Well the choir of King's College, Cambridge are on the radio performing Nine Lessons and Carols right now as I sit here starting to type this, so it must be time for my third annual review. How was Lay Clerk's 2009?
A bit mixed, to be honest, but then again such is life. Much of what occupied my mind throughout the whole year concerns another person and according to the unwritten rules of Blogging which are solely in my head, I choose to keep that topic to myself.
Another unwritten rule is that I won't Blog about work, so apart from saying that I'm still enjoying it and we continue to be as busy as ever, I'll leave it there.
On the subject of work, a close friend was unfortunately made redundant at the start of the year, a victim of the worldwide economic situation, and for a few months went through a difficult time during which I hope I was there to offer what little support or help I could, and thankfully a new, better job was secured after a while. Onwards and upwards.
I still sing with Glasgow Chamber Choir, mostly enjoying it but sometimes having to fight against my inner dislike of certain types of choral music. On the whole it continues to be good fun, good musically, and a good bunch of people.
In 2009 my presence in the choirstalls at the Cathedral occurred more frequently and more regularly, and more or less every week I sing Choral Evensong on the Sunday, which I am thoroughly enjoying.
In about May the administrator of RSCM Scottish Voices, which was started the previous summer, resigned, and I was subsequently asked to take over that role. It's been an interesting 6 months, most but not quite all of it interesting in a nice way. I've registered a Domain name for the choir, but haven't yet got round to uploading the website which is sitting on my laptop. In truth, this is mostly because I've forgotten how to go about having multiple websites hosted together but kept separate, since it's been such a long time since I did anything with any of my sites. At some point I'll get the finger out and do it. And if anyone familiar with creating and uploading websites to 1&1 using Microsoft Frontpage is reading this and wants to remind me how easy it is, I'd be obliged! In the meantime I've also started a Blog for the choir, which is linked from the sidebar on the left. If any RSCM Scottish Voices members are reading this for some reason, and they fancy having a go at sometimes adding choir-related content to our Blog, email me.
In May I sang with The Biggar Singers in an enjoyable performance of Morten Lauridsen's piece, Lux Aeterna, which involved about a hundred mile round trip every week to rehearse. The choir's conducted and accompanied respectively by two members of Glasgow Chamber Choir who live down that way, and my few weeks of excessive travel pale into insignificance when set against them doing it every week coming to Glasgow. And indeed two other GCC members travel from Dumfriesshire every week to rehearse!
A personal high point of the year was when I was asked to sing the tenor solo in a performance of Stainer's Crucifixion on Good Friday in Paisley. My initial reaction upon being asked was "no thanks, I'm a chorister, not a soloist" but when I thought about it, knowing that I can actually sing the notes if not necessarily perform them as a "proper" soloist would, I thought why the hell not. And so I did. And it went well. First time I've ever had my name on a poster! I have no ambitions to be a soloist, and while I'd possibly say yes if asked again, equally I am not at all bothered.
I paid another visit to Paisley later in April, but this time to the Paisley Beer Festival, which was most enjoyable and having been there two years ago is likely to become an annual pilgrimage, albeit I missed last year as I was in Calfornia. I only went on one evening, but a fellow Cathedral chorister, Neil, took holiday from work and went every day. Now that's dedication!
In July four of us from Glasgow Chamber Choir, having coincidentally and enjoyably sung solo parts together during a recent concert, decided to get together and sing together some more. We've met twice so far, it's as much a social event as a musical one, and despite some (hopefully tongue in cheek) remarks from another couple of friends about "the elite group" it's just a bunch of friends singing, drinking and eating together. We've performed together under the name The New Quartet in public once, a few days ago in a branch of a bank for charity, but who knows whether we'll do it again or whether it'll stay purely as a social event.
After a break of 29 years, I met up with former schoolfriends at a wee reunion in Motherwell in April. It was as though we'd only had a break of 6 months and we all got on great again. An unexpectedly tremendous evening. Another one, on a bigger scale, is planned for next year when it'll be 30 years since we left school. And I foolishly offered to co-ordinate it. It shouldn't involve much more than a few emails though, so should be OK.
On the subject of school, there is a sobering time in one's life when one's schoolfriends start dying. In August Kenny Stewart was the first of us to go. Admittedly the lovely, intelligent, caring person Catherine Fellowes died in a tragic diving accident soon after we left school, leaving her massive potential unfulfilled, but Kenny is the first to die without having an accident. He was one of my closest friends at school, and despite us having some differences in later years, you can't take away the fact that we grew up together.
In July RE and I made a weekend trip to the north east of Scotland to see friends, Stephanie and Martin, and to have a wee tour about. It's an area of the country I happen to really like, and it was good not only to show RE round it, but to catch up with old friends at their barbecue. I've known Stephanie since the mid 1980's when she was a student at Glasgow University and joined the Cathedral Choir, so she's probably one of my oldest friends and although we don't see each other terribly often, it's good to catch up when we can.
