onionbagblog
Soul Lovin' Saturday
The Temptations
The Way You Do the Things You Do
'I'm holding you so tight,
You know you could have been a handle.'
Holland, Holland and Lamont-Dozier too, are here to make it all OK for you...
technorati: the temptations
| Saturday 30 September, 2006 |
The Temptations
The Way You Do the Things You Do
'I'm holding you so tight,
You know you could have been a handle.'
Holland, Holland and Lamont-Dozier too, are here to make it all OK for you...
technorati: the temptations
| #permalink |
Bench Warmer
Today I bought a garden bench; I am now officially a bloke. This is the definitive definition of bloke-dom. Ownership of a step ladder signifies the partial transition from boy to bloke. I have been a boy for far too long. Bye bye all night benders, hello to bloke-dom.
But bench buying wasn't that easy. Visits to a couple of Garden Centres at East Dulwich didn't put me on the path to bloke-dom. Garden Centre #1 was staffed by a South London Yoof who definitely wasn't a bloke.
'Does this plant require much sunlight?'
'Don't know Bruv - I only work here at the weekends.'
He probably spends the rest of his working week applying the Clearasil.
Around the corner at Garden Centre #2 was a little better on the bloke front, but I remained benchless. Staffed by a real bloke (the ease in which he bent down and lobbed a live slug over the fence with his bare hands was truly a feat to be admired,) but sadly no bench action. I did leave some two hundred quid lighter, although slightly heavier with some unpronounceable Mediterranean tree ('which tree requires the least maintenance?)
And so a cycle up town to John Lewis. When in doubt, make a move on the Never Knowingly Undersold megastore. Shame that the Never Knowingly Undersold policy doesn't extend to the modern interweb.
Frustrated by crap shops in Croydon / East Dulwich and then giving in to the Middle England family favourite store has been a familiar pattern in recent months. onionbagblog HQ II now looks more like a centre spread from the Mail on Sunday Homes section. Long gone is the contemporary urban anarchist living space. That's been left behind for the definitely un-bloke obb HQ I tenant (not too sure about his profession; he talks a lot about 'social interaction, v2.0 and gorilla activities.' He also pays the rent each month, allowing me to make the move to bloke-dom.)
But bugger me - when did John Lewis turn into a pikey pound store? I followed the signs to the Outdoor Garden section (what is an Indoor Garden anyway?) I turned the corner expecting to see blokes and benches. Instead I got Good King Wenceslas with the John Lewis Christmas section.
The gardens are temporarily gone, now replaced with wall to wall glitter.
A John Lewis bloke (most definitely a bloke, he too seemed aggrieved at the lack of garden action) did his best to help me buy a bench. He pulled up a picture on the modern interweb, and even produced a wood sample of my preferred bench.
But you really need to sit on a bench before you buy it. I'm all for wife shopping online, but once again, you have to do the test drive first.
Other weekend commitments were fast approaching and I wanted a fucking bench. Bish bosh, Never Knowingly Undersold and please deliver ASAP.
I need a sit down now.
technorati: garden bench
| Saturday 30 September, 2006 |
Today I bought a garden bench; I am now officially a bloke. This is the definitive definition of bloke-dom. Ownership of a step ladder signifies the partial transition from boy to bloke. I have been a boy for far too long. Bye bye all night benders, hello to bloke-dom.
 He talks a lot about gorilla activities |
'Does this plant require much sunlight?'
'Don't know Bruv - I only work here at the weekends.'
He probably spends the rest of his working week applying the Clearasil.
Around the corner at Garden Centre #2 was a little better on the bloke front, but I remained benchless. Staffed by a real bloke (the ease in which he bent down and lobbed a live slug over the fence with his bare hands was truly a feat to be admired,) but sadly no bench action. I did leave some two hundred quid lighter, although slightly heavier with some unpronounceable Mediterranean tree ('which tree requires the least maintenance?)
And so a cycle up town to John Lewis. When in doubt, make a move on the Never Knowingly Undersold megastore. Shame that the Never Knowingly Undersold policy doesn't extend to the modern interweb.
Frustrated by crap shops in Croydon / East Dulwich and then giving in to the Middle England family favourite store has been a familiar pattern in recent months. onionbagblog HQ II now looks more like a centre spread from the Mail on Sunday Homes section. Long gone is the contemporary urban anarchist living space. That's been left behind for the definitely un-bloke obb HQ I tenant (not too sure about his profession; he talks a lot about 'social interaction, v2.0 and gorilla activities.' He also pays the rent each month, allowing me to make the move to bloke-dom.)
But bugger me - when did John Lewis turn into a pikey pound store? I followed the signs to the Outdoor Garden section (what is an Indoor Garden anyway?) I turned the corner expecting to see blokes and benches. Instead I got Good King Wenceslas with the John Lewis Christmas section.
The gardens are temporarily gone, now replaced with wall to wall glitter.
A John Lewis bloke (most definitely a bloke, he too seemed aggrieved at the lack of garden action) did his best to help me buy a bench. He pulled up a picture on the modern interweb, and even produced a wood sample of my preferred bench.
But you really need to sit on a bench before you buy it. I'm all for wife shopping online, but once again, you have to do the test drive first.
Other weekend commitments were fast approaching and I wanted a fucking bench. Bish bosh, Never Knowingly Undersold and please deliver ASAP.
I need a sit down now.
technorati: garden bench
| #permalink |
That Sinking Feeling
And so where would you rather be sitting in South London right now? Second from bottom of the Premiership in SE7 looking up, or second from bottom in Divison One (yeah, right...) looking up?
Millwall swing it marginally for me, only because I wouldn't fancy having Neil Warnock coming up from behind.
It's not been the best of starts to the new season for both Charlton and Millwall. New managers at The Valley and The Den (and again...) - welcome to the new boss, same as the old boss.
