Well why not Scilly
One of the most prevailing stories of the 1974 football World Cup happened during the Brazil v Zaire (as they were then called) match. As Brazil lined up a free kick, a defender broke free of the Zaire wall and booted the ball as far as he could, receiving a yellow card for his troubles. African ignorance of the beautiful game was cited and laughter and derision was thrown at the men of the Congo. In fact, that kick may have saved lives. After losing 2-0 versus Scotland, then being thrashed 9-0 v Yugoslavia (as they were then called), the Zaire ruler threatened the players and insisted that they not lose against Brazil by more than 3 goals. The time wasting tactic at that free kick helped the Zairian footballers cause. They only lost the game 3-0. I’m not sure if they lived happily ever after. At least they lived.
The then ruler of the African nation was Mobutu Sese Seko Nkuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga (meaning “The all-powerful warrior who, because of his endurance and inflexible will to win, goes from conquest to conquest, leaving fire in his wake). Now there’s a name for a monster. Every day is a school day, they say. Alas, just like at school there’s no way I’m remembering that.
I do remember the free kick.
While watching the, now five years old (Happy Birthday da da da), Africanews channel on YouTube (FYi, as I know Charioteers like a stat, I was one of 47 watching; a select band you could say) a segment came up showing a collection of youths parkouring in the rubble of Gaza city. Well played those Gazans, their attitude to the current crisis was , hey you know what, life goes on and let’s make the most of this opportunity.
Strange times indeed. Past two mornings I’ve been drinking tea out of my Union Jack (it was bought on a boat) mug; I’ve been rooting for “us”. Finds out not long ago, “we” won a Calcutta cup. This is nothing to do with haircuts, is it?
I wear sloppy Joes’. Only one at a time, of course. Nothing wrong with them.
Life is imitating art. In the name of my Auntie Mimeses, this is a ring cycle and a half. Zzzz.
The study of ancient life. Backwards thinking. Theorising about old rags and bones. Fossil finders that CGi their lucky strikes and make big lizards. I will make a compelling case to argue that dinosaurs didn’t exist.
We’ll start with the skeletons in the closet. Their girth. These big truckers wouldn’t fit in a cloakroom. Then there’s the fact that there are no big beasts around today already throws up a red flag. None of them thawed from the ice! Not one. Not one, from this enormous pack of behemoths, not one had the resilience of a bug. Also, why did the bonefinders generals make them so big. From twigs and ribs they modeled these creatures. This bit goes here, that bit goes there, we’ll put scales on this one. a tail on that one. By Crichton, they airfixed these monsters to ridiculous sizes. Being so huge they would have ran out of food. This, I suppose, is a compelling case for their extinction if they lived in the first place.
Now we move to Animal Planet content. The puritan Paleontologists didn’t place genitalia on their specialized subjects. Go on, give me one example in any museum or Jurassic park franchise where there’s a Dr Manhattan strutting about. Obviously, taking their cue from ancient Greek sculptures and hoping to cash in at the cinema with a G rating they decided that fig leaves were not an option so, boof, there goes your family allowance. The lack of sexual organs is a good a reason as any for non-existence. No T-rexctasy.
The magical world of dinosaurs is populated by giants of all stripes. We’ve got flying saurs, water living saurs, plant eating saurs, nesting saurs, John Le Mesurier. It’s all too orderly for me. The majority have bought this scam. Dooursaurs agree? We’ll see. In this place, all our dinosaurs are missing. None of them blog in this period. Come on, get the stone tablets out and get chiseling. Bronto!
What’s strine for that, Bearsy? Not 666 think double 6. .I’ll bet. Just like lawn bowling, the north of UK would be world champions at being non-chappers.
Sorry folks, another haircut blog. Well, we could be entering LD 2..
I pine for Glynis Barber again.
And she pines for me (yeah right, sub-editor comment)
Sheds are not for me. I’ll leave the carpentry and their abrasives to the Aussies. I’m a fringe guy born and bred; straight and to the front Trouble is Greta could be right. The crow’s feet, sorry, nest has sighted rising tides. By Gore, I’m going to have an island at the forefront of my bonce.
Don’t bother me none. It will rule the waves And it has a dashing, crashing coo’s lick promontory.
As the weather was even good for rocket launching I decided to give my 1969 Trabant 601 a blast. That Antonine wall needs breached.
Durham is nice, good for the eyes apparently, and a full tank would get me there.
Ahh Durham, home to a place called Barbara Castle, I’ll drink to that. I put my seat belt on and went the distance. Safely, of course.
The Trabi broke down just like a satellite dish. I’m in a bit of trouble here and a bloke that looks like Ilie Nastase is giving me the evil eye.
Stay home. Stay safe. Nuff said.