In August my brother, his wife and daughter moved back to Scotland. They've been living abroad for about a dozen years, first in Dubai and then in San Diego, California. For some reason they decided to come back to the Scottish climate, and it's great to have them here. My niece, Jess, has joined the Cathedral Choir trebles, and seems to enjoy it I'm glad to say. I was immensely proud to be asked to present her with her surplice at Evensong when she passed from being a probationer to being a chorister. They hosted a Halloween party in October (on the 30th, funnily enough!) and the fact that they live in a castle (yes, really) made it all the more spooky! Great fun.
August also saw a return visit to the World Pipe Band Championship at Glasgow Green, with RE, her cousin and his German girlfriend who were visiting Scotland. It rained. But it was a very enjoyable day despite the weather.
In September RE hosted one of her sisters, visiting from New Zealand, and I joined them for a trip to Linlithgow, their ancestral town. It was the first time I've been there, and I can now recommend the Four Mary's pub in the main street.
In a much previous life I was a roadie and mixed the sound for a local band. All very enjoyable, but in an amateur way. A friend, Ian, does it for a living though, well, the sound engineer bit anyway, and ages ago I mentioned to him that if he was ever needing some semi-skilled labour (i.e. really unskilled!) then I'd happily come and lift and carry stuff around for him. In September he called my bluff, and I found myself for two days being a roadie working on the sound crew at the Merchant City Festival in Glasgow. With three outdoor stages and an indoor venue to be covered, it was hard work, a bit physical sometimes, and a lot to take in, but it was great. I even ended up twiddling the knobs for one act, while Ian was called away to deal with a change of venue for another group. All very basic stuff of course, but I'm glad to say Ian trusted me enough to leave me on my own, and I'm even gladder to say I managed to avoid fucking it up! I'm looking forward to the next time, although I don't expect a change of career is due anytime soon!
The Institute of Advanced Motorists has taken more of a back seat this year, pardon the pun, although I did complete the necessary number of observed runs to continue as a Qualified Motorcycle Observer. It remains to be seen however whether I'll continue next year.
I've started to get the flat a bit more sorted. With the benefit of hindsight I realise that when I moved in I wasn't really in the right emotional frame of mind to do the decorating necessary, and as time went on I stopped seeing the faults. I have now got as far as getting a quote from a decorator, and getting the hallway replastered. Soon after Christmas I'll contact the decorator again and get him to come and do the business in the living room and hallway.
My general level of fitness continues to improve as I take advantage of the gym a few hundred yards from my house. I even made it onto a running track with RE a couple of times, but that was very hard going at that time! In the past few weeks I've slipped a bit, but my main New Year's resolution is to redouble my efforts. And I WILL do it.
On a fitness topic, in 2009 I did something I never thought I'd do. I climbed a hill. Not only a hill, but it was in fact a Munro. I've never ever ever been interested in hillwalking, and have been vocal about that opinion all through my life. But RE persuaded me to try it. Well I say persuaded me, but not proactively. I just mean that her influence, unbeknownst to her, made me want to do it. So she kindly agreed to "babysit me" up a hill. I'd be lying if I said there weren't bits I didn't enjoy. I slipped and fell up to my knees in a very cold stream; I slithered and slid my way down what was allegedly a "path"; I fell and staved my finger, but I bloody enjoyed it! And I know that thousands of people do it every weekend and think nothing of it. But this was me doing it. Me who about a year ago looked as though he was about to expire after a very short climb up a set of steps to a scenic viewpoint in the Scottish Borders. Me who a year ago hadn't taken any form of exercise for God knows how long, apart from when I tried badminton and spectacularly ruptured my achilles tendon. Me who is a city boy who has always said he didn't mind walking as long as it was on a pavement. This was me who walked up that Munro. And it is still me who is immensely proud of having done it, and proud of his friend RE for having the patience, skill and perseverance to help me all the way. Others may do it more often and with less effort, but we all have different abilities and different goals, and this particular achievement ranks highly for me.
So that's a potted history of Lay Clerk's 2009. A mixed year, but generally a good one and ending better than it started. Much of the above was Blogged about in depth at the time so if you've read this post in isolation it must seem pretty sparse of detail, and of course I've missed things out. Not just deliberately missed things to protect other people's privacy, but simply because things will have slipped my mind. Something which will hopefully never slip my mind though is to mention the love, friendship, and support of my closest friends, some of whom have been such for the thick end of 25 years, some for only a couple of years, but I value them all and thank them for their continuing friendship and support. I won't name them, but you know who you are. Thank you one and all.
Happy Christmas folks!
Showing posts with label sport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sport. Show all posts
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The dog's
I've just taken delivery of a pair of Aqua Sphere Eagle prescription swimming goggles, a snip at only £31.50 including postage!I could have gone for cheaper ones, but they mostly had the same prescription in both eyes, and these ones looked good when I read the spec.
