Sweet Nothings

Two posts in one day, I hear you cry? (In my head, I actually have a readership.) Don't worry - this one is purely a rant. I now hate Liverpool FC more than any other club. Of course I can't stand Chelsea, who've bought their success and are chock-full of despicable characters, or Man U, who are just Man U - too arrogant and too damn good. (Arsenal are the only member of the "big 4" who I have any time for, as I like the fact that Wenger sticks bloody-mindedly to his principles even though they might have become a detriment to the club's success.) But the Scousers are even more detestable precisely because they're not very good. Four games so far this season, three very lucky victories with the winners coming in the final minutes, and one godawful boring nil-nil today at Villa Park. Despite having spunked hundreds of millions on several new teams, they're still no nearer to playing decent football and challenging for the Prem under Rafa as they were un

Went to Twickenham yesterday to see REM. As a pro-football, anti-rugby man I really wanted to have a moan about the venue but annoyingly I could find nothing wrong with it. Even though the station isn't as near the ground as Wembley, the crowd control and journey home were as good as they could realistically be. Curses! I arrived just in time for Guillemots , between whose songs the screens either side of the stage displayed adverts for their album and downloadable songs, which even in these days of commercial saturation seemed a tad vulgar. The 'Mots (as nobody calls them) are as erratic a proposition as you'd expect from a band whose members include a fat Brazilian drummer, an impossibly exotic double bassist/percussionist named Aristzabal Hawkes, and a hyperactive indie-boy leader who goes by as strange a moniker as Fyfe Dangerfield. Take Kriss Kross , which begins with a killer keyboard riff that proceeds to go missing for a couple of minutes as the song tears through a

China has been accused of many things in the last couple of weeks. We've had the lip-synching girl at the opening ceremony (as blogged earlier). There was controversy over the gymnast who allegedly did not meet the 16 years and over rule and actually fell into, shall we say, the Gary Glitter target bracket. And there have been plenty of instances of somewhat "eccentric" marks being awarded vis-a-vis Chinese athletes, none more so than in this mornings Taekwondo quarter final which team GB's plucky Sarah Stevenson managed to lose by a point, despite kicking her Chinese opponent squarely in the face for a two-point score just before the end of the contest. A complaint was duly lodged, but nobody seriously expected anything to be done. Homefield advantage has always been a factor in the Olympics, no matter how farcical the result. Ask Roy Jones Jr, who somehow only won boxing silver in the 1988 Seoul Olympics despite pummeling his South Korean opponent in the final and l

It's actually quite hard to know what to make of this rush of British gold medals, since we are so unused to such sustained success as a nation. On the one hand, it brings out the best/worst strains of rabid flag-waving patriotism - we're above the Krauts and the Aussies in the medals table! How do you like them apples, guys?? On the other, the sports at which we're excelling are either somewhat elitist and frankly elicit zero interest save when we win medals in them every four years (rowing, sailing) or have had tons of money thrown at them in order to scientifically develop unbeatable technologies and training methods (cycling), which somewhat takes the fun out of a sport. That's what's so great about us Brits - we can find the cloud attached to every silver lining. I'm bracing myself for another tidal wave of anti-Paula Radcliffe vitriol tomorrow. Never mind that she was injured and probably shouldn't have even been racing - she didn't win! This makes

Right-wing think tank Policy Exchange has published a report which pretty much suggests that several northern cities are absolute shitholes, and aren’t worth the bother of redevelopment. From BBC online: Cities in northern England such as Liverpool, Sunderland and Bradford are "beyond revival" and residents should move south, a think tank has argued. Policy Exchange said current regeneration policies were "failing" the people they were supposed to help. The Policy Exchange report said the three million affordable new homes planned by the government should be built in London, Oxford and Cambridge to enable people to migrate south. People should be told the "reality" to avoid them becoming "trapped" in less prosperous parts of the country. Clearly none of the authors of this report live in London, or else they would know that it’s not exactly lacking in people already, and the last thing we need is a million Scousers coming down and clogging it up

I'm not exactly sure why I've gotten into golf. The combination of having Sky Sports, a flat of my own and not enough friends certainly helps. I would never call myself an expert and right now I'm a Major whore who can't be frigged with any other tournaments (oh, except that the Ryder Cup is on soon and I'll be having some of that), but even so: The final round of the USPGA last night was fucking amazing . It was one of those sporting occasions where all the right factors fell into place to ensure a dramatic conclusion. Harrington and Garcia resumed their battle from last year's Open, Sergio gunning for revenge but Padraig looking every inch a two-time Major winner and now with a taste for more. Behind them, the evil Ben Curtis - a man with absolutely sod all on his CV except, somehow, a flukey Major win. Surely he couldn't claim another? Player after player had denounced the Oakland Hills course after falling victim to its brutal difficulty level, and yet l

Let’s get the disclaimers out of the way first: I am a straight man, I love Abba, I’ve seen Bjorn Again live supported not by a band but by a showing of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, despite this I’m perfectly comfortable with my sexuality, etc etc. I saw Mama Mia! (the ! is very important) at the cinema last night. After the first 10 minutes it was already the campest thing I’d ever seen, and it went on from there. Words cannot adequately explain just how ludicrous, nor how compelling, this thing was. Every shot is so gaudy, every gesture so broad, every line so acted , that you will either be overwhelmed and swept up in its ocean of camp, or end up running away screaming after the first scenes. Dr Kermode explains it far better than I: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61UolzFTVPI It has to be emphasised that Pierce Brosnan’s singing really is the worst you will ever hear in a professional production. You’d think as a trained actor he would be able to at least hold a tune. You would b

The empty takeaway shop beneath my flat has finally been let, and construction work has begun. For reasons way beyond my tiny mind's comprehension, this led to the water pressure in my flat "going a bit funny". In layman's terms, my shower works on a "knob system". You turn the bath taps on, you pull the silver knob, water comes out of shower head at sufficienct velocity for knob to stay up until you're done. Come Tuesday morning, and the water came out of the taps so slowly that the knob refused to stay up . This is not what you need on what felt like the hottest day of the year. I ended up showering at work, after baulking at the £3 demanded by Kings Cross station for the use of their (previously free, I'm thinking?) showers. The shower room was stupidly hot. I had my shower, I got out, I attempted to dry myself. The water dried, my skin did not. I was sweatier than I had ever been in my lazy, exercise-deficient life. Hopefully this will be the onl