off basketball and with all the excitement of 'watching' non league football on Ceefax, we were even treated to updates from around the league in the other play off matches.
Towers took to the court after the short break looking tired. Their rhythm wasn't there, a bit like me twenty four hours earlier down at Caesar's on Streatham High Road; my own make or break big night out had ended in failure, embarrassment and a trip to the Clapham Common clap clinic. I'm sure Coach Peers would swap sexual stigma for a sense of rhythm if it meant a place in the final four for Birmingham. A late surge before the buzzer drew the scores level at 54-54.
Confirmation that this game would be tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm came at the interval; regular readers will observe how the half time heroics of Towlie tend to set the theme for the Towers. Even the master court wiper was being challenged by Towlie 2 (a kind of Mini Me Towlie) in the halfway line shoot out stakes. This game’s too close to call.
And so the Towers' season came down to twenty fixtures condensed to twenty minutes of make or break basketball. That's a hell of a lot of p-teasing from the Towers Dancers, plenty of overdosing on the dreaded Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and not forgetting some shite music to suffer, all wrapped up in a time period that I'm often struggling to meet when de-camped in the smallest room in my flat after a curry night.
It was brown pants time out on the court as well with little to separate both teams. A third quarter characterised by basket for basket trading and frequent fouls from both sides gave Eagles the slight edge ahead with a slender 71-72 lead come the buzzer.
Eagles once again took the initiative in the final quarter, stretching to a seven point lead and forcing Towers to call an early time out. This is what Coach Peers is paid to do – revitalise, inspire and transform. Someone give that man a pay rise then. Towers took to the court and delivered one of the slickest moves of the season, bringing the score back to within two points and forcing the Eagles to re-group, calling a time out themselves.
Tense stuff.
Eagles were now on the backfoot and playing a defensive game, pressuring the Towers all the way back in their home court, rather than try and push ahead themselves.
Forty eight seconds to go and still we were receiving the joyous news of the latest crappy Krispy Kreme Doughnuts raffle winners. There's a bloody ball game breaking out here, not a feed yer face on some US sugary shite that makes you gain seventeen stone in one sitting.
With three seconds remaining, Youngblood did the business. And business is good for the Birmingham bound Towers right now. Capitan Mon Capitan claimed the game winning basket with a beut of a three pointer that led to a highly comical (and just a bit premature) court invasion from Neil the DJ.
Anyone know the number for a (CHEAP) B&B in Brum?
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report Compendium
london towers official
towers dancers
whats bev - uk basketball forums
| #permalink |
Crap Match Report| Saturday 17 April, 2004 |
Sussex 243-4 (when I buggered off at 4pm) Surrey 304 all out, 17/04/04
The average age of a Surrey supporter for a County Championship match down at The Oval is 98. This has been proved to be a scientific fact. This figure is set to double however this season with the appearance of Surrey old boy Alec Stewart BEHIND the boundary rope doing his meet and greet thing. Remember Alec, no pitch invasions please.
Being a young whippersnapper (i.e. under the eligible state pension age), The Oval can be a lonely place. Conversation on the second day of the Championship match at home to champions Sussex was centred around Larwood and Voce, spam sandwiches and woodbinds.
Dear old Dickie Bird would go ballistic |
Brian Lara may have hit 400 the other week but the nearest we got to this numerical feat at The Oval today was the attendance figure. I'd wager it doubled by the time all the freeloaders (of which there were many queuing up outside waiting for the clock to strike four) took their seats of shame.
I'm still not convinced about the new sight screens installed for this summer down at the Vauxhall End; an army of JCB's, desperately digging away to complete the new stand ahead of the arrival of the Aussies for the Ashes series in 2005. Dear old Dickie Bird would go ballistic if he was umpiring at the ground that shall now be known as the Semi-Oval for this season of re-building. Well, around these parts anyway.
The game itself was predictably early season stuff. Freddie Flintoff floating the ball out of the ground last summer seems an age away. Surrey Vs Sussex should be a September title decider. Shame it was wasted on so few.
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report Compendium
surrey cricket
| #permalink |
Stranded
Situated just off The Strand, Somerset House is a great escape from central London, the perfect oasis for a hot sunny afternoon in the city. I was just knackered after a Spring Sunday morning cycle and needed a break before heading back to Sunny Stockwell. I couldn't be arsed to lock the trusty Marin up elsewhere so I thought I would just recuperate in the nearest public space I could find.
Any port in a storm, so to speak.
Not wanting to arise suspicion (sweaty bloke wearing shorts falling asleep in a palatial public splendour), I thought it best to actually do the whole 'school trip' thing and find out a bit more.
To date, my only knowledge of Somerset House was that it was somewhere to don the Bauers once a year and grab a freebie Time Out ticket for the Christmas skating sessions. Orbital and Morcheeba also played gigs there last summer, but at £25ish a time, I’d rather do the dirty deed with a tout outside Brixton Academy.
It's surprising how much knowledge you can take it on a Sunday morning. Of course a quick Google makes it a hell of a lot easier…
The original Tudor building was built for the Duke of Somerset in 1547 (must have been handy when he wanted to go to the Imax) but was demolished in 1775. Sir William Chambers designed the current structure in the 18th Century with Somerset House being the home of public offices.
Currently exhibiting in the Hermitage Rooms is a collection of Islamic Art plus a collection covering four centuries of line drawing. We use to call these 'doodles' at school. The Courtauld Institute houses all year round Old Masters, Impressionist and Post-Impressionists paintings. Don't think you’ll find a Damien Hurst in there, dahhhling.
