Writing a blog entry is a tricksy thing. Finding a balance between fact and rumour, solid reporting and mimsy speculation. Actually telling my audience what I’ve been up to is seldom a barrel of the proverbial. In fact, unless you’re interested in the minutiae of the TV industry or the successes of AFC Wimbledon, you’re probably going to bugger off to Llew’s blog or Ree’s blog or something fun, interesting or simply infuriating.
In fact, for a change there is something moderately diverting to do with AFCW right now. On Saturday I went to another away game, the top of the table clash versus Chipstead (sing: “who are ya?”). Our no. 3 was a new signing, and one who’s got us more press inches than anything since our formation. Welcome to the world of the Super Dons, Michael “MC” Harvey out of So Solid Crew…
I could also write about chest of drawers disasters and the amazing helpfulness of Ikea call centre staff. I could mention an all-male ILE meet up which was testosterone-tastic, mate. I could talk longingly about Italy’s and Samoa’s doomed performances in the Rugby World Cup. I could eulogise about the last flight of Concorde, watching the last three flights converge over central London (not literally, thankfully).
I could bang on about all those things. But I won’t. See you when I can think of something interesting to write. Hugs to y’all.
Yesterday, the irony of this weblog’s title caught up with me.
Sarah and I were on a jaunt to lovely Herne Bay in North Kent to witness the irrepressible AFC Wimbledon play the eponymous locals in the FA Vase. And we won. But that’s not what I’m writing about (although our dramatic, breath-catching 93rd minute winner by the towering Matt Everard merits a thousand novels to its everlasting glory).
As we were standing amid the 1,800 fervent travelling fans, a wasp decided Sarah and I either looked or smelled the best (a wasp with taste, obv), and WOULDN’T FUCKING LEAVE US ALONE. Or rather, it buzzed half-heartedly around Sarah for a few seconds, then decided to CHEW ON MY EYES. Fo’ real! The bastard brushed against my cheek; I thought it’d get bored and fly off. But no. Instead, it settled there, then clambered all over my eyelashes. And as it did so, I could feel it nibbling!! ON MY EYES!!!!
And that’s why the blog title has changed, perhaps temporarily, perhaps not.
I hate the attitude of roving camera crews. Working in Soho, you see quite a lot of them, either filming some fascinating vox pop or street scene or (much more likely) standing around interrupting pedestrian flow (ouch, you should see a doctor for that) and looking smug.
But what do they have to be smug about, exactly? They’re the poor schmucks who are stuck out in the cold for hours at a time, either doing nothing (also most likely) or bashing cables, fetching coffee or holding pack ordinary people who just want to go about their business. It’s the latter job that makes them amongst the most punchable fux0rs on the planet. They puff out their chests and imply “hey, look, I work in TELEVISION which makes me a BIG STAR and you’re just an anonymous drone. Did you hear that? I’m in TELEVISION. And you’re not.”
Far be it for me to point out that these people are the scum of their profession, schlepping around in the cold on micro-budget shoots for zero-interest cable channels about finance or DIY. If they’re earning any money at all, and they’re probably not, it’ll almost certainly be below minimum wage. But that’s alright – soon they’ll be big execs with offices and secretaries and their very own cocaine! Except, understandably, the people in these jobs already protect them to the death, and these tossmonkeys will just drift around on the periphery of meeja whoredom with their Nathan Barley dreams for another couple of years before becoming estate agents, telesalesmen or accountancy trainees.
By day I am a mild-mannered, if not bespectacled semi-unemployed slackx0r, but by lunchtime I am ACE REPORTER! Today I was casually minding my own business on the AFC Wimbledon guestbook when the very chairman himself put out an urgent request for writers.
Being (in the loosest sense possible) a writer myself, I valiantly offered my services for the good of the club. Turns out I had to write a 250-word match report on last Saturday's match against Sandhurst. And I had 45 minutes in which to do it!
And I did do it! Somewhat to my surprise, I came out with what I think is a reasonably okay piece of local-standard journo-cliche. To celebrate I went to buy some shoes - take a look at these beauties!