Now that they've arrived they do seem to be the complete dog's bollocks, but I wish on the Website they had made it clear that what I was being sent was a normal non-prescription pair of goggles, with two replacement lenses which I had to change myself. The goggles are made in Italy, and the instructions for changing lenses are printed on the outside of the small box containing the new lens in 6 different languages (all translations I guess, apart from the Italian one) so concise and slightly strangely worded is perhaps the politest way of describing them.
It is not easy to remove and replace the lenses, and I have a scraped knuckle to prove it! For obvious reasons, the silicon rubber surround has to be pretty tight to ensure watertightness, and you have to pull it apart to release the lens, then put the new one in, and pull it apart again to seal it in place. I managed it after about 15 minutes of trying, and despite the instructions it was pretty much trial and error.
They're done now though, and I'm looking forward to trying them out, probably later today.
And I should mention too that the service I got from the supplier was damned good (apart from not mentioning on their Website the bit about self-assembly!). When placing the order I was trying to work out from my prescription what combination of Sphere and Cylinder readings (short sightedness and astigmatism) to add or subtract from each other to get the right strength. A quick call to the supplier, Butterflies Healthcare, and five minutes later the optician, James Sutton, (in fact, I suspect he's the owner of the company) called me back and worked it out for me, explaining what he was doing as he went along. That was three days ago, 12th January, and they arrived this morning. Well done them.
Monday, October 27, 2008
In vino veritas
Ah, wine. The very lifeblood of civilisation.
Today, Sunday 26th October (ignore the "official" post date and time recorded here which is in GMT, or in fact probably BST, it's a little after 10.30pm on Sunday here in San Diego, Southern California, as I start to type this) we visited the Callaway Winery near Temecula. Took the (free) tour and heard the story of how the wine is produced, and how Ely Callaway founded the vineyard in 1969 before becoming even more famous as a maker of expensive golf bats (a good walk spoiled, some say). And sampled 6 different wines ranging from pretty good to very good!
Before hitting the winery though we stopped in the town of Temecula. Actually I think it's a city, but it didn't seem all that big so looked more like a town. Didn't stay for all that long, and didn't do much except have breakfast (crepes and coffee) and visit an antiques centre where plaster representations of Winnie the Pooh and the late Emperor Julius Caesar (or G. Cesare as the inscription says, which means Guilio Cesare we have worked out by means of research on t'InterWeb) were procured. The crepes and coffee were good, but served a bit randomly one plate at a time with a gap of a few minutes between each.
Next, and final, stop was a picnic area at Lake Wohlford, where chicken bits and tuna sandwiches were consumed, and a football (of the American version) was thrown around for a while.
This evening I had a long overdue, and very welcome Skype conversation with RE who is in New Zealand. She will be arriving in Los Angeles on Tuesday morning, and I'm very much looking forward to seeing her again and spending some touristy time together.
While in Temecula today, and on all the roads round about here, huge numbers of Harley Davidson motorcycles have been very much in evidence, and to be truthful the more of them I've seen, the more I've realised that I don't buy into the culture of that particular make of machine. I've no problem with anyone who does, and I still think they sound great (although apparently they handle like shit on anything except a straight road), but I've never had a desire to ride one in the UK and have felt pressure to hire one while here only because it's probably The Thing To Do, so over the course of today I've pretty much come to the decision that I'm not going to bother hiring one while I'm here. Sure, it's great biking weather, and if I had a BMW like my own at home (the link isn't to my actual bike, incidentally, just to the same model) then I'd happily head out there, but the San Diego BMW Motorrad dealer doesn't advertise rentals on their Website, and when I did some research before coming out here I saw some BMW's for hire at a price far above what I'd deem reasonable, so to Hell with that!
So tomorrow, we haven't quite decided what to do. Golf has been mentioned, but it remains to be seen whether my brother will put up with a non-player accompanying him and hacking his way round the course to everyone's amusement and probably irritation. Also, I don't look good wearing Pringle sweaters.
Did I mention that last night we ate at Joe's Crab Shack? Very nice too. Almost bought a tee shirt proclaiming My waitress gave me crabs, but didn't!
Today, Sunday 26th October (ignore the "official" post date and time recorded here which is in GMT, or in fact probably BST, it's a little after 10.30pm on Sunday here in San Diego, Southern California, as I start to type this) we visited the Callaway Winery near Temecula. Took the (free) tour and heard the story of how the wine is produced, and how Ely Callaway founded the vineyard in 1969 before becoming even more famous as a maker of expensive golf bats (a good walk spoiled, some say). And sampled 6 different wines ranging from pretty good to very good!
Before hitting the winery though we stopped in the town of Temecula. Actually I think it's a city, but it didn't seem all that big so looked more like a town. Didn't stay for all that long, and didn't do much except have breakfast (crepes and coffee) and visit an antiques centre where plaster representations of Winnie the Pooh and the late Emperor Julius Caesar (or G. Cesare as the inscription says, which means Guilio Cesare we have worked out by means of research on t'InterWeb) were procured. The crepes and coffee were good, but served a bit randomly one plate at a time with a gap of a few minutes between each.