That's enough of the history lesson – what you REALLY want is the water sports pictures, so to speak.
More public property should be opened up for all to benefit from. Buckingham Palace would be a good place to start; rip down those hideous gates and allow the vast courtyard behind the main façade to become a café society. Actually, that sounds bloody awful. A public space where you can chill out, take along your own flask of tea and escape the working day. Perfect after having contributed yet more coffers to Brenda and her family's private skiing fund.
Do you think they’d let me lock my bike up outside the railings?
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Tuesday 13 April, 2004 |
Situated just off The Strand, Somerset House is a great escape from central London, the perfect oasis for a hot sunny afternoon in the city. I was just knackered after a Spring Sunday morning cycle and needed a break before heading back to Sunny Stockwell. I couldn't be arsed to lock the trusty Marin up elsewhere so I thought I would just recuperate in the nearest public space I could find.
Any port in a storm, so to speak.
Not wanting to arise suspicion (sweaty bloke wearing shorts falling asleep in a palatial public splendour), I thought it best to actually do the whole 'school trip' thing and find out a bit more.
Any port in a storm, so to speak |
It's surprising how much knowledge you can take it on a Sunday morning. Of course a quick Google makes it a hell of a lot easier…
The original Tudor building was built for the Duke of Somerset in 1547 (must have been handy when he wanted to go to the Imax) but was demolished in 1775. Sir William Chambers designed the current structure in the 18th Century with Somerset House being the home of public offices.
Currently exhibiting in the Hermitage Rooms is a collection of Islamic Art plus a collection covering four centuries of line drawing. We use to call these 'doodles' at school. The Courtauld Institute houses all year round Old Masters, Impressionist and Post-Impressionists paintings. Don't think you’ll find a Damien Hurst in there, dahhhling.
That's enough of the history lesson – what you REALLY want is the water sports pictures, so to speak.
More public property should be opened up for all to benefit from. Buckingham Palace would be a good place to start; rip down those hideous gates and allow the vast courtyard behind the main façade to become a café society. Actually, that sounds bloody awful. A public space where you can chill out, take along your own flask of tea and escape the working day. Perfect after having contributed yet more coffers to Brenda and her family's private skiing fund.
Do you think they’d let me lock my bike up outside the railings?
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report
Dulwich Hamlet 0 Bromely 4, 12/04/04
Millwall may be making plans for foreign opposition, but down at Dulwich, European football already exits; departing on their annual oversees trip from the small corner of northern France were Le Bromlei. Students of geography may take issue with this, but when our Kent based buddies taunt the South London side with accusations of being more Surrey than SE22, it's only fair that we wave our big French sticks back in the direction of the fake Frenchies.
Collez que vers le haut de votre cul.
Preferably sideways as well.
The first thirty minutes or so was a typical Anglo-French fracas with little entente cordiale. Competitive tackles, periods of pressure form both sides and Le Bromlei Barmy Army banging on about something in a foreign language.
Then Dulwich met their metaphorical Waterloo. And it wasn't in the guise of four camp Swedes dancing around like prats either.
A header delivered from a free kick after 33 minutes gave Le Bromlei the lead, and this was followed by a second goal with a flick on from a corner bang on the 45 minute mark. With thoughts of a Dunkirk spirit dressing room demand on their minds, Dulwich let a third goal slip in before the break with a wonderful solo effort shot from well outside the area.
Merd.
T-shirt weather graced Champion Hill for the first time this year and there was a real danger of a cricket score being racked up and the Hamlet being hit for six.
'Are you going to bring your first team out for this half' was the not so wisecrack heard from some foreign dignitary in the Director's Box. Let's just sit back and watch the cheese eating surrender monkeys succumb to a good old fashioned South London scuffle.
Except that the fightback fizzled out. A bit like my can of out of date Sainsburys Cola.
It wasn't exactly nail biting stuff on the pitch but that's still no excuse for the mademoiselle sitting in front of me to spend the rest of the game manicuring her nails.
The dirty mare.
Dulwich were left to ponder their nul points with ten minutes remaining; a fourth goal from the Frenchies arrived following more confusion in the Dulwich defence than a French Foreign Minister looking at a map of the world.
'Oh look, there's Le Bromlei, just north of Calais.'
Lowlight: Sainsburys selling out of French stick on the way home.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
Crap Match Report Compendium
hamletweb
| Monday 12 April, 2004 |
Dulwich Hamlet 0 Bromely 4, 12/04/04
Millwall may be making plans for foreign opposition, but down at Dulwich, European football already exits; departing on their annual oversees trip from the small corner of northern France were Le Bromlei. Students of geography may take issue with this, but when our Kent based buddies taunt the South London side with accusations of being more Surrey than SE22, it's only fair that we wave our big French sticks back in the direction of the fake Frenchies.
Collez que vers le haut de votre cul.
Preferably sideways as well.
The first thirty minutes or so was a typical Anglo-French fracas with little entente cordiale. Competitive tackles, periods of pressure form both sides and Le Bromlei Barmy Army banging on about something in a foreign language.
The dirty mare |
A header delivered from a free kick after 33 minutes gave Le Bromlei the lead, and this was followed by a second goal with a flick on from a corner bang on the 45 minute mark. With thoughts of a Dunkirk spirit dressing room demand on their minds, Dulwich let a third goal slip in before the break with a wonderful solo effort shot from well outside the area.
Merd.
T-shirt weather graced Champion Hill for the first time this year and there was a real danger of a cricket score being racked up and the Hamlet being hit for six.