Anyway, if you want to read the newspaper piece, click the "more" link below.
After 10 league wins and over 4 goals a game, the Combined Counties League has seemed anything but a struggle for AFC Wimbledon.
However, Sandhurst came to Kingsmeadow to make a point for the chasing pack, and a fearless first half performance proved how fatal underestimating the opposition can be.
The visitors looked dangerous, with several shots proving the worth of former Croydon keeper Matt Martin. An early Dons goal from the lively, snappy Seb Favata failed to unleash the customary turkey shoot, as Sandhurst soon equalled and the efforts of the home team.
Wimbledon’s forward-minded fullbacks were effectively shackled and Sandhurst looked comfortable in midfield while threatening in attack. On 38 minutes,
Mark Anderson scored a deserved equaliser from four yards following a well-worked throw-in.
After the break, Sandhurst continued to press, threatening once again with a snap shot from Anderson after a badly-judged back pass.
But just as the Dons seemed short on ideas and high on frustration, two inspired substitutions turned the game. Noel Frankum’s jinking passes in midfield and Paul Scott’s close control and incisive running brought little response from the tiring Sandhurst players.
The towering Matt Everard took the relieved Dons back in front on 66 minutes before Scott, chasing every ball, conjured a skilful solo run into the opposition area. His shot came back off the post to the always predatory Kevin Cooper, who took his season’s tally to an amazing 23 goals.
A 4th goal scored by the returning Lee Sidwell clarified the result, but 4-1 was a flattering scoreline after the most testing game of the season.
Choose a band and answer only in song titles by that band: QUEEN
Are you male or female? Killer Queen
Describe yourself: Good Old-fashioned Lover Boy
How do some people feel about you? Death on Two Legs
Describe your ex-girlfriend: Sail Away Sweet Sister
Describe your current girlfriend: She Makes Me (Stormtrooper In Stilettos)*
Describe what you want to be: Great King Rat
Describe your current mood: Tenement Funster
Describe your friends: I'm in Love with my Car
Share a few words of wisdom: Keep Yourself Alive
*apologies to Sarah for this one, but it HAD to be included somewhere :)
So Freaky Trigger now has a Science Blog. Maybe I’ll be able to write for it one day. I want to discover some dinosaurs!
Problems with blogging, by Mark:
1. I will never be as interesting or funny or essential as Laura Llew. This is a big thing for me - the certainty that what I write won't have an iota of the charm or the personality of what emanates from Ms L's keyboard makes me wonder why I do this. The thing is, most of the people who read (please pronounce this in the past tense) also read Laura's, and the horror of being looked at *after* her latest ejaculations is just too terrible to contemplate.
2. I caught a glimpse of some writing Sarah had done over her shoulder a few days ago and it's also so much better than anything I could ever write. Damn these talented women.
3. Sarah's been here, since her move at the start of September, and quite frankly I've had better things to do*
(*though there have also been any number of pissy, irritating, bureaucratic things that she and I have had to put up with concerning the move, and if I started banging on about them you'd press the little red X as soon as you saw the words "but what REALLY pisses me off...")
4. I don't do anything interesting, and I have no memory for bons mots.
5. I'm a lamex0r.
6. Calvin and Hobbes have taken up residence in my toilet. Thanks to Paul moving in, I now have ESSENTIAL READING MATTER that is far more fun than writing self-indulgent bollocks on the modern interweb.
7. I've been going to more football matches (I've seen AFC Wimbledon 6 times this season - 6 wins, GET IN) and the rugby world cup has just started, for goodness' sake!
8. I've had, like, full time work, a bit.
9. Sigh. Isn't this getting boring? It's not funny or illuminating, and I doubt you even got this far.
10. See? I can type what I like now. The joke's on you, reader. Ha.
(p.s. 10a Sarah just reminded me that I was doing a very prolonged and inaccurate Judas (sic) Street Porter impression in the pub last night. Most enlightening malapropism evah!)
As you may have guessed, I'm taking a blogging break. I will be back, I promise, possibly with an exciting new direction. More likely, it'll be the same tedious, self-indulgent crap.