Sunday, July 20, 2008


I am listening to Frog Pocket. It's the kind of quite nice IDM that you can't imagine listening to twice. It makes a change from Abba, which we have on 24/7 upstairs.

Zenella went to watch Mamma Mia, which features the music of Abba, and now the kids are all hooked. Naughtyman plays out the title track and breakdances on the rug in the loungeroom. Zenita boogies to Dancing queen.

I am touched that the band that was my first proper love in music has ensnared them too, *mumbles* years later.

I love music and I'm addicted to the new. I have tons of stuff I've never listened to (and some I doubt I ever will), but I still seek out more. Nothing is ever enough for me.


So I keep forgetting to put Skype on. I mean to have it on whenever I'm home alone, so that if by some far-out chance, someone wants to talk to me, they can. I'm not mega keen, because I'm too boring to be good on the phone, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to hear a human voice from time to time, given that I nearly never go outside the house. I am grace.note on Skype. Don't try to sell me anything though: I am a terrible prospect for the cold caller.

I have probably just invited some crazy nutter to call me up and shout "cuuuuuunt" at me, but P, resist the temptation, hey?

I don't know why I hate the telephone. I've always seen it as, at best, something functional. But I was talking to my sister, S, on Skype the other day with Mrs Zen, and I mentioned that I was bad at talking on it, and S said she was too, and Mrs Z noted that that did not stop us from having three-hour phone calls.

Which is about right: I have lots of things that I fear but for no good reason.

Partly it is that I am a catcher not a pitcher (oo-er, dodgy sexual innuendo alert). I understand the social skill of pretending to give a fuck what others think, but I've never been good at doing it. People want to be asked how they are, how their job is, what they've been up to. No one cares what the answers are. I know that, but it's still hard just to remember to ask.

I know that that makes me seem self-absorbed, maybe even Aspergery. But I am self-absorbed. I think it's natural. Who else should be number one? Who else should mean as much to me?

And I don't have Asperger Syndrome. Mrs Zen would love it if I did: a simple diagnosis for a complex man. Or a complex diagnosis for a simple man. Hard to say which would be more accurate. But I understand feelings and read them well enough. I don't wonder why you're crying when I make you cry.


Fingers crossed that Mark Cavendish does not fail a drug test. The guy's a fucking phenom. When you watch the slowmo of his winning a stage, he seems to be cycling at the same speed I would, with everyone else standing still. It's one of the great sights in sport. He tools along for a couple of hundred ks and then bang!

F Ricco, f Duenas, f Beltran; fuck all the cheaters who have destroyed this beautiful spectacle (do check out that link: with Google's street view, you can virtually ride the course yourself). There are more positive tests to come, and we already began without at least a dozen cyclists who would have had a genuine shot at winning either yellow or green jerseys. The worst of it is that you cannot enjoy a great performance without the nagging doubt. When Landis won back the time he'd lost in a brilliant ride the day before in the mountains, it was a truly wonderful moment in sport. F Landis. Now he's forever known as just another guy that cheated.

The Olympics, particularly when one considers American sprinting or Chinese anything, are the same story: we will see great sport, but always with that nagging doubt: is he? is she? And too often the answer will be yes.

I accept that using drugs is just along the spectrum from having a dietician or better facilities than the next guy. There is no level playing field. But the rules are clear enough, and winning is nothing outside the rules.


Talking of sporting glory, the wonder that is Youtube brings us Leeds' spanking of Sheff Wed en route to triumph in 1992. I was at the game at Sheff Utd that sewed up the title, and in these dire times, I remind myself that fortune does not always hide, but glory is always around the corner, if you believe, and I do, that you can be the best.

So yet again, hope springs, August is approaching and Super Leeds may break the heart that beats for them once more, but I'll love them all the same.


At 5:59 pm, Blogger $Zero said...

" I don't wonder why you're crying when I make you cry."


At 6:58 pm, Blogger Looney said...

Re: Dopers

Sad, terribly. My little bro was a collegiate cyclist on one of the best teams in the US, and a Class A cyclist after leaving college. He wanted to at least go semi-pro, but it was another whole level of commitment, almost a different world. It discouraged him, esp. seeing what those who get near the top will do to try to snag that dream once they realize that no matter what they do, they're not a great one. They're not an Armstrong, a Basso, a natural champion. This is the first time in two decades I haven't followed the tour closely. Landis was such a blow, such a disappointment. It's hard to care anymore. If you knew that the top story on the TdF page wasn't going to be the latest doper to be dropped / fired / charged, there might be more motivation to read up.

Good luck to the Whites, my friend. My Toon are busy buying midfielders, claiming to be shooting for Europe while slashing the wage bill, with a new owner who's like the old owner, lacking the real resources to match our so-called ambitions. I think Keegan was right, sadly...

At 9:00 pm, Blogger P. said...

but P, resist the temptation, hey?

I so hope you're sitting in that milk.


At 4:01 am, Blogger Arleen said...

I've always enjoyed Abba's music.

I used to love keeping up with the Tour every year. I don't know why I stopped. I just read that Mark Cavendish dropped out of the race to rest up for the Olympics.

At 1:09 pm, Blogger Mcleod said...




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