'Are you going to bring your first team out for this half' was the not so wisecrack heard from some foreign dignitary in the Director's Box. Let's just sit back and watch the cheese eating surrender monkeys succumb to a good old fashioned South London scuffle.
Except that the fightback fizzled out. A bit like my can of out of date Sainsburys Cola.
It wasn't exactly nail biting stuff on the pitch but that's still no excuse for the mademoiselle sitting in front of me to spend the rest of the game manicuring her nails.
The dirty mare.
Dulwich were left to ponder their nul points with ten minutes remaining; a fourth goal from the Frenchies arrived following more confusion in the Dulwich defence than a French Foreign Minister looking at a map of the world.
'Oh look, there's Le Bromlei, just north of Calais.'
Lowlight: Sainsburys selling out of French stick on the way home.
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report Compendium
hamletweb
| #permalink |
Flower Power
I headed out East on Easter Sunday, a rare expedition away from the Beautiful South. I wanted to take some pics of some pansies – nope, not the West Ham defence, but Columbia Road Flower Market just as it was hitting Spring bloom time.
I took a slight detour first taking in Brick Lane Market and had a wonderful run in with some local bike thief chav scum. You might know that the sleazy street corners around EC1 on a Sunday morning is the hot spot for Burberry boys to offload their weeks work.
I was approached by one bloke asking if I knew anything about cycles as he was considering handing over £50 to one of the chavs flogging his latest hot property. He must have asked for my opinion as I looked the part – decent bike, helmet, other biking gear etc.
I told him that yes, £50 was a fair price for a nearly new Marin (!!!!), but of course you should never buy a bike without obtaining a receipt and some ID from the seller. Don't want to be stopped by a copper now, asking why you are riding a stolen bike and where you bought it from etc.
This generated a crowd of bike thief scum circling around me and all of a sudden the Marin was no longer for sale. Luckily I was still mounted on my bike and managed to make the getaway.
Having been the victim of bike theft myself on a number of occasions, I really despise the way that these criminals can carry out their dirty business in public and with no shame. By being allowed to trade at Brick Lane on a Sunday morning, they are justifying the London bike theft economy. Likewise each person that buys a bike from the arseholes is also giving a thumbs up to their criminal activity and fuelling their trade.
For every bargain Brick Lane bike sold (and there were some GREAT bargains), there is a heartbroken bike owner.
A few East End backstreets later and I was at Columbia Road where thankfully there isn't a second hand stolen sunflower market operating. Plenty of tourists though as well as random blokes with cameras...
The market was bustling with a deluge of Del Boys flogging their daffs in the Spring sunshine.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Monday 12 April, 2004 |
I headed out East on Easter Sunday, a rare expedition away from the Beautiful South. I wanted to take some pics of some pansies – nope, not the West Ham defence, but Columbia Road Flower Market just as it was hitting Spring bloom time.
I took a slight detour first taking in Brick Lane Market and had a wonderful run in with some local bike thief chav scum. You might know that the sleazy street corners around EC1 on a Sunday morning is the hot spot for Burberry boys to offload their weeks work.
The market was bustling with a deluge of Del Boys flogging their daffs |
I told him that yes, £50 was a fair price for a nearly new Marin (!!!!), but of course you should never buy a bike without obtaining a receipt and some ID from the seller. Don't want to be stopped by a copper now, asking why you are riding a stolen bike and where you bought it from etc.
This generated a crowd of bike thief scum circling around me and all of a sudden the Marin was no longer for sale. Luckily I was still mounted on my bike and managed to make the getaway.
Having been the victim of bike theft myself on a number of occasions, I really despise the way that these criminals can carry out their dirty business in public and with no shame. By being allowed to trade at Brick Lane on a Sunday morning, they are justifying the London bike theft economy. Likewise each person that buys a bike from the arseholes is also giving a thumbs up to their criminal activity and fuelling their trade.
For every bargain Brick Lane bike sold (and there were some GREAT bargains), there is a heartbroken bike owner.
A few East End backstreets later and I was at Columbia Road where thankfully there isn't a second hand stolen sunflower market operating. Plenty of tourists though as well as random blokes with cameras...
The market was bustling with a deluge of Del Boys flogging their daffs in the Spring sunshine.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report
London Towers 93 Chester Jets 102, 10/04/04
watch towers dancers video
Crap '80s Aussie soap Home and Away was best known for being watched by few, containing little excitement and being second best to the superior Neighbours. London Towers were tonight playing for HOME court advantage in the play offs but after this poor performance it now looks likely that they will be AWAY. Make your own 'watched by few, little excitement and second best' comparisons.
A bit harsh given the late season surge that has seen the South London side become the best team in the BBL since Christmas. Such a shame that the all important home advantage wasn't secured in this last regular season home fixture. Towers now need to win away in Brighton tonight to secure another SE19 swansong from the seductive Towers Dancers. I don't think my camera lens can stand the suspense.
The game started badly for the Towers with too many turnovers. That's BALL turnovers, unlike Jets Beefy Billy Boy Singleton who had clearly eaten too many apple turnovers. The big boy was holding his own though, and that was before the first appearance of the Towers Dancers.
Towers trailed 20-29 at the first quarter with Jets clocking up the majority of their points with some clinical free shot sinking after some 'confused' refereeing. As you were for the second quarter with Jets keeping their cool in front of the free throw line, going in at the break with a 44-57 lead.
At least Towers fans can always trust Towlie to wipe the court clean with his halfway line heroism come half time. I knew that we were in trouble though when even his long range efforts weren’t reaching the backboard. It will take more than the #23 Jordan jersey Towlie had turned out in to get Towers back on track in this game.