Next, and final, stop was a picnic area at Lake Wohlford, where chicken bits and tuna sandwiches were consumed, and a football (of the American version) was thrown around for a while.
This evening I had a long overdue, and very welcome Skype conversation with RE who is in New Zealand. She will be arriving in Los Angeles on Tuesday morning, and I'm very much looking forward to seeing her again and spending some touristy time together.
While in Temecula today, and on all the roads round about here, huge numbers of Harley Davidson motorcycles have been very much in evidence, and to be truthful the more of them I've seen, the more I've realised that I don't buy into the culture of that particular make of machine. I've no problem with anyone who does, and I still think they sound great (although apparently they handle like shit on anything except a straight road), but I've never had a desire to ride one in the UK and have felt pressure to hire one while here only because it's probably The Thing To Do, so over the course of today I've pretty much come to the decision that I'm not going to bother hiring one while I'm here. Sure, it's great biking weather, and if I had a BMW like my own at home (the link isn't to my actual bike, incidentally, just to the same model) then I'd happily head out there, but the San Diego BMW Motorrad dealer doesn't advertise rentals on their Website, and when I did some research before coming out here I saw some BMW's for hire at a price far above what I'd deem reasonable, so to Hell with that!
So tomorrow, we haven't quite decided what to do. Golf has been mentioned, but it remains to be seen whether my brother will put up with a non-player accompanying him and hacking his way round the course to everyone's amusement and probably irritation. Also, I don't look good wearing Pringle sweaters.
Did I mention that last night we ate at Joe's Crab Shack? Very nice too. Almost bought a tee shirt proclaiming My waitress gave me crabs, but didn't!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
A quick quiz
Here's a bombshell for you.
Guess what I'm doing tomorrow evening. Go on, guess. Bet you won't get it.
I've booked myself in for an induction session at my local gym. Yes, me, at a gym!
The last real exercise I had was in March 2007, which, you may remember, resulted in three months off work with a ruptured achilles tendon. Since then I suppose I had some exercise when I was receiving physiotherapy, and fairly recently I have been swimming a number of times with RE. Well I say swimming. She swims 16 lengths in the Olympic sized 50m pool, and I splash around ineffectively in the small pool trying to avoid children and morbidly obese people.
I've been thinking for ages that I need to get back to some regular exercise, but in the back of my mind, well, at the forefront really, are the twin thoughts that I don't want to bugger my achilles tendon again, and it's been such a long time since I exercised properly that it's going to hurt to get back into it. So I've been putting it off.
But tonight I called my local leisure centre, and booked an induction session. For an all inclusive monthly price I will be able to access the fitness suite, sauna, steam room, spa pool, and swimming pool with water slides and suchlike.
Those who know me will not be surprised that it's been a while since I exercised, but I suspect that very few people know that when I was (a lot) younger I used to do a lot of weight training, and a bit of regular cross country running, as well as some sprinting and twice weekly badminton sessions. Added to a brief rugby playing period (I was a prop forward) and it all adds up to a pretty fit, and very strong, younger self, with very little excess fat.
I am now, frankly, embarrassed at the shape I have become, and it's (way beyond) time to do something about it. Or try anyway.
Watch this space.
Guess what I'm doing tomorrow evening. Go on, guess. Bet you won't get it.
I've booked myself in for an induction session at my local gym. Yes, me, at a gym!
The last real exercise I had was in March 2007, which, you may remember, resulted in three months off work with a ruptured achilles tendon. Since then I suppose I had some exercise when I was receiving physiotherapy, and fairly recently I have been swimming a number of times with RE. Well I say swimming. She swims 16 lengths in the Olympic sized 50m pool, and I splash around ineffectively in the small pool trying to avoid children and morbidly obese people.
I've been thinking for ages that I need to get back to some regular exercise, but in the back of my mind, well, at the forefront really, are the twin thoughts that I don't want to bugger my achilles tendon again, and it's been such a long time since I exercised properly that it's going to hurt to get back into it. So I've been putting it off.
But tonight I called my local leisure centre, and booked an induction session. For an all inclusive monthly price I will be able to access the fitness suite, sauna, steam room, spa pool, and swimming pool with water slides and suchlike.
Those who know me will not be surprised that it's been a while since I exercised, but I suspect that very few people know that when I was (a lot) younger I used to do a lot of weight training, and a bit of regular cross country running, as well as some sprinting and twice weekly badminton sessions. Added to a brief rugby playing period (I was a prop forward) and it all adds up to a pretty fit, and very strong, younger self, with very little excess fat.
I am now, frankly, embarrassed at the shape I have become, and it's (way beyond) time to do something about it. Or try anyway.
Watch this space.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Snickers
One of my colleagues is running a marathon soon. In Amsterdam. For charity. Please read the following message from Mags, and then follow the link and donate.