Iain Dowie may have a little more charisma than Curbs, but he's lacking in the points tally that his predecessor usually clocked up before the clocks go back. The best thing you can say about Nigel Spackman is that he is carrying on the club tradition at Millwall for the past few seasons - sinking without a trace.
But don't panic South London football fans - look over your shoulder towards Selhurst for some inspiration. Pal-arse are sitting pretty, fifth in the Championship. But can you name a single Palace player? Um, does that geezer with the trackies still play in goal? AJ's had his away day and wasn't Dougie Freedman once famous?
It's saying something when the highest profile (and probably paid) person at your club is a man dressed as a giant Terry's Orange who writes out the cheques each month. And so take heart Addicks and Lion fans - you may be looking like dead certs for relegation, but lying in the gutter and looking up at the stars is a less dazzling experience than having to look at your suntanned chairman every morning.
technorati: charlton
| Friday 29 September, 2006 |
And so where would you rather be sitting in South London right now? Second from bottom of the Premiership in SE7 looking up, or second from bottom in Divison One (yeah, right...) looking up?
Don't panic, South London football fans |
It's not been the best of starts to the new season for both Charlton and Millwall. New managers at The Valley and The Den (and again...) - welcome to the new boss, same as the old boss.
Iain Dowie may have a little more charisma than Curbs, but he's lacking in the points tally that his predecessor usually clocked up before the clocks go back. The best thing you can say about Nigel Spackman is that he is carrying on the club tradition at Millwall for the past few seasons - sinking without a trace.
But don't panic South London football fans - look over your shoulder towards Selhurst for some inspiration. Pal-arse are sitting pretty, fifth in the Championship. But can you name a single Palace player? Um, does that geezer with the trackies still play in goal? AJ's had his away day and wasn't Dougie Freedman once famous?
It's saying something when the highest profile (and probably paid) person at your club is a man dressed as a giant Terry's Orange who writes out the cheques each month. And so take heart Addicks and Lion fans - you may be looking like dead certs for relegation, but lying in the gutter and looking up at the stars is a less dazzling experience than having to look at your suntanned chairman every morning.
technorati: charlton
| #permalink |
Foot Shufflin' Friday
The Formations
At the Top of the Stairs
...is darkness.
technorati: the formations
| Friday 29 September, 2006 |
The Formations
At the Top of the Stairs
...is darkness.
technorati: the formations
| #permalink |
Twinkle Toes
Anyone fortunate enough to have seen Mark Ramprakash at The Oval this summer will confirm that the Surrey batsman has fancy feet. It's all about bat to ball timing. The man they call The Twinkle Toes of SE11 has hit over 2,000 first class runs for Surrey this season, rightly rewarded with Ramps being voted Player of the Year by his fellow pros this week.
But when an old cricketer leaves the crease, next up comes the dilemma of how to fill the winter months. Hitting the Aussies for six Down Under is what Ramps deserves. But having missed out on the Ashes squad, Twinkle Toes has decided that filling the dark days of winter with afternoons in the bookies and being dragged around Blue Water by Mrs Ramps is not befitting of a cricketing legend.
Following in the elephant foot steps of Darren Gough, Surrey's favourite son will strut his stuff on Strictly Come Dancing on our TV screens over the next few months. For a man use to wearing spandex pajamas in public on a Sunday afternoon, the catsuit of Come Dancing shouldn't come as too much of a shock.
But there's a mighty big credibility gap between slogging Shane Warne for six and then stepping on Carol Smillie's toes. Both are equally rewarding, although I reckon one pays a lot higher than the other.
Good luck Twinkle Toes, just don't forget to insert your box inside your catsuit when Brucie delivers a few bouncers in your direction.
technorati: mark ramprakash
| Thursday 28 September, 2006 |
Anyone fortunate enough to have seen Mark Ramprakash at The Oval this summer will confirm that the Surrey batsman has fancy feet. It's all about bat to ball timing. The man they call The Twinkle Toes of SE11 has hit over 2,000 first class runs for Surrey this season, rightly rewarded with Ramps being voted Player of the Year by his fellow pros this week.
But when an old cricketer leaves the crease, next up comes the dilemma of how to fill the winter months. Hitting the Aussies for six Down Under is what Ramps deserves. But having missed out on the Ashes squad, Twinkle Toes has decided that filling the dark days of winter with afternoons in the bookies and being dragged around Blue Water by Mrs Ramps is not befitting of a cricketing legend.
Following in the elephant foot steps of Darren Gough, Surrey's favourite son will strut his stuff on Strictly Come Dancing on our TV screens over the next few months. For a man use to wearing spandex pajamas in public on a Sunday afternoon, the catsuit of Come Dancing shouldn't come as too much of a shock.
But there's a mighty big credibility gap between slogging Shane Warne for six and then stepping on Carol Smillie's toes. Both are equally rewarding, although I reckon one pays a lot higher than the other.
Good luck Twinkle Toes, just don't forget to insert your box inside your catsuit when Brucie delivers a few bouncers in your direction.
technorati: mark ramprakash
| #permalink |
Catch Up Thursday
Easy Star All Stars
Exit Music (For a Dub)
'We hope that you choke,
That you choke.'
We all know that Seven Days is Too Long with out a bit of foot stomin' soul. But even God needed to rest one day of the week. I hereby propose that the fourth day of the week now be known as Catch Up Thursday.
A time to step back (or forward, actually,) just to show that I have some playlists on the iPod that AREN'T entitled Fucking ACE Tamla / Northern Soul / Dance Yer Tits Off Oblivious to the Fact that the Music of the Gods is getting on for Four Fucking Decades Ago Now.
I can't promise anything contemporary. Paul Weller will probably crop up a bit.
And so where to start?
Um...