'Don’t worry, this game is RECOVERABLE,' Neil the DJ reassured us. 'I have got GCSE Maths.' Not too mention a PhD in Positive Thinking.
Towers came out fighting in the third. Without an extended performance from the Dancers at the break, conclusive proof that abstinence certainly does help to concentrate the athletic mind. That will be the reason why I'm crap at most sports then.
More dodgy refereeing decisions helped to decide the game though; the trademark Youngblood Shuffle (a kind of reverse moonwalk with just a hint of a hop, skip and a jump) was mistakenly called for travelling.
The comeback wasn't complete though as Singleton delivered a dunk with his jump taking all day until his fat frame tested the strength of the backboard. It would have been quicker to get out a stepladder. Fair play to the flabby fellow though – at least he was sinking the points which has to be better than sinking the Big Macs.
66-78 to the away team at the start of the final quarter and home court advantage for the Towers in the play offs was looking as remote as finding WMD in Iraq.
Towers moved the ball around well but it was their shooting that was falling short – a bit like the Palace crowd which wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic that we have seen in SE19 this season.
Tempers boiled over on court when Jets Assistant Coach James Hamilton had a run in with Robert Youngblood. It was a classic 'shall we dance' eyeball to eyeball moment, although I don't think a Gentleman’s Excuse was what the Towers hitman had in mind; more like a 'Getta outta my face, Dawwwwwg.'
Jets started the game with the outside chance of home court advantage. A well deserved 93-102 victory was achieved because their players clearly wanted the game more. Plus a little help with some strange refereeing calls.
Home court advantage? With a performance like this, you have to ask WHAT home court advantage is that exactly?
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
Crap Match Report Compendium
london towers official
towers dancers
whats bev - uk basketball forums
| Sunday 11 April, 2004 |
London Towers 93 Chester Jets 102, 10/04/04
watch towers dancers video
Crap '80s Aussie soap Home and Away was best known for being watched by few, containing little excitement and being second best to the superior Neighbours. London Towers were tonight playing for HOME court advantage in the play offs but after this poor performance it now looks likely that they will be AWAY. Make your own 'watched by few, little excitement and second best' comparisons.
A bit harsh given the late season surge that has seen the South London side become the best team in the BBL since Christmas. Such a shame that the all important home advantage wasn't secured in this last regular season home fixture. Towers now need to win away in Brighton tonight to secure another SE19 swansong from the seductive Towers Dancers. I don't think my camera lens can stand the suspense.
At least he was sinking the points and not the the Big Macs |
Towers trailed 20-29 at the first quarter with Jets clocking up the majority of their points with some clinical free shot sinking after some 'confused' refereeing. As you were for the second quarter with Jets keeping their cool in front of the free throw line, going in at the break with a 44-57 lead.
At least Towers fans can always trust Towlie to wipe the court clean with his halfway line heroism come half time. I knew that we were in trouble though when even his long range efforts weren’t reaching the backboard. It will take more than the #23 Jordan jersey Towlie had turned out in to get Towers back on track in this game.
'Don’t worry, this game is RECOVERABLE,' Neil the DJ reassured us. 'I have got GCSE Maths.' Not too mention a PhD in Positive Thinking.
Towers came out fighting in the third. Without an extended performance from the Dancers at the break, conclusive proof that abstinence certainly does help to concentrate the athletic mind. That will be the reason why I'm crap at most sports then.
More dodgy refereeing decisions helped to decide the game though; the trademark Youngblood Shuffle (a kind of reverse moonwalk with just a hint of a hop, skip and a jump) was mistakenly called for travelling.
The comeback wasn't complete though as Singleton delivered a dunk with his jump taking all day until his fat frame tested the strength of the backboard. It would have been quicker to get out a stepladder. Fair play to the flabby fellow though – at least he was sinking the points which has to be better than sinking the Big Macs.
66-78 to the away team at the start of the final quarter and home court advantage for the Towers in the play offs was looking as remote as finding WMD in Iraq.
Towers moved the ball around well but it was their shooting that was falling short – a bit like the Palace crowd which wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic that we have seen in SE19 this season.
Tempers boiled over on court when Jets Assistant Coach James Hamilton had a run in with Robert Youngblood. It was a classic 'shall we dance' eyeball to eyeball moment, although I don't think a Gentleman’s Excuse was what the Towers hitman had in mind; more like a 'Getta outta my face, Dawwwwwg.'
Jets started the game with the outside chance of home court advantage. A well deserved 93-102 victory was achieved because their players clearly wanted the game more. Plus a little help with some strange refereeing calls.
Home court advantage? With a performance like this, you have to ask WHAT home court advantage is that exactly?
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report Compendium
london towers official
towers dancers
whats bev - uk basketball forums
| #permalink |
Wacky Racers
The highlight of the South London sporting Bank Holiday weekend had to be the British National Solid Tyre Championship that was raced out at a not so blistering pace at Herne Hill Velodrome on Good Friday. That's Penny Farthings farting about to you and me.
A bumper Bank Holiday crowd turned out at the famous old SE24 circuit as part of a Fun Friday race meeting which included events for serious club racers, commuters, kids and the courier community. Plus old timers of course who must wince at such modern day inventions as back breaks and handlebars.
Riding cycles that date back to the 1830's, some of the competitors wouldn’t have looked out of place in the same era, although fair play to the old boys for mounting a museum piece and then defying gravity by giving it a spin around an Olympic circuit boasting bankings rising to a bone shaking 50 degree angle.