Thanks!
Thanks!
" ........... As some of you may be aware I will be running (hopefully!!!!) my first marathon in 8 weeks time in
It would be much appreciated if you could “dig deep” and make a contribution, however, small or large! Anyone interested in sponsoring me can do so via the following link:
http://www.justgiving.com/margaretgay
Thanks very much
Cheers
Mags ..........."
Sunday, May 18, 2008
My favourite syndrome
I'm thinking of putting in for a transfer to the establishment served by the bus stop on the right! It'd be fucking brilliant. Oops! There I go again! Bollocks!It was taken in Marseilles the other week, and I couldn't resist it. I promise I'll grow up one of these days. Maybe when I turn 50. Or maybe not.
On an unrelated topic, good luck to all of those running this morning in the Glasgow women's 10k road race, particularly those raising money for charity, and particularly to RE and her colleagues who can be sponsored (it isn't too late folks) by following the link on my previous post about it.
It's turned out to be a nice morning, and although it's a bit chilly it is dry and bright, so conditions look good. He said, never having run competitively (or otherwise, really) since leaving school some several years ago. Or it might have been slightly more than several.
Incidentally, what do you think about the new widgit I've installed on the left giving real time details of who's visiting the Blog? Intrusive eh? I like it! It just utilises what your browser already reveals to the world and looks up a database to work out the city you're in, nothing more. If there's a big wodge of negative comments about it I'll consider removing it again.
On a related topic, take a look at the Centralops Website to see what your browser really reveals! In particular look for the link to the browser mirror, but before you do so, try copying some text to your clipboard, such as your name or something, and then look at the browser mirror and scroll to near the bottom. You might find a surprise because often Internet Explorer is set up to reveal what's on your clipboard to any Website that asks for it. Think about that next time you're copying and pasting private information around Word documents, online banking etc!
It's easy to fix so that it isn't accessible, and if anyone wants the instructions posted, just leave a comment. You can find out how to do it by searching on the Microsoft Windows Website, like I did a few years ago, but I think I've still got them to hand so could post them easily enough. And as far as I know, if you're using Firefox, like wot I am, you're safe, but if for some obscure reason you're still using Internet Explorer, then you may be vulnerable.
Every day's a school day.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Aye Ready
It's a glorious sunny day and it's Wednesday. That means it's the evening for the Glasgow North Group of the IAM to have their weekly bike ride. Yet a few hundred miles from this city the famous Glasgow Rangers football club are playing in the final of the UEFA cup in Manchester, which sounds terribly exciting as it's being touted as the biggest European game the club have had since 1972.
The question therefore is this:
Is there going to be anyone else turning up for the bike ride? All will be revealed within the hour when I get there!
Update Thursday 15th: Yes indeed there were a few there, and more than I had expected. A good run up to Balmaha (near Loch Lomond) but I got very cold on the way back home for some reason, and combined with the previous night (Tuesday) being spent between the bedroom and the toilet (don't ask) and the subsequent (i.e. Wednesday) night being spent in a similar fashion, after having vomited for Britain before I went to bed, I am not a happy bunny today.
The question therefore is this:
Is there going to be anyone else turning up for the bike ride? All will be revealed within the hour when I get there!
Update Thursday 15th: Yes indeed there were a few there, and more than I had expected. A good run up to Balmaha (near Loch Lomond) but I got very cold on the way back home for some reason, and combined with the previous night (Tuesday) being spent between the bedroom and the toilet (don't ask) and the subsequent (i.e. Wednesday) night being spent in a similar fashion, after having vomited for Britain before I went to bed, I am not a happy bunny today.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Clickety click
Go on, you know you want to!
If you click here, then you can help support the Prince & Princess of Wales Hospice in Glasgow to carry on providing specialist palliative care for people with life-limiting illnesses, usually cancer, and support for their families and carers. All care is free, regardless of the patients' circumstances, but the actual cost of Hospice care is some £3 million each year and, despite generous support from NHS Greater Glasgow, two out of every three pounds comes from voluntary contributions and fundraising activities. Donations are therefore crucial for the ongoing provision of care.
I have a friend who is running in the Resolution Asset Management Glasgow Women's 10k this weekend, and she is looking for a bit of support, so please follow the link and you can donate from as little as £5. What can a fiver buy you these days? Not a lot really. But it can make a difference if it's channelled in the right direction and added to lots of other fivers.
Go on. Click it. You know it makes sense!
If you click here, then you can help support the Prince & Princess of Wales Hospice in Glasgow to carry on providing specialist palliative care for people with life-limiting illnesses, usually cancer, and support for their families and carers. All care is free, regardless of the patients' circumstances, but the actual cost of Hospice care is some £3 million each year and, despite generous support from NHS Greater Glasgow, two out of every three pounds comes from voluntary contributions and fundraising activities. Donations are therefore crucial for the ongoing provision of care.