A quick flick through the Pod (recently under intensive care after the evil upgrade of iTunes 7.0) finds that there's not been a lot of new activity in the past few months. I keep on coming back to Radiodread.
Aye.
technorati: radiodread
| Thursday 28 September, 2006 |
Easy Star All Stars
Exit Music (For a Dub)
'We hope that you choke,
That you choke.'
We all know that Seven Days is Too Long with out a bit of foot stomin' soul. But even God needed to rest one day of the week. I hereby propose that the fourth day of the week now be known as Catch Up Thursday.
A time to step back (or forward, actually,) just to show that I have some playlists on the iPod that AREN'T entitled Fucking ACE Tamla / Northern Soul / Dance Yer Tits Off Oblivious to the Fact that the Music of the Gods is getting on for Four Fucking Decades Ago Now.
I can't promise anything contemporary. Paul Weller will probably crop up a bit.
And so where to start?
Um...
A quick flick through the Pod (recently under intensive care after the evil upgrade of iTunes 7.0) finds that there's not been a lot of new activity in the past few months. I keep on coming back to Radiodread.
Aye.
technorati: radiodread
| #permalink |
Midweek Motown
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
No One There
A seriously good and a seriously underrated bit of midweek Motown from Martha. Golly gosh - I've got months of this Music of the Gods stuff stored up...
technorati: martha reeves
| Wednesday 27 September, 2006 |
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
No One There
A seriously good and a seriously underrated bit of midweek Motown from Martha. Golly gosh - I've got months of this Music of the Gods stuff stored up...
technorati: martha reeves
| #permalink |
Economical
I'm not great with figures, and as these images suggest, I'm not that great with my seven inch super zone right now either. It was with some trepidation that I entered enemy territory for a Way We See It shoot in SW1. Capturing cash crazy capitalists The Economist magazine HQ was my mission. Shoot on sight. Or even site.
It takes some knobber capitalist ego to name a bona fide London street after yourself. But Economist Plaza (pleeease...) befits the free market malarkey beloved of the capitalist knobbers. Boring, bland and bloody difficult to capture on camera.
The highlight was a lame water feature covered in algae crap around the corner from the main entrance. The new onionbagblog HQ II garden has more aesthetic appeal, and that's with the bloodyfly worm farm positioned in the corner of the patio.
Sure, a skilful photographer adapts to any situation. But I was shit bored and wanted to spunk some money away up town. I didn't hang around for long; three minutes and three hit and miss images.
Like the economy, my interest was at an all time low. What will it take to get me geared up for The Economist? Thatnice knobber Dave Cameron coming to power and fucking up on all things fiscal?
Never trust a Tory twat.
technorati: the economist
| Wednesday 27 September, 2006 |
I'm not great with figures, and as these images suggest, I'm not that great with my seven inch super zone right now either. It was with some trepidation that I entered enemy territory for a Way We See It shoot in SW1. Capturing cash crazy capitalists The Economist magazine HQ was my mission. Shoot on sight. Or even site.
Never trust a Tory twat |
The highlight was a lame water feature covered in algae crap around the corner from the main entrance. The new onionbagblog HQ II garden has more aesthetic appeal, and that's with the bloody
Sure, a skilful photographer adapts to any situation. But I was shit bored and wanted to spunk some money away up town. I didn't hang around for long; three minutes and three hit and miss images.
Like the economy, my interest was at an all time low. What will it take to get me geared up for The Economist? That
Never trust a Tory twat.
technorati: the economist
| #permalink |
Tamla Tuesday
Dena Barnes
If You Ever Walk Out of my Life
Boy Y: 'What's with the Keep the Faith T-shirt, four eyes?'
obb: 'I'm part of a religous cult that worships at the high altar of hedonism.'
Boy Y: 'You're fucking neeky, man.'
Play record...
technorati: dena barnes
| Tuesday 26 September, 2006 |
Dena Barnes
If You Ever Walk Out of my Life
Boy Y: 'What's with the Keep the Faith T-shirt, four eyes?'
obb: 'I'm part of a religous cult that worships at the high altar of hedonism.'
Boy Y: 'You're fucking neeky, man.'
Play record...
technorati: dena barnes
| #permalink |
Toot Toot
Well... it looks like there is only one day left in what has been the BEST South London Lido season EVER! Tooting Lido closes to the public on Saturday afternoon. If the wanky BBC webshite can be believed, Wednesday is sunny central over South London; here be bloody clouds come Thursday onwards.
And so the plan is to hit the commuting pelaton at school chucking out time tomorrow, be crowned King of the Mountain Brixton Hill climb once again, before sprinting through St Reatham and towards Tooting.
Ten lengths later (it's a bloody BIG pool) and by my reckoning, I'll have my fifteen minutes of fun in the South London sun.
I really have lived for Tooting Lido over the past month. Strange thing to say, possibly even sacrilegious coming from a Brockwell regular. But when MY Lido closed early over the August Bank Holiday, what was a boy about town with a fetish for swimming in a large, open air, unheated South London pool to do?
Overlooking the indoor bit, Brixton is bloody closed again. Clap'ham and I haven't exactly seen eye to eye ever since I saw eye to eye with a freshly laid turd in the gents' changing room.
It seems like an age away since the heady days of early June when I was a Brockwell regular for the breakfast, lunch and late shift. I remember the first morning submerging into the early summer fresh water, swimming with a duck and then smiling for the rest of the day at school like a mad fucker who has just necked a bottle of Viagra. It's not often I get that sensation at school.
The Lido helped me through the heatwave of July, and the first sightings of swimmers' rage were seen at 6:45 in a South London outdoor pool, such was the popularity of the Lido during World Cup month.
August was alright, albeit a bit wet. I learnt the pleasures of swimming during a downpour, plus I managed to get matey with the poor lifeguards who I think were just glad of the company underneath their umbrellas.