The Fun Friday event also staged some serious racing with a series of sprints and long distance duration events. Thankfully the coffin dodgers didn't stick around for the twenty five mile 'Winner Takes It All' grand finale, which otherwise would have had to be re-named 'Loser Turns Off The Floodlights' event.
Off the track and the day was two-wheel heaven for any serious city riders; where else can you find a dedicated Bike Car Boot Sale? A bit of an oxymoron, but you get the idea. As the riders raced around the track, rhythm was kept by the London School of Samba who pumped out the perfect pace as the cycling became more competitive.
Having housed Olympic events in 1948, the future of Herne Hill Velodrome looks promising with a dedicated Trust set up with the aim of generating £6m to modernise the circuit. Track roofing, gym facilities and a new clubhouse will all give the track a 21st Century feel. Penny Farthing fanciers won't know what's hit them.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
herne hill velodrome
| Friday 9 April, 2004 |
The highlight of the South London sporting Bank Holiday weekend had to be the British National Solid Tyre Championship that was raced out at a not so blistering pace at Herne Hill Velodrome on Good Friday. That's Penny Farthings farting about to you and me.
A bumper Bank Holiday crowd turned out at the famous old SE24 circuit as part of a Fun Friday race meeting which included events for serious club racers, commuters, kids and the courier community. Plus old timers of course who must wince at such modern day inventions as back breaks and handlebars.
That’s Penny Farthings farting about to you and me |
The Fun Friday event also staged some serious racing with a series of sprints and long distance duration events. Thankfully the coffin dodgers didn't stick around for the twenty five mile 'Winner Takes It All' grand finale, which otherwise would have had to be re-named 'Loser Turns Off The Floodlights' event.
Off the track and the day was two-wheel heaven for any serious city riders; where else can you find a dedicated Bike Car Boot Sale? A bit of an oxymoron, but you get the idea. As the riders raced around the track, rhythm was kept by the London School of Samba who pumped out the perfect pace as the cycling became more competitive.
Having housed Olympic events in 1948, the future of Herne Hill Velodrome looks promising with a dedicated Trust set up with the aim of generating £6m to modernise the circuit. Track roofing, gym facilities and a new clubhouse will all give the track a 21st Century feel. Penny Farthing fanciers won't know what's hit them.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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herne hill velodrome
| #permalink |
Phat Lace
With a hour or so kill in-between a busy schedule of FIVE hockey matches in Nottingham last weekend, I decided to road test the wonderful new Sony F717. Taking a gamble with an afternoon of April showers, I took my chances and headed East off to the Lace Market, a short stroll from the fantastic NIC.
As the name suggests, this is the heart of the old industrial sector of the fair city. Although some token tourist lace factories still exist, the main industry now is sadly leisure with faceless, soulless and always empty upmarket crap coffee shops seen on most street corners.
Funky urban grooves bang out as you sit back and take stock as to exactly WHY you have just forked out £2.50 for a mug of processed frothy filth while some clueless Giles Peterson wannabe bangs out some dodgy third rate nu soul shite on a couple of decks.
The FLASH-turbation heavy Lace Market website suggests that the area is sadly a Shoreditch waiting to happen.
Shit shops aside, the Lace Market still boasts the classic red brick architecture from its industrial heyday. Every twist and turn leads to a new alleyway with buildings and street corners curving around into one another.
Just down the road is the unlikely location where Paul Smith launched his fashion empire. The original shop is still trading, but bearing in mind that I bulked at £2.50 for a coffee, you can safely assume that my Y-fronts draw hasn't been blessed with a pair of thirty quid Paul Smith shreddies over the past few days. Actually, it hasn't been blessed with ANY new shreddies at all in the past two years or so, but that’s a different matter.
Down the hill from the Lace Market is Hockley, an area of Nottingham that is generally thought of as the boho quarter. Bit of a slag heap in the evenings though. No, it really is a slag heap, full of fur coat and no knickers knocking about as the twatish bars begin to empty.
The fantastic Boroadway cinema is situated just off Hockley, as is Revolution, an enjoyable DJ bar by day, a bit of a 'get yer iPod, you've pulled' paradise by night.
Urban regeneration, loft living and pissheads pissing on your doorstep in the early hours. Best bit has to be the graffiti.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Thursday 8 April, 2004 |
With a hour or so kill in-between a busy schedule of FIVE hockey matches in Nottingham last weekend, I decided to road test the wonderful new Sony F717. Taking a gamble with an afternoon of April showers, I took my chances and headed East off to the Lace Market, a short stroll from the fantastic NIC.
As the name suggests, this is the heart of the old industrial sector of the fair city. Although some token tourist lace factories still exist, the main industry now is sadly leisure with faceless, soulless and always empty upmarket crap coffee shops seen on most street corners.
No, it really is a slag heap |
The FLASH-turbation heavy Lace Market website suggests that the area is sadly a Shoreditch waiting to happen.
Shit shops aside, the Lace Market still boasts the classic red brick architecture from its industrial heyday. Every twist and turn leads to a new alleyway with buildings and street corners curving around into one another.
Just down the road is the unlikely location where Paul Smith launched his fashion empire. The original shop is still trading, but bearing in mind that I bulked at £2.50 for a coffee, you can safely assume that my Y-fronts draw hasn't been blessed with a pair of thirty quid Paul Smith shreddies over the past few days. Actually, it hasn't been blessed with ANY new shreddies at all in the past two years or so, but that’s a different matter.
Down the hill from the Lace Market is Hockley, an area of Nottingham that is generally thought of as the boho quarter. Bit of a slag heap in the evenings though. No, it really is a slag heap, full of fur coat and no knickers knocking about as the twatish bars begin to empty.