I have a friend who is running in the Resolution Asset Management Glasgow Women's 10k this weekend, and she is looking for a bit of support, so please follow the link and you can donate from as little as £5. What can a fiver buy you these days? Not a lot really. But it can make a difference if it's channelled in the right direction and added to lots of other fivers.
Go on. Click it. You know it makes sense!
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Free calls and football
I've just downloaded and started using Skype. If you haven't tried it you should. Free calls to other Skype users, and cheap calls to landlines and mobiles. Clever stuff. And I've now got a Webcam too. Needless to say said camera will not be used for dodgy InterWeb stuff. Honest!
Anyway, I came across the following article on Primary School Football (soccer to youse foreigners!) earlier today, and in truth I'd forgotten I had it. Ah, memories! Enjoy.
We all know the rules to the senior game but do you remember the rules to Primary School playground fitba?
Duration
Matches shall be played over three unequal periods: two playtimes and a lunchtime. Each of these periods shall begin shortly after the ringing of a bell, and although a bell is also rung towards the end of these periods, play may continue for up to ten minutes afterwards, depending on the nihilism or “bottle” of the participants with regard to corporal punishment meted out to latecomers back to the classroom. In practice there is a sliding scale of nihilism, from those who hasten to stand in line as soon as the bell rings, known as "poofs", through those who will hang on until the time they estimate it takes the teachers to down the last of their gins and journey from the staffroom, known as "chancers", and finally to those who will hang on until a teacher actually has to physically retrieve them, known as "bampots". This sliding scale is intended to radically alter the logistics of a match in progress, often having dramatic effects on the scoreline as the number of remaining participants drops. It is important, therefore, in picking the sides, to achieve a fair balance of poofs, chancers and bampots in order that the scoreline achieved over a sustained period of play - a lunchtime, for instance - is not totally nullified by a five-minute post-bell onslaught of five bampots against one. The scoreline to be carried over from the previous period of the match is in the trust of the last bampots to leave the field of play, and may be the matter of some debate. This must be resolved in one of the approved manners (see Adjudication).
Parameters
The object is to force the ball between two large, unkempt piles of jackets, in lieu of goalposts. These piles may grow or shrink throughout the match, depending on the number of participants and the prevailing weather. As the number of players increases, so shall the piles. Each jacket added to the pile by a new addition to a side should be placed on the inside, nearest the goalkeeper, thus reducing the target area. It is also important that the sleeve of one of the jackets should jut out across the goalmouth, as it will often be claimed that the ball went "over the post" and it can henceforth be asserted that the outstretched sleeve denotes the innermost part of the pile and thus the inside of the post. The on-going reduction of the size of the goal is the responsibility of any respectable defence and should be undertaken conscientiously with resourcefulness and imagination. In the absence of a crossbar, the upper limit of the target area is observed as being slightly above head height, although when the height at which a ball passed between the jackets is in dispute, judgement shall lie with an arbitrary adjudicator from one of the sides. He is known as the "best fighter"; his decision is final and may be enforced with physical violence if anyone wants to stretch a point. There are no pitch markings. Instead, physical objects denote the boundaries, ranging from the most common - walls and buildings - to roads or burns. Corners and throw-ins are redundant where bylines or touchlines are denoted by a two-storey building or a six-foot granite wall. Instead, a scrum should be instigated to decide possession. This should begin with the ball trapped between the brickwork and two opposing players, and should escalate to include as many team members as can get there before the now egg-shaped ball finally emerges, drunkenly and often with a dismembered foot and shin attached. At this point, goalkeepers should look out for the player who takes possession of the escaped ball and begins bearing down on goal, as most of those involved in the scrum will be unaware that the ball is no longer amidst their feet. The goalkeeper should also try not to be distracted by the inevitable fighting that has by this point broken out. In games on large open spaces, the length of the pitch is obviously denoted by the jacket piles, but the width is a variable. In the absence of roads, water hazards or "a big dug", the width is determined by how far out the attacking winger has to meander before the pursuing defender gets fed up and lets him head back towards where the rest of the players are waiting, often as far as quarter of a mile away. It is often observed that the playing area is "no' a full-size pitch". This can be invoked verbally to justify placing a wall of players eighteen inches from the ball at direct free kicks It is the formal response to "yards", which the kick-taker will incant meaninglessly as he places the ball.
The Ball
There are a variety of types of ball approved for Primary School Football. I shall describe three notable examples.
1. The plastic balloon. An extremely lightweight model, used primarily in the early part of the season and seldom after that due to having burst. Identifiable by blue pentagonal panelling and the names of that year's Premier League sides printed all over it. Advantages: low sting factor, low burst-nose probability, cheap, discourages a long-ball game. Disadvantages: over-susceptible to influence of the wind, difficult to control, almost magnetically drawn to flat school roofs whence never to return.