I really thought that the game was up at the end of the Bank Holiday. mrs onionbagblogger and I had a timely dip during a torrential downpour, and I left Brockwell with dark thoughts of nine months of watching Dulwich as my only 'entertainment' during the winter months.
But then just as my six week Lido holiday was coming to a close, the Indian summer descended over South London. It was much the same last year, although I missed out on the Tooting experience, too busy 'elsewhere' on the work front.
Bye bye to all that bollocks this year (well, actually...) and so Tooting and I have been making waves for the past month.
My initial thoughts of Brockwell betrayal were soon forgotten. THE Lido shunned me in September for a facelift. I didn't really give a fuck to be honest, and so instead pampered the more mature model that has seen better days, yet still craves attention.
I wasn't alone. All the old Brockwell crowd have joined me in the border hop from SE24 to SW16. Getting reacquainted with familiar naked flesh has been like picking up a new porno mag and finding your own personal fave moonlighting elsewhere as the centre spread.
And so a big shout to Mr G-String and his Amazing Ball of Edam Trunks. Now please put it away for the winter months, Sir.
Tooting itself is steeped in history. I've swum the lengths and now I've even bought the book. A brilliantly researched read, with editorial guidance from the Cantilever King himself, Simon Inglis.
But even a Lido idealist has to accept that it will soon be time for the old cricketer to leave the crease. And that time will be 4:45 on Wednesday afternoon.
I'm not that committed to sign up to the South London Swimming Club, membership of which allows outdoor swimming in SW16 365 days a year. It's more of a romantic dream than the cold, hard reality for me. VERY cold reality I imagine once the water hits below zero.
Instead I shall store up the memories and take away four months of Lido love this summer.
See you all in eight months time.
technorati: tooting lido
| Tuesday 26 September, 2006 |
Well... it looks like there is only one day left in what has been the BEST South London Lido season EVER! Tooting Lido closes to the public on Saturday afternoon. If the wanky BBC webshite can be believed, Wednesday is sunny central over South London; here be bloody clouds come Thursday onwards.
Tooting and I have made waves |
Ten lengths later (it's a bloody BIG pool) and by my reckoning, I'll have my fifteen minutes of fun in the South London sun.
I really have lived for Tooting Lido over the past month. Strange thing to say, possibly even sacrilegious coming from a Brockwell regular. But when MY Lido closed early over the August Bank Holiday, what was a boy about town with a fetish for swimming in a large, open air, unheated South London pool to do?
Overlooking the indoor bit, Brixton is bloody closed again. Clap'ham and I haven't exactly seen eye to eye ever since I saw eye to eye with a freshly laid turd in the gents' changing room.
It seems like an age away since the heady days of early June when I was a Brockwell regular for the breakfast, lunch and late shift. I remember the first morning submerging into the early summer fresh water, swimming with a duck and then smiling for the rest of the day at school like a mad fucker who has just necked a bottle of Viagra. It's not often I get that sensation at school.
The Lido helped me through the heatwave of July, and the first sightings of swimmers' rage were seen at 6:45 in a South London outdoor pool, such was the popularity of the Lido during World Cup month.
August was alright, albeit a bit wet. I learnt the pleasures of swimming during a downpour, plus I managed to get matey with the poor lifeguards who I think were just glad of the company underneath their umbrellas.
I really thought that the game was up at the end of the Bank Holiday. mrs onionbagblogger and I had a timely dip during a torrential downpour, and I left Brockwell with dark thoughts of nine months of watching Dulwich as my only 'entertainment' during the winter months.
But then just as my six week Lido holiday was coming to a close, the Indian summer descended over South London. It was much the same last year, although I missed out on the Tooting experience, too busy 'elsewhere' on the work front.
Bye bye to all that bollocks this year (well, actually...) and so Tooting and I have been making waves for the past month.
My initial thoughts of Brockwell betrayal were soon forgotten. THE Lido shunned me in September for a facelift. I didn't really give a fuck to be honest, and so instead pampered the more mature model that has seen better days, yet still craves attention.
I wasn't alone. All the old Brockwell crowd have joined me in the border hop from SE24 to SW16. Getting reacquainted with familiar naked flesh has been like picking up a new porno mag and finding your own personal fave moonlighting elsewhere as the centre spread.
And so a big shout to Mr G-String and his Amazing Ball of Edam Trunks. Now please put it away for the winter months, Sir.
Tooting itself is steeped in history. I've swum the lengths and now I've even bought the book. A brilliantly researched read, with editorial guidance from the Cantilever King himself, Simon Inglis.
But even a Lido idealist has to accept that it will soon be time for the old cricketer to leave the crease. And that time will be 4:45 on Wednesday afternoon.
I'm not that committed to sign up to the South London Swimming Club, membership of which allows outdoor swimming in SW16 365 days a year. It's more of a romantic dream than the cold, hard reality for me. VERY cold reality I imagine once the water hits below zero.
Instead I shall store up the memories and take away four months of Lido love this summer.
See you all in eight months time.
technorati: tooting lido
| #permalink |
Motown Monday
Archie Bell and the Drells
There's Gonna be a Showdown
'Say man, they tell me you think you're pretty good
Don't you know you're in my neighborhood.'
...as I said to Sunny Stockwell's Vest Man as he strayed into my Oval territory earlier today.
technorati: archie bell
| Monday 25 September, 2006 |
Archie Bell and the Drells
There's Gonna be a Showdown
'Say man, they tell me you think you're pretty good
Don't you know you're in my neighborhood.'