The fantastic Boroadway cinema is situated just off Hockley, as is Revolution, an enjoyable DJ bar by day, a bit of a 'get yer iPod, you've pulled' paradise by night.
Urban regeneration, loft living and pissheads pissing on your doorstep in the early hours. Best bit has to be the graffiti.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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| #permalink |
Crap Play Off Report
Last Man Standing at the Play Offs (and it's not the London Racers...)
Elite League first semi-final: Cardiff Devils 0 Sheffield Steelers 2, 03/04/04
It seems that the Elite League play off finals weekend has now become the perfect platform to launch a new team by announcing to a captive hockey crowd the latest addition to the top league. Anyone else notice the Streatham Redskins billboard banners at the NIC? Whoops. April Fools was last week. Still, they were saying the same thing this time last year when a North London EPL side proposed a push up to Elite level. Twelve months on and the London Racers have successfully completed their first franchise season. Well, we've completed it anyway.
All eight Elite teams proudly displayed their logos down at rinkside this year. It was kind of symbolic that the proud Wing and Wheel of the Racers was situated by the door to the penalty box, seeing as though most other teams and fans have been slashing over us, so to speak all season long.
Never have so many Racers fans been gathered in one block since Oscar the Dog had that little mishap in the Clock End last month. Taking up my seat ten minutes into the first game (old habits die hard), I was pleased to find that I had the perfect view to catch all the action, sitting directly above the cheerleaders. Who needs hockey with a weekend of latex lovelies dressed up in some ill fitting condom inspired costume to look at?
Speaking of the Sheffield Steelers, like a school girl sissy playground fighter, it soon became clear that everyone's favourite team had turned up with the sole intention of clutching and grabbing their way to the end of season trophy.
The constant break in play as Steelers wore down the Devils with their dirty play was only made bearable with the Lee Valley Bike Shed 'Friday Night is Hockey Night' bangin’ choons department being transported en masse up the M1 for one weekend only. None of this DJ Otzi, Village People and Bryan bloody Adams nonsense. Tom Petty, Madness, Jan Garbarek and the Hilliard Ensemble – they were all there. Actually, I was lying about the last one, but the master saxophonist would have been the perfect partner to soundtrack the perennially pessimistic Panthers fans.
With the sell out NIC crowd boasting supporters from all eight Elite teams, most of the neutral support was cheering on the Devils. Strange that. The last time there was so many sheepshaggers in the fair city was when Derby County played Forest.
Back on the ice and the Devils were failing to make the most of their chances – a bit like me with the Lee Valley Shots on Target Babe. I would love to be the Last Man Standing as the Mistress of the Lamp presses her buzzer. He who dares, Rodders, he who dares.
2-0 to the Steelers in a game that was tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm. I missed both goals as I was too busy admiring the cheerleaders, who also had arses tighter than...
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
Elite league second semi-final: Nottm Panthers 6 Manchester Phoenix 1, 03/04/04
The weekend saw two old boys of British ice hockey bow out and head off home on the next Boeing. With Mike Ware waving goodbye in the earlier game (not a dry eye in the house, but plenty of black ones), the second semi was the final fling for Rick Brebant. And boy, has Ricky boy had some flings in his time (Durham, Cardiff, Nottingham, Newcastle, Manchester, London, Sheffield – a boy in every port no doubt). And so farewell then Little and Large, Arthur and Martha, Beauty and the Beast. But if anyone else calls Brebant a beast then I'll lamp them, if Mad Mike doesn't beat me to it first.
After a slow start to the game, Craighead hit form for the Panthers by hitting forty for the season. That's forty GOALS, not opponents. The first period saw penalties aplenty. Not exactly the most physical of games, more to do with referee Hanson wanting to steal the headlines. How about: 'Rotund Ref Ruins Rumble?'
Phoenix were always behind the pace as Panthers treated the game as a practise session, knowing that bigger fish were waiting should they win through. But let's not carp on about the Steelers. Panthers played some truly wonderful passing hockey, catching Phoenix on the fly (fish, ha ha) time and time again.
With a place in Sunday's final against their M1 rivals secured, the over-cocky home fans at the NIC then started to taunt their Quo loving, silly dancing Steeler friends with a 'Champions' chant. That will be the Challenge Cup champions of course. This is a bit like Blackpool fans (winners of the prestigious LDV Vans Trophy least we forget) turning up on FA Cup final morning and declaring themselves footballing supremos.
Credit to the Phoenix fans; their team was crashing out of the play offs and during this unpleasant intrusion of local rivalry, which had no relevance to the game taking place on the ice, kept on cheering home the boys in black.
The predictable goal fest followed for the Panthers which was all nice to see, but it meant that the pesky Panthers fans drowned out the wonderful Tom Petty from the PA. Unforgivable.
6-1 the final score, setting up the showpiece Panthers Vs Steelers final that the sport needed during what has been a difficult year. Hat trick hero Craighead was given Man of the Match for the home team. It will take more than some hat trickery to hide that hideous hair style.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
Elite League Play Off Final: Nottm Panthers 1 Sheffield Steelers 2, 04/04/04
'Tickets wanted, tickets wanted' was the cry coming from a Panthers fan outside the NIC ahead of face off. Makes a change from the usual Panthers plea of 'Team wanted' come play off weekend.
You know you're stuck out in Racers neutral no mans land when the biggest cheer of the night greets the arrival of Mr Zamboni on the ice. Who to support - Panthers or Steelers? A rock and a hard place. The Devil and the deep blue sea. Underperforming pussycats or smug Steelers? I think I'll just sit on my hands to be honest and admire the cheerleaders. I said SIT on my hands.
