'W'

Gloucester 18 - Wasps 17

Afore the three of the clock kick-off time, I had resigned myself to defeat. A series of lacklustre performances, including last weekend’s rather stilted victory against Ulster – a whole province – had led to a pessimistic disposition and a furrowed brow. Wasps’ recent ejection from the Heineken Cup worried me too: an angered striped and buzzing insect oft spells danger. As it happened, the noble city club known fondly as ‘Gloucester’ performed admirably and with commendable passion. The bullish William James enjoyed a splendid match of chargin’, carryin’ and doin’ the basics extremely well. His colleague Gareth Delve aided and abetted in the strong-arm stuff superbly and it was marvellous to watch the scampering terrier Andrew Hazell back in action. The match proved almost to be the proverbial ‘game of two halves’. Gloucester’s half-time 12-3 lead edged upwards to 18-3 almost immediately after the orange segments had been devoured. Then appeared the long-awaited Waspish backlash, swarms of nasty attacks bamboozling the hosts, leading to a brace of well-taken tries. With a quarter of an hour remaining, the Kingsholm outfit led 18-17 and the hearts of lions were called for. Sterling defence kept the visitors out, especially five minutes from the end when a raid almost reached the tryline. A penalty awarded for – I believe – holdin’ onto the oval was cleared for touch, the resulting line-out was snaffled and a series of pick ‘n’ drives succeeded beautifully in running the clock down. The baying noise emanating from the popular side was mighty as a triumphant crowd urged its heroes to victoire. Hurrah indeed!

I'm in the Moog for Dancin', Romancin'

My current favourite album came free with Mojo this month. Slightly clumsily entitled ok_computer, this 15 track electronica compilation is a stunning collection of non-guitar nuggets. I’d suggest that this selection covers a whole range of bases from ambient and atmospheric lounge electronica to what I might well regard as, well, er, techno. It’s pleasing to listen to some old stuff that had strayed under the radar; I don’t think I’ve heard more than one or two John Foxx tracks over the years and the same could be said of German pioneers Tangerine Dream. Both their offerings here are sublime. I’ve read plenty of fine things about Swedish duo The Knife and the track Silent Shout is a brooding beauty reminiscent of early Aphex Twin and certainly a catalyst for me to investigate more of their work. Frankly, there’s so much gorgeous music on this sampler and if the intention was to turn listeners onto new acts, it has certainly worked. Who needs guitars?

Playing for blood as grandmasters should...

Bobby Fischer died last week. Reading the headline in yesterday’s Guardian – and I’m delighted it made the front page – was quite a shock. The chess champion's passing represents a rarity, a ‘celebrity’ (excuse the ‘c’ word) death impacting on me to a substantial degree. I suppose the disappointing aspect of Fischer’s genius was that very few could really appreciate it. While the genius of, say, Best, Clay, McEnroe and any number of writers and musicians can be dug by thousands and millions, the profound intellect of a chess maestro remains so immense that only a handful can truly claim to comprehend the subtleties. I know I couldn’t come close to appreciating his finest moments but I admired the charisma of the guy, revelled in the stories of those 1970s battles with the Soviet grandmasters and, despite a legion of unforgivable utterances and acts doing him no favours, couldn’t help but be drawn to any news piece or article featuring the fellow. My 60 Memorable Games by Bobby Fischer proudly sits on a bookshelf next to me now and I’m tempted to spend an hour or two soon, working through one or two of the great matches annotated therein, and striving to understand at least a little of the sublime acumen that underlies so much of Fischer’s match play.

I bought the Classic 80gb iPod yesterday and, after hours and hours of toil, have finally put all my music onto it. I’m quietly fond of the item already but feel I should have some brand new sounds to ‘christen’ it properly. I might download the new British Sea power album.

The sport was adequate earlier. Gloucester defeated Ulster – a whole province – by 29 rugby points to 21 rugby points. Although the home side managed five tries, the result was in doubt right until the end and I feel a tad underwhelmed by the whole occasion. I am aware that Munster – a whole province – will destroy the noble Kingsholm-based outfit in the quarter finals unless vast improvements are made to my favoured team. The key areas, for me, are the lines-out which stutter and embarrass and the pivotal role of outside-half where I am yet to witness any player (possibly with the exception of Walker away at Leicester) really ‘boss’ a game.

The Single Life

Rugby at Kingsholm beckons. It’ll be exciting on Sunday to witness a match with ‘something on it’. The noble and historic Gloucester club of Gloucester need to defeat Ulster – a whole province – in order to progress to the last eight of the Heineken Cup with, lo!, a home draw guaranteed. I predict an easy victory for the cherry-hued fellows but sterner tests approach. Stay focused lads!