...as I said to Sunny Stockwell's Vest Man as he strayed into my Oval territory earlier today.
technorati: archie bell
| #permalink |
Crap Match Report
Streatham Redskins 8 Solent Sharks 2, 25/09/06
A lot of hot air has been written about global warming, and I'm going to add some fuel to the fire. It can't be right that on a late September South London afternoon, I was tanning myself down at Tooting Bec Lido; less than two hours later and I was at Streatham High Road, watching the Redskins face off against Solent.
I put my thermals on at Tooting and my Speedos on at Streatham. I didn't know if I was Arthur or Martha, something that the Solent players no doubt also felt at the end of the third period following an 8-2 thrashing.
The visit of Solent to South London was the first home game of the new season for a fully beefed up Streatham after a summer of singings. The away leg of this fixture at the start of September saw Streatham skate off with a convincing 13-2 road win. Another one sided game was expected, but with Invicta, Cardiff and league new boys Romford all looking contenders this season, the goal tally could count come the end of the regular season.
The start of a new season and a new environmentally sound NO SMOKING policy was in place at the High Road. That must have pissed a few of the players off. But any hockey hunks wanting a puff (it takes a brave man to ask them) had the opportunity before face off with a new smoke themed entrance to introduce the players. Put that in yer pipe and smoke it.
The zero tolerance policy extends to the play as well this season. If you as much sneeze anywhere near an opponent then you will have a two minute minor slapped on you. Bless you. New International Ice Hockey Federation rules now mean that hockey is no longer a five on five skate.
No surprises then that the two goals in the first period came from specialist play. Wayne Trunchion netted a power play effort straight from a face off, and some Made in South London Joe Johnston magic gave Streatham a short handed second.
With Lambeth Council new Chief Executive Derrick Anderson watching from a seat nearby, the first period break was spent with mrs onionbagblogger bangin' on about how I should have a quiet word in his ear. She drew up a What's Wrong With Lambeth list (it was a long break), headed by high Council Tax bills, a lack of funding for Brockwell Lido and why the bloody hell does the bonkers Bible Basher boozer opposite onionbagblog HQ II broadcast amplified tambourine sounds at 2am on a Sunday morning?
But I bottled it and told Derrick that I liked his Christmas lights.
Streatham survived a five on three power play at the start of the second as my penalty sheet ran to two pages for the first time in over twenty five years of hockey watching. But soon there was a goal to record as Solent scored on a delayed, yep, you guessed it... penalty call. By now my date in bed (with MOTD II) was looking in danger.
It was hard work out there, especially for the Voice of the High Road Rink, whose clarification of the calls was like listening to a reading of War and Peace late night on Radio 4.
Streatham skated onto the ice at the start of the third defending a slender 2-1 lead. Not quite the turkey shoot as predicted, and not exactly bootiful either.
But Redskins were learning quick and came out playing a rough game, keeping the hard knocks within the rules. Work ethic alone was rewarded when Rob Rathbone forced home at 48:18. A fourth followed with Robert Blazowski, and suddenly my date with MOTD II was back on again. Back of the net!
Richard Hardy hit home a fifth and the goal tally was in danger of eclipsing the penalty count for the period.
Sharks were out of their depth as Rathbone banged in a sixth for Streatham. But jaws dropped as the Sharks scored a second. The Solent boys were finally sunk as Hardy scored a seventh, soon to be followed by Blazowski setting up a final score of Streatham 8, Solent 2.
Outside the High Road and the SW16 late September air was actually warmer than within.
'I blame Lambeth Council,' said mrs obb. 'Too much hot air.'
wot the TV cameras missed
The Zamboni Man of SW16
technorati: streatham redskins
| Monday 25 September, 2006 |
Streatham Redskins 8 Solent Sharks 2, 25/09/06
A lot of hot air has been written about global warming, and I'm going to add some fuel to the fire. It can't be right that on a late September South London afternoon, I was tanning myself down at Tooting Bec Lido; less than two hours later and I was at Streatham High Road, watching the Redskins face off against Solent.
I blame Lambeth Council |
The visit of Solent to South London was the first home game of the new season for a fully beefed up Streatham after a summer of singings. The away leg of this fixture at the start of September saw Streatham skate off with a convincing 13-2 road win. Another one sided game was expected, but with Invicta, Cardiff and league new boys Romford all looking contenders this season, the goal tally could count come the end of the regular season.
The start of a new season and a new environmentally sound NO SMOKING policy was in place at the High Road. That must have pissed a few of the players off. But any hockey hunks wanting a puff (it takes a brave man to ask them) had the opportunity before face off with a new smoke themed entrance to introduce the players. Put that in yer pipe and smoke it.
The zero tolerance policy extends to the play as well this season. If you as much sneeze anywhere near an opponent then you will have a two minute minor slapped on you. Bless you. New International Ice Hockey Federation rules now mean that hockey is no longer a five on five skate.
No surprises then that the two goals in the first period came from specialist play. Wayne Trunchion netted a power play effort straight from a face off, and some Made in South London Joe Johnston magic gave Streatham a short handed second.
With Lambeth Council new Chief Executive Derrick Anderson watching from a seat nearby, the first period break was spent with mrs onionbagblogger bangin' on about how I should have a quiet word in his ear. She drew up a What's Wrong With Lambeth list (it was a long break), headed by high Council Tax bills, a lack of funding for Brockwell Lido and why the bloody hell does the bonkers Bible Basher boozer opposite onionbagblog HQ II broadcast amplified tambourine sounds at 2am on a Sunday morning?
But I bottled it and told Derrick that I liked his Christmas lights.
Streatham survived a five on three power play at the start of the second as my penalty sheet ran to two pages for the first time in over twenty five years of hockey watching. But soon there was a goal to record as Solent scored on a delayed, yep, you guessed it... penalty call. By now my date in bed (with MOTD II) was looking in danger.
It was hard work out there, especially for the Voice of the High Road Rink, whose clarification of the calls was like listening to a reading of War and Peace late night on Radio 4.