With both teams already one trophy up for the season, this was the contest to see who would be top dog in British hockey, 2004. Oscar not withstanding of course.
It was nice to see that laughing boy Nigel is treated with the same respect around the rinks that we reserve for the whistle blower down at the Lee Valley Bike Shed. Different day, same shit refereeing from Boniface.
Like a couple of romping Rottweilers, both teams sniffed each other out in the first period before the real bump and grind got underway. I trust they were both wearing protection. 0-0 at the end of the first and there is no finer setting than a play off final for The Voice of the Bike Shed to shout out: 'Sheffield Steelers NOTHING!!!!'
The omens weren't good for the home team when a Panthers fan holding ticket number 4666 won a signed players shirt at the first period break. We have to assume that the number of the beast on the back belonged to Craighead.
Panthers fought back well after going a goal down, only to find themselves chasing the game yet again after scoring and then allowing Steelers to score a speedy second. Not the greatest of finals with both coaches playing a cagey cat and mouse game.
The Giants fans drew the weekend to a close by starting off a 'Stand up if your team's not here' chant. Nice touch, but as a Racers fan, I could have got this one underway back in November.
Top Five Play Off Rumours:
• London Racers will play in the Elite League next season.
• Rick Brebant is to set up a hockey school for young boys.
• Sheffield Steelers are going to sign a Brit player.
• Panther's GM Gary Moran is to launch his own voice gargle product.
• Tony Hand will sign for, oh god, who really cares?
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
Crap Match Report Compendium
london racers official site
london racers vid clips
| Wednesday 7 April, 2004 |
Last Man Standing at the Play Offs (and it's not the London Racers...)
Elite League first semi-final: Cardiff Devils 0 Sheffield Steelers 2, 03/04/04
It seems that the Elite League play off finals weekend has now become the perfect platform to launch a new team by announcing to a captive hockey crowd the latest addition to the top league. Anyone else notice the Streatham Redskins billboard banners at the NIC? Whoops. April Fools was last week. Still, they were saying the same thing this time last year when a North London EPL side proposed a push up to Elite level. Twelve months on and the London Racers have successfully completed their first franchise season. Well, we've completed it anyway.
All eight Elite teams proudly displayed their logos down at rinkside this year. It was kind of symbolic that the proud Wing and Wheel of the Racers was situated by the door to the penalty box, seeing as though most other teams and fans have been slashing over us, so to speak all season long.
The game was tighter than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm |
Speaking of the Sheffield Steelers, like a school girl sissy playground fighter, it soon became clear that everyone's favourite team had turned up with the sole intention of clutching and grabbing their way to the end of season trophy.
The constant break in play as Steelers wore down the Devils with their dirty play was only made bearable with the Lee Valley Bike Shed 'Friday Night is Hockey Night' bangin’ choons department being transported en masse up the M1 for one weekend only. None of this DJ Otzi, Village People and Bryan bloody Adams nonsense. Tom Petty, Madness, Jan Garbarek and the Hilliard Ensemble – they were all there. Actually, I was lying about the last one, but the master saxophonist would have been the perfect partner to soundtrack the perennially pessimistic Panthers fans.
With the sell out NIC crowd boasting supporters from all eight Elite teams, most of the neutral support was cheering on the Devils. Strange that. The last time there was so many sheepshaggers in the fair city was when Derby County played Forest.
Back on the ice and the Devils were failing to make the most of their chances – a bit like me with the Lee Valley Shots on Target Babe. I would love to be the Last Man Standing as the Mistress of the Lamp presses her buzzer. He who dares, Rodders, he who dares.
2-0 to the Steelers in a game that was tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm. I missed both goals as I was too busy admiring the cheerleaders, who also had arses tighter than...
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Elite league second semi-final: Nottm Panthers 6 Manchester Phoenix 1, 03/04/04
The weekend saw two old boys of British ice hockey bow out and head off home on the next Boeing. With Mike Ware waving goodbye in the earlier game (not a dry eye in the house, but plenty of black ones), the second semi was the final fling for Rick Brebant. And boy, has Ricky boy had some flings in his time (Durham, Cardiff, Nottingham, Newcastle, Manchester, London, Sheffield – a boy in every port no doubt). And so farewell then Little and Large, Arthur and Martha, Beauty and the Beast. But if anyone else calls Brebant a beast then I'll lamp them, if Mad Mike doesn't beat me to it first.
After a slow start to the game, Craighead hit form for the Panthers by hitting forty for the season. That's forty GOALS, not opponents. The first period saw penalties aplenty. Not exactly the most physical of games, more to do with referee Hanson wanting to steal the headlines. How about: 'Rotund Ref Ruins Rumble?'
That's forty GOALS, not opponents |
With a place in Sunday's final against their M1 rivals secured, the over-cocky home fans at the NIC then started to taunt their Quo loving, silly dancing Steeler friends with a 'Champions' chant. That will be the Challenge Cup champions of course. This is a bit like Blackpool fans (winners of the prestigious LDV Vans Trophy least we forget) turning up on FA Cup final morning and declaring themselves footballing supremos.
Credit to the Phoenix fans; their team was crashing out of the play offs and during this unpleasant intrusion of local rivalry, which had no relevance to the game taking place on the ice, kept on cheering home the boys in black.
The predictable goal fest followed for the Panthers which was all nice to see, but it meant that the pesky Panthers fans drowned out the wonderful Tom Petty from the PA. Unforgivable.