2. The rough-finish Mitre. Half football, half Portuguese Man o' War. On the verge of a ban in the European Court of Human Rights, this model is not for sale to children. Used exclusively by teachers during gym classes as a kind of aversion therapy. Made from highly durable fibre-glass, stuffed with neutron star and coated with dead jellyfish. Advantages: looks quite grown up, makes for high-scoring matches (keepers won't even attempt to catch it). Disadvantages: scars or maims anything it touches.
3. The "Tube". Genuine leather ball, identifiable by brown all-over colouring. Was once black and white, before ravages of games on concrete, but owners can never remember when. Adored by everybody, especially keepers. Advantages: feels good, easily controlled, makes a satisfying "whump" noise when you kick it. Disadvantages: turns into medicine ball when wet, smells like a dead dog.
Offside
There is no offside, for two reasons: one, "it's no' a full-size pitch", and two, none of the players actually know what offside is. The lack of an offside rule gives rise to a unique sub-division of strikers. These players hang around the opposing goalmouth while play carries on at the other end, awaiting a long pass forward out of defence which they can help past the keeper before running the entire length of the pitch with their arms in the air to greet utterly imaginary adulation. These are known variously as "moochers", "gloryhunters" and "fly wee bastards". These players display a remarkable degree of self-security, seemingly happy in their own appraisals of their achievements, and caring little for their team-mates' failure to appreciate the contribution they have made. They know that it can be for nothing other than their enviable goal tallies that they are so bitterly despised.
Adjudication
The absence of a referee means that disputes must be resolved between the opposing teams rather than decided by an arbiter. There are two accepted ways of doing this.
1. Compromise. An arrangement is devised that is found acceptable by both sides. Sway is usually given to an action that is in accordance with the spirit of competition, ensuring that the game does not turn into "a pure skoosh". For example, in the event of a dispute as to whether the ball in fact crossed the line, or whether the ball has gone inside or "over" the post, the attacking side may offer the ultimatum: "Penalty or goal." It is not recorded whether any side has ever opted for the latter. It is on occasions that such arrangements or ultimata do not prove acceptable to both sides that the second adjudicatory method comes into play.
2. Fighting. Those up on their ancient Hellenic politics will understand that the concept we know as "justice" rests in these circumstances with the hand of the strong. What the winner says, goes, and what the winner says is just, for who shall dispute him? It is by such noble philosophical principles that the supreme adjudicator, or Best Fighter, is effectively elected.
Team Selection
To ensure a fair and balanced contest, teams are selected democratically in a turns-about picking process, with either side beginning as a one-man election committee and growing from there. The initial selectors are usually the recognised two Best Players of the assembled group. Their first selections will be the two recognised Best Fighters, to ensure a fair balance in the adjudication process, and to ensure that they don't have their own performances impaired throughout the match by profusely bleeding noses. They will then proceed to pick team-mates in a roughly meritocratic order, selecting on grounds of skill and tactical awareness, but not forgetting that while there is a sliding scale of players' ability, there is also a sliding scale of players' brutality and propensities towards motiveless violence. A selecting captain might baffle a talented striker by picking the less nimble Big Jazza head of him, and may explain, perhaps in the words of Lyndon B Johnson upon his retention of J Edgar Hoover as the head of the FBI, that he'd "rather have him inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in". Special consideration is also given during the selection process to the owner of the ball. It is tacitly acknowledged to be "his gemme", and he must be shown a degree of politeness for fear that he takes the huff at being picked late and withdraws his favours. Another aspect of team selection that may confuse those only familiar with the game at senior level will be the choice of goalkeepers, who will inevitably be the last players to be picked. Unlike in the senior game, where the goalkeeper is often the tallest member of his team, in the playground, the goalkeeper is usually the smallest. Senior aficionados must appreciate that playground selectors have a different agenda and are looking for altogether different properties in a goalkeeper. These can be listed briefly as: compliance, poor fighting ability, meekness, fear and anything else that makes it easier for their teammates to banish the wee bugger between the sticks while they go off in search of personal glory up the other end.
Tactics
Playground football tactics are best explained in terms of team formation. Whereas senior sides tend to choose - according to circumstance - from among a number of standard options (eg 4-4-2, 4-3-3, 5-3-2), the playground side is usually more rigid in sticking to the all-purpose 1-1-17 formation. This formation is a sturdy basis for the unique style of play, ball-flow and territorial give-and-take that makes the playground game such a renowned and strategically engrossing spectacle. Just as the 5-3-2 formation is sometimes referred to in practice as "Cattenaccio", the 1-1-17 formation gives rise to a style of play that is best described as "Nomadic". All but perhaps four of the participants (see also Offside) migrate en masse from one area of the pitch to another, following the ball, and it is tactically vital that every last one of them remains within a ten-yard radius of it at all times.
Stoppages
Much stoppage time in the senior game is down to injured players requiring treatment on the field of play. The playground game flows freer having adopted the refereeing philosophy of "no Post-Mortem, no freekick", and play will continue around and even on top of a participant who has fallen in the course of his endeavours. However, the playground game is nonetheless subject to other interruptions, and some examples are listed below.