Streatham skated onto the ice at the start of the third defending a slender 2-1 lead. Not quite the turkey shoot as predicted, and not exactly bootiful either.
But Redskins were learning quick and came out playing a rough game, keeping the hard knocks within the rules. Work ethic alone was rewarded when Rob Rathbone forced home at 48:18. A fourth followed with Robert Blazowski, and suddenly my date with MOTD II was back on again. Back of the net!
Richard Hardy hit home a fifth and the goal tally was in danger of eclipsing the penalty count for the period.
Sharks were out of their depth as Rathbone banged in a sixth for Streatham. But jaws dropped as the Sharks scored a second. The Solent boys were finally sunk as Hardy scored a seventh, soon to be followed by Blazowski setting up a final score of Streatham 8, Solent 2.
Outside the High Road and the SW16 late September air was actually warmer than within.
'I blame Lambeth Council,' said mrs obb. 'Too much hot air.'
|
The Zamboni Man of SW16
technorati: streatham redskins
| #permalink |
Soulful Sunday
Marvin Gaye
When Did You Stop Loving Me
'Do you remember all of the bullshit, baby?'
My my - I could listen to Marvin all night long. Shame the same couldn't be said of his first wife, Anna.
Following their divorce in 1978, Marvin was ordered to pay royalties from an album to his ex; hence Here, My Dear, from which When Did You... is lifted.
As acts of amorous revenge goes, it's not quite on par with Phil Collins placing a paint pot on top of his piano during TOTP performances, tipping his hat to the painter and decorator that had just run off with his missus.
But then dwarf drummer was never named checked in a Spandau Ballet song.
technorati: marvin gaye
| Sunday 24 September, 2006 |
Marvin Gaye
When Did You Stop Loving Me
'Do you remember all of the bullshit, baby?'
My my - I could listen to Marvin all night long. Shame the same couldn't be said of his first wife, Anna.
Following their divorce in 1978, Marvin was ordered to pay royalties from an album to his ex; hence Here, My Dear, from which When Did You... is lifted.
As acts of amorous revenge goes, it's not quite on par with Phil Collins placing a paint pot on top of his piano during TOTP performances, tipping his hat to the painter and decorator that had just run off with his missus.
But then dwarf drummer was never named checked in a Spandau Ballet song.
technorati: marvin gaye
| #permalink |
Foot Shufflin' Friday
The Contours
Just a Little Understanding
Switch on your Pod repeat button, pop a pill (or five) and party on unitl Monday morning.
Feet - don't fail me now.
technorati: the contours
| Friday 22 September 2006 |
The Contours
Just a Little Understanding
Switch on your Pod repeat button, pop a pill (or five) and party on unitl Monday morning.
Feet - don't fail me now.
technorati: the contours
| #permalink |
Photo Friday
aka... arseing about with the seven inch super zoom whilst waiting forthe little brats in the Nursery to wipe their botties a photo shoot with the new Nursery intake.
Yep, my morning was spent sitting in the enclosed four walls of the school nursery garden, almost giving up on the new PYT (a new school year, a new PYT, although there has been some significant action regarding the old model) as she paraded her little darlings in front of the camera for me.
There's only so much fun a man can have sitting in a South London outdoor padded cell, left alone to fiddle with his seven inch super zoom.
Phew, rock 'n roll and all that.
And then once the school bell had sounded at chucking out time, I had a South London sprint across town to Tooting, just in time before the last Lido swim at 4.15. I was assisted by my fixed wheel wonder, and as I tore into theKing of the Mountain Brixton Hill climb, it all clicked into place.
My fixie and I have been friends for almost two months now. The early days of our peddling relationship was characterised by me falling off, and Knobber Petrol Heads failing to sympathise with the foolish notion of a novice taking to the streets on a death trap with no brakes or gears.
But I persisted, ever so slowly, cutting down my journey distances and learning to take control of the fucker. And so as I sprinted past old abodes just as Brixton shakes hands with St Reatham, I finally felt a sense of achievement.
The fixie is MINE and I have mastered it.
It's a totally different form of cycling to freewheel cheats, but the rewards are there as man and machine pump together in perfect unison. (You don't see many female fixie freaks, although my Lonely Hearts ad would have to include the line: fixie = guaranteed fuck.)
My ride was fun and forgiving. I even clocked up a PB for Brixton to the Somalian Dip in SW16, a route that will soon become all too familiar once again as the winter months approach and the Redskins take to the ice once more.
A sharp right along Tooting Bec Road and the peculiar melting pot of South London Somalis, Polish bread shops and kebab houses that characterises St Streatham soon was swept away into the surrounds of an empty, later summer Tooting Bec Common.
And bang in the middle of all of this? Tooting Bec Lido of course.
Lovely.
I wasted no time in putting on the shreddies and diving into the deep end. Bliss. But at 90m, a bloody long length. With the sundial down at the shallow end creeping ever closer towards chucking out time at 4.45, my strokes speeded up as the shadows started to set.
Ten lengths of the longest outdoor pool in Europe; nothing major, but it beats collapsing on the settee (new!) after a day of arseing about with the seven inch super zoom whilst waiting for the little brats in the Nursery to wipe their botties.
technorati: fixed wheel
| Friday 22 September, 2006 |
aka... arseing about with the seven inch super zoom whilst waiting for
Fixie = fuck |
There's only so much fun a man can have sitting in a South London outdoor padded cell, left alone to fiddle with his seven inch super zoom.
Phew, rock 'n roll and all that.
And then once the school bell had sounded at chucking out time, I had a South London sprint across town to Tooting, just in time before the last Lido swim at 4.15. I was assisted by my fixed wheel wonder, and as I tore into the
My fixie and I have been friends for almost two months now. The early days of our peddling relationship was characterised by me falling off, and Knobber Petrol Heads failing to sympathise with the foolish notion of a novice taking to the streets on a death trap with no brakes or gears.