6-1 the final score, setting up the showpiece Panthers Vs Steelers final that the sport needed during what has been a difficult year. Hat trick hero Craighead was given Man of the Match for the home team. It will take more than some hat trickery to hide that hideous hair style.
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Elite League Play Off Final: Nottm Panthers 1 Sheffield Steelers 2, 04/04/04
'Tickets wanted, tickets wanted' was the cry coming from a Panthers fan outside the NIC ahead of face off. Makes a change from the usual Panthers plea of 'Team wanted' come play off weekend.
You know you're stuck out in Racers neutral no mans land when the biggest cheer of the night greets the arrival of Mr Zamboni on the ice. Who to support - Panthers or Steelers? A rock and a hard place. The Devil and the deep blue sea. Underperforming pussycats or smug Steelers? I think I'll just sit on my hands to be honest and admire the cheerleaders. I said SIT on my hands.
Sheffield Steelers NOTHING!!!! |
It was nice to see that laughing boy Nigel is treated with the same respect around the rinks that we reserve for the whistle blower down at the Lee Valley Bike Shed. Different day, same shit refereeing from Boniface.
Like a couple of romping Rottweilers, both teams sniffed each other out in the first period before the real bump and grind got underway. I trust they were both wearing protection. 0-0 at the end of the first and there is no finer setting than a play off final for The Voice of the Bike Shed to shout out: 'Sheffield Steelers NOTHING!!!!'
The omens weren't good for the home team when a Panthers fan holding ticket number 4666 won a signed players shirt at the first period break. We have to assume that the number of the beast on the back belonged to Craighead.
Panthers fought back well after going a goal down, only to find themselves chasing the game yet again after scoring and then allowing Steelers to score a speedy second. Not the greatest of finals with both coaches playing a cagey cat and mouse game.
The Giants fans drew the weekend to a close by starting off a 'Stand up if your team's not here' chant. Nice touch, but as a Racers fan, I could have got this one underway back in November.
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Top Five Play Off Rumours:
• London Racers will play in the Elite League next season.
• Rick Brebant is to set up a hockey school for young boys.
• Sheffield Steelers are going to sign a Brit player.
• Panther's GM Gary Moran is to launch his own voice gargle product.
• Tony Hand will sign for, oh god, who really cares?
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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Crap Match Report Compendium
london racers official site
london racers vid clips
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Last Person to Have Idea, Turn off Lights
Apologies if you are of a delicate nature and the above image has left you with your head stuck down the toilet bowl for the rest of the evening. I've received a personal brief from the tiresome Tories to come up with a poster campaign themed along the lines of 'Let Down by Labour.'
Well, actually the cheap (and stooopid) as chips Conservatives are so low on election fighting funds these days that they have come begging to the great unwashed (that's anyone not earning £80k plus) and asked us all to come up with a slogan to get rid of Mr Tony and his brown nosers.
How about: New Labour are Douchbags?
Does the trick.
I am one of the first in the long line of people waiting underneath a sign that said 'queue here if you have been let down by New Labour.' Bollocks though if I'm going to give my vote to some right wing bigots who understand the cost of everything and the value of nothing. Double bollocks with big balloons if I'm going to do their dirty work for them as well.
The Tories have built their proud reputation by being masters of shit slinging during election campaigns and they seem to get some perverse pleasure in finding themselves knee deep in the brown stuff. Just think back to the Major years.
I'm not expecting to get the call from Head Office requesting the original of my crap cut and paste effort, but that doesn't necessarily mean of course that you won't being seeing it at a bus stop near you soon ;-)
Should I submit my entry to Tory HQ? You decide...
| Wednesday 7 April, 2004 |
Apologies if you are of a delicate nature and the above image has left you with your head stuck down the toilet bowl for the rest of the evening. I've received a personal brief from the tiresome Tories to come up with a poster campaign themed along the lines of 'Let Down by Labour.'
Well, actually the cheap (and stooopid) as chips Conservatives are so low on election fighting funds these days that they have come begging to the great unwashed (that's anyone not earning £80k plus) and asked us all to come up with a slogan to get rid of Mr Tony and his brown nosers.
How about: New Labour are Douchbags?
Does the trick.
I am one of the first in the long line of people waiting underneath a sign that said 'queue here if you have been let down by New Labour.' Bollocks though if I'm going to give my vote to some right wing bigots who understand the cost of everything and the value of nothing. Double bollocks with big balloons if I'm going to do their dirty work for them as well.
The Tories have built their proud reputation by being masters of shit slinging during election campaigns and they seem to get some perverse pleasure in finding themselves knee deep in the brown stuff. Just think back to the Major years.
I'm not expecting to get the call from Head Office requesting the original of my crap cut and paste effort, but that doesn't necessarily mean of course that you won't being seeing it at a bus stop near you soon ;-)
Should I submit my entry to Tory HQ? You decide...
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May the Task Force be Without You
Nottingham rocked; the hockey was heavenly, there was no shortage of poncey bars where I could wind up the locals by ordering endless pots of (overpriced) tea and as you can see from above, some gifted graffiti kid has a great sense of humour.
Full hockey report to follow later...
| Monday 5 April, 2004 |
Nottingham rocked; the hockey was heavenly, there was no shortage of poncey bars where I could wind up the locals by ordering endless pots of (overpriced) tea and as you can see from above, some gifted graffiti kid has a great sense of humour.
Full hockey report to follow later...
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Talk Amongst Yourselves...
I've got five hockey matches to watch in one weekend.
| Friday 2 April, 2004 |
I've got five hockey matches to watch in one weekend.
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