Ball on school roof or over school wall. The retrieval time itself is negligible in these cases. The stoppage is most prolonged by the argument to decide which player must risk life, limb or four of the belt to scale the drainpipe or negotiate the barbed wire in order to return the ball to play. Disputes usually arise between the player who actually struck the ball and any others he claims it may have struck before disappearing into forbidden territory. In the case of the Best Fighter having been adjudged responsible for such an incident, a volunteer is often required to go in his stead or the game may be abandoned, as the Best Fighter is entitled to observe that A: "Ye canny make me"; or B: "It's no' ma baw anyway".
Stray dog on pitch. An interruption of unpredictable duration. The dog does not have to make off with the ball, it merely has to run around barking loudly, snarling and occasionally drooling or foaming at the mouth. This will ensure a dramatic reduction in the number of playing staff as 27 of them simultaneously volunteer to go indoors and inform the teacher of the threat. The length of the interruption can sometimes be gauged by the breed of dog. A deranged Irish Setter could take ten minutes to tire itself of running in circles, for instance, while a Jack Russell may take up to fifteen minutes to corner and force out through the gates. An Alsatian means instant abandonment.
Bigger boys steal ball. A highly irritating interruption, the length of which is determined by the players' experience in dealing with this sort of thing. The intruders will seldom actually steal the ball, but will improvise their own kickabout amongst themselves, occasionally inviting the younger players to attempt to tackle them. Standing around looking bored and unimpressed usually results in a quick restart. Shows of frustration and engaging in attempts to win back the ball can prolong the stoppage indefinitely. Informing the intruders that one of the players' older brother is "Mad Chic Murphy" or some other noted local pugilist can also ensure minimum delay.
Menopausal old bag confiscates ball. More of a threat in the street or local green kickabout than within the school walls. Sad, blue-rinsed, ill-tempered, Tory-voting cat-owner transfers her anger about the array of failures that has been her life to nine-year-olds who have committed the heinous crime of letting their ball cross her privet Line of Death. Interruption (loss of ball) is predicted to last "until you learn how to play with it properly", but instruction on how to achieve this without actually having the bloody thing is not usually forwarded. Tact is required in these circumstances, even when the return of the ball seems highly unlikely, as further irritation of woman may result in the more serious stoppage: Menopausal old bag calls police.
Celebration
Goal-scorers are entitled to a maximum run of thirty yards with their hands in the air, making crowd noises and saluting imaginary packed terraces. Congratulation by team-mates is in the measure appropriate to the importance of the goal in view of the current scoreline (for instance, making it 34-12 does not entitle the player to drop to his knees and make the sign of the cross), and the extent of the scorer's contribution. A fabulous solo dismantling of the defence or 25-yard* rocket shot will elicit applause and back-pats from the entire team and the more magnanimous of the opponents. However, a tap-in in the midst of a chaotic scramble will be heralded with the epithet "moochin' wee bastard" from the opposing defence amidst mild acknowledgement from team-mates. Applying an unnecessary final touch when a ball is already rolling into the goal will elicit a burst nose from the original striker. Kneeling down to head the ball over the line when defence and keeper are already beaten will elicit a thoroughly deserved kicking. As a footnote, however, it should be stressed that any goal scored by the Best Fighter will be met with universal acclaim, even if it falls into any of the latter three categories.
*Actually eight yards, but calculated as relative distance because "it's no' a full-size pitch".
Penalties
At senior level, each side often has one appointed penalty-taker, who will defer to a team-mate in special circumstances, such as his requiring one more for a hat-trick. The playground side has two appointed penalty-takers: the Best Player and the Best Fighter. The arrangement is simple: the Best Player takes the penalties when his side is a retrievable margin behind, and the Best Fighter at all other times. If the side is comfortably in front, the ball-owner may be invited to take a penalty. Goalkeepers are often the subject of temporary substitutions at penalties, forced to give up their position to the Best Player or Best Fighter, who recognise the kudos attached to the heroic act of saving one of these kicks, and are buggered if Wee Titch is going to steal any of it.
Close Season
This is known also as the Summer Holidays, which the players usually spend dabbling briefly in other sports: tennis for a fortnight while Wimbledon is on the telly; pitch-and-putt for four days during the Open; and cricket for about an hour and a half until they discover that it really is as boring to play as it is to watch.
Anyway, I came across the following article on Primary School Football (soccer to youse foreigners!) earlier today, and in truth I'd forgotten I had it. Ah, memories! Enjoy.
We all know the rules to the senior game but do you remember the rules to Primary School playground fitba?
Duration
Matches shall be played over three unequal periods: two playtimes and a lunchtime. Each of these periods shall begin shortly after the ringing of a bell, and although a bell is also rung towards the end of these periods, play may continue for up to ten minutes afterwards, depending on the nihilism or “bottle” of the participants