But I persisted, ever so slowly, cutting down my journey distances and learning to take control of the fucker. And so as I sprinted past old abodes just as Brixton shakes hands with St Reatham, I finally felt a sense of achievement.
The fixie is MINE and I have mastered it.
It's a totally different form of cycling to freewheel cheats, but the rewards are there as man and machine pump together in perfect unison. (You don't see many female fixie freaks, although my Lonely Hearts ad would have to include the line: fixie = guaranteed fuck.)
My ride was fun and forgiving. I even clocked up a PB for Brixton to the Somalian Dip in SW16, a route that will soon become all too familiar once again as the winter months approach and the Redskins take to the ice once more.
A sharp right along Tooting Bec Road and the peculiar melting pot of South London Somalis, Polish bread shops and kebab houses that characterises St Streatham soon was swept away into the surrounds of an empty, later summer Tooting Bec Common.
And bang in the middle of all of this? Tooting Bec Lido of course.
Lovely.
I wasted no time in putting on the shreddies and diving into the deep end. Bliss. But at 90m, a bloody long length. With the sundial down at the shallow end creeping ever closer towards chucking out time at 4.45, my strokes speeded up as the shadows started to set.
Ten lengths of the longest outdoor pool in Europe; nothing major, but it beats collapsing on the settee (new!) after a day of arseing about with the seven inch super zoom whilst waiting for the little brats in the Nursery to wipe their botties.
technorati: fixed wheel
| #permalink |
Midweek Motown
The Spinners
I'll Always Love You
'Sometimes a man has too much pride to see,
But losing you has opened my eyes for me'
Heading into freefall around other issues at the moment, and so I'm seeking my sanity in the music. Not a lot else going off at the moment to be honest.
I've been digging in the crates and coming up with some new choons for me. Everyone Motown themed, everyone a winner.
I'm lacking in words, which is part of the general malaise. And so just press the Pod button and let the music do the talking.
*danger alert*
DO NOT confuse The (Detroit) Spinners with the long haired gypo folk Spinners from Liverpool.
technorati: the spinners
| Wednesday 20 September, 2006 |
The Spinners
I'll Always Love You
'Sometimes a man has too much pride to see,
But losing you has opened my eyes for me'
Heading into freefall around other issues at the moment, and so I'm seeking my sanity in the music. Not a lot else going off at the moment to be honest.
I've been digging in the crates and coming up with some new choons for me. Everyone Motown themed, everyone a winner.
I'm lacking in words, which is part of the general malaise. And so just press the Pod button and let the music do the talking.
*danger alert*
DO NOT confuse The (Detroit) Spinners with the long haired gypo folk Spinners from Liverpool.
technorati: the spinners
| #permalink |
Tamla Tuesday
Bettye Swann
Make Me Yours
'What you got,
I'm just crazy about this'
I think this could have been classified as a come down track back in the day when dance music wasn't so fractured. I just call it a CHOON.
technorati: bettye swann
| Tuesday 19 September, 2006 |
Bettye Swann
Make Me Yours
'What you got,
I'm just crazy about this'
I think this could have been classified as a come down track back in the day when dance music wasn't so fractured. I just call it a CHOON.
technorati: bettye swann
| #permalink |
Losing Them
It's a measure of a man that he can take photographs at a London location, only to find upon uploading back at base, he has bugger all representation of where he has just been.
Marble Arch was a case in point. I spent Saturday lunchtime visiting the W2 white elephant with the Way We See It; lots of fantastic lighting opportunities, great landscapes and if all else fails, there was always something there for the pigeon fancier within.
But ayup, what's this? Where's the bloody arch?
Whoops.
And so I had a memory stick full of birds (feathered,) birds (bosomed) and blokes sitting on park benches. But not a London landmark in sight.
No worries - it's overrated anyway. I'm not alone in my thinking, if the nigh on impossible approach for pedestrians is anything to go by.
But while it is in W2, we should use it. If any of the periodical Sub-Standard scare stories about moving Marble Arch to Middlesex (or somewhere similar to suit the Standard's demographics) are to be believed, the centre of London will soon lose a major landmark.
I'd personally dismantle Marble Arch, smash it up and make a million marbles out of it, each one to be given away to anyone who manages to avoid being railroaded by the army of crappy free sheet distributors (well, they're not sellers, are they?) during the rush hour. Playing with a solitary marble has to be more fun than being forced to read the piss poor paper thrust upon you.
*um... non-scientific mind at work here: are we talking about the same sort of marbles, or I am just losing mine?*
Oh yeah - it's probably about time I bought back the Crap Picture Gallery tag. Not the most productive of photo shoots.
technorati: marble arch
| Tuesday 19 September, 2006 |
It's a measure of a man that he can take photographs at a London location, only to find upon uploading back at base, he has bugger all representation of where he has just been.
Marble Arch was a case in point. I spent Saturday lunchtime visiting the W2 white elephant with the Way We See It; lots of fantastic lighting opportunities, great landscapes and if all else fails, there was always something there for the pigeon fancier within.
But ayup, what's this? Where's the bloody arch?
Whoops.
And so I had a memory stick full of birds (feathered,) birds (bosomed) and blokes sitting on park benches. But not a London landmark in sight.
No worries - it's overrated anyway. I'm not alone in my thinking, if the nigh on impossible approach for pedestrians is anything to go by.
But while it is in W2, we should use it. If any of the periodical Sub-Standard scare stories about moving Marble Arch to Middlesex (or somewhere similar to suit the Standard's demographics) are to be believed, the centre of London will soon lose a major landmark.