Here’s a pleasant little cryptic quiz for those that admire such events. I purchased from Oxfam for S’s birthday, four seven-inch pop singles as I know he loves his newish gramophone so much. Three singles were bona fide classics and one was a rotten stinker, a nasty art threat and make no mistake. I wrapped said items and annotated them with cryptic clues so that guesses could be made as to the identity of the song. Dear old S was only allowed to keep three of the four records so the pressure was on to select the trio of belters and sniff out the bad egg. Two of the three aforementioned belters were The Back of Love by Echo and the Bunnymen and Up, Up and Away by The Fifth Dimension. Here are the other two clues. Can you solve them and separate the delight from the dross? Clicking on each clue should reveal the answer.

1. Do you want a donkey ride? Do you want a donkey ride?

2. Sounds like a moan after a holiday kiss.

Product

I bought my Creative Zen MP3 player back in May 2005 and I’m afraid it is dying. Almost all of its two-score gigabytes are full of hundreds of albums and thousands of songs. More than once I have opined that it would be the first thing I grabbed in the event of fire, flood or other, unnamed but sinister, act of god or occurance*. It has become a friend, a rattlebag of riddim and rhyme. Anyhow, the blighter is now stuck, ‘rebuilding library’ continually and an internet search indicates that other Creative owners recognise this disease and many consider it terminal. My eye is taken by an 80gb iPod although I feel a slight disquiet at my disloyalty to the less fashionable Creative brand.

12 Crass Songs by Jeffery Lewis is the album I mentioned here. I have now presented it to not-so-young S so my purchase of it remains a secret no longer. Basically, the prolific New York anti-folk artist has reinterpreted, rather tenderly, a dozen of the anarchist punk band’s angry, raucous and somewhat shouty creations and produced sumptuous acoustic versions where the political anger of the originals is rather quaintly embellished by an unusual treatment. It works merrily. Lewis’s studied vocalisations of the varied rants are fresh and compelling and helped this listener realise just how witty Crass actually were beyond the sloganeering and the screed.

* Perhaps a 'dirty bomb' explosion.

Everybody Have Fun Tonight

After a non-fiction fest (Jon Snow, Tony Benn, Charlie Brooker alors) I’m appreciating ‘the novel’ this year. I completed Then We Came To The End at the weekend and am able to recommend it wholeheartedly. There are dark moments within its pages and, for the first time in my reading life, I had to fold down the corner of a page at the end of a chapter I was on: the subject matter was so affecting that I needed to know how much longer I had to cope with the poignancy. Coward. There are some wry, marvellous and, importantly, believable set pieces to appreciate and the characterisation is a witty triumph. It’s all fantastic.

I’m now onto Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections.

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you...

I viewed, via a telecast, Gloucester’s 10-5 defeat to Bath last evening. The teams were playing rugby football union in the most awfully muddy/boggy conditions which, in my opinion, humble as ‘tis, rendered the occasion a complete farce. Admittedly the Bath club handled the swamp with more thought and skill than my favoured outfit but I am happy to consign to whole occasion to history; on a dry and drained pitch Gloucester would have proved too strong for their West Country rivals. The losing bonus point was, ahem, a bonus. Enough already.

I downloaded a lovely album earlier that I am also purchasing from Amazon for not-so-young S for his 40^th birthday next week. Sadly, as I need to keep it a secret, I can’t reveal the title of said recording. It is a charming item though.

The eye is looking ugly and yellow now. It was upsetting to walk through the broad streets of the county town this morning to find passers-by recoiling and shuddering at the unsightly vision. I know people were judging me poorly. My confidence has been dented.

I'll Tumble 4 Ya

Last evening I stumbled, then tumbled down the stairs sans grace or dignity and harmed eye, shoulder and rump. Despite aching and feeling rather stiff today, I’m rather proud of the above shiner.

Material

The Coles secretly slipped away to Yorkshire for New Year and have now returned to the shire what we live in. I thank the Ws for their hospitality. The new pool table that has appeared in the dining space since our last visit made me tingle and sigh. I covet it.

Whilst in the North Riding I purchased and consumed On Chesil Beach, the recent novella penned by the earnest Ian McEwan. I must admit it reminded me of the author’s early short stories with its candid subject matter interlaced with intricate details. The mention of, say, a glacé cherry or a patched trouser intelligently evokes the period – early 1960s – when wartime austerity and sobriety was finally giving way to a bit more style, swagger and choice. An ultimately tragic relationship dominates the pages but ‘tis the backdrop featuring class division, contemporary political thought and the heralding of a new era, equally exhilarating and frightening, that commands most attention. On Chesil Beach proved, in places, a less than comfortable read but the suggestion of a fascinating period of societal change was incredible and, I consider, McEwan’s finest achievement.

I’ve another book on the go now. Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris is a wry glance at office life, its mundanities and minor dramas, in novel format. I’m finding this book tremendously entertaining. The author, a young man, has carved out a bewitching yet believable cast of characters and has weaved a host of delicious vignettes about them. There is a delicious website that goes with this novel, packed with details that make this punter beam. Some of the book’s characters appear to have their own MySpace pages. The map of the office is exquisite. The video is worth watching; it contains some fairly typical office shots with some quotations from the novel recited, deadpan, over the top. I’m enthusing about the whole enterprise. I used to work in an office.

I am going to try and get fit this year.