I'd personally dismantle Marble Arch, smash it up and make a million marbles out of it, each one to be given away to anyone who manages to avoid being railroaded by the army of crappy free sheet distributors (well, they're not sellers, are they?) during the rush hour. Playing with a solitary marble has to be more fun than being forced to read the piss poor paper thrust upon you.
*um... non-scientific mind at work here: are we talking about the same sort of marbles, or I am just losing mine?*
Oh yeah - it's probably about time I bought back the Crap Picture Gallery tag. Not the most productive of photo shoots.
technorati: marble arch
| #permalink |
Motown Monday
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
Third Finger, Left Hand
'His words were precious few,
But all along my heart knew '
Music of the Gods I tell you, Music of the Gods...
technorati: martha reeves
| Monday 18 September, 2006 |
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
Third Finger, Left Hand
'His words were precious few,
But all along my heart knew '
Music of the Gods I tell you, Music of the Gods...
technorati: martha reeves
| #permalink |
Tit for Tat
You see the problem with the Thames Festival is that it is just full of tat. I really wanted to enjoy the experience of London's vital life sign being celebrated. But along the banks of the Old Father yesterday, it was all a bit like Brixton Market being transported to The Thames, minus the yams yams and other fancy food that make my weekly trip to SW9 worthwhile.
Want to buy a pair of two quid cheapo sunglasses? The Mayor's annual aquatic event is for you. Or how about those pointless beans that you throw up into the air and make an irritating noise upon their descent? Ah, get your self down to the historic river and overlook over a thousand years of social and economic history. Risk death by cholera? That's more like it - a real authentic river recreation experience from back in the day. Don't waste your time though in incubating the disease down by the muddy waters, just eat a dodgy burger from the many less than kocher burger vans lining up along London's silvery vein this weekend.
What a shame.
It could (and should) have all been so different. The Thames IS London and I love it for this. The history of our city is centred around the trading opportunities that the tidal river swept along into the South East. I somehow don't think that buying a bloody bird whistle is reliant upon the tidal navigation of the Thames.
An opportunity has been lost here. What's needed is for one weekend a year, Londoners being given a real opportunity to explore their river. There's so much more to the Thames than a walk along Bankside, stopping to eat some carrot cake at the NFT cafe.
The obvious activity has to involve the water. Sport for All and all of that. Yes, yes, health and safety, insurance complications etc, but unless the water is involved, why not simply celebrate the middle weekend in September as Shitty Fun Fair along the Banks of the Old Father?
Rowing, yatching, boarding, diving , swimming (YES!) - these are all activities that I would love to experience in the Thames. Money and availability put them out of my reach most weekends of the year. A true Thames Festival would allow Londoners to dip their toe in the water and sample how the river can be used for recreation.
To be fair, the timing of my Thames Festival visit wasn't ideal. I had just ran the onionbagblog half marathon, won Le Tour de Herne Hill handicapped race at the velodrome (fucking chapeau!), cycled across the city for two WWSI shoots and had a West End shopping spree. I was hardly in the mood for the fast food festival. The Piscean within wanted to be calmed down by the waters.
There were some high points to sit alongside the low tide; Reclaim the Beach had once again set up alongside the Festival Pier, mixing deckchairs with some dirty dub for your Saturday afternoon delight. A number of aquatic activities were in operation, but it was exclusive rather then inclusive. And not forgetting the fireworks display tonight (although you've seen one, you've seem them all to be honest.)
For all my North / South nonsense, it is a genuine pleasure to cross the river. It reminds us of the geography and development of London and is the most defining feature of this city. It should be celebrated EVERY day, and not just once a year as a fast food fest.
technorati: thames festival
| Sunday 17 September, 2006 |
You see the problem with the Thames Festival is that it is just full of tat. I really wanted to enjoy the experience of London's vital life sign being celebrated. But along the banks of the Old Father yesterday, it was all a bit like Brixton Market being transported to The Thames, minus the yams yams and other fancy food that make my weekly trip to SW9 worthwhile.
London IS the river |
What a shame.
It could (and should) have all been so different. The Thames IS London and I love it for this. The history of our city is centred around the trading opportunities that the tidal river swept along into the South East. I somehow don't think that buying a bloody bird whistle is reliant upon the tidal navigation of the Thames.
An opportunity has been lost here. What's needed is for one weekend a year, Londoners being given a real opportunity to explore their river. There's so much more to the Thames than a walk along Bankside, stopping to eat some carrot cake at the NFT cafe.
The obvious activity has to involve the water. Sport for All and all of that. Yes, yes, health and safety, insurance complications etc, but unless the water is involved, why not simply celebrate the middle weekend in September as Shitty Fun Fair along the Banks of the Old Father?
Rowing, yatching, boarding, diving , swimming (YES!) - these are all activities that I would love to experience in the Thames. Money and availability put them out of my reach most weekends of the year. A true Thames Festival would allow Londoners to dip their toe in the water and sample how the river can be used for recreation.
To be fair, the timing of my Thames Festival visit wasn't ideal. I had just ran the onionbagblog half marathon, won Le Tour de Herne Hill handicapped race at the velodrome (fucking chapeau!), cycled across the city for two WWSI shoots and had a West End shopping spree. I was hardly in the mood for the fast food festival. The Piscean within wanted to be calmed down by the waters.
There were some high points to sit alongside the low tide; Reclaim the Beach had once again set up alongside the Festival Pier, mixing deckchairs with some dirty dub for your Saturday afternoon delight. A number of aquatic activities were in operation, but it was exclusive rather then inclusive. And not forgetting the fireworks display tonight (although you've seen one, you've seem them all to be honest.)
For all my North / South nonsense, it is a genuine pleasure to cross the river. It reminds us of the geography and development of London and is the most defining feature of this city. It should be celebrated EVERY day, and not just once a year as a fast food fest.
technorati: thames festival
| #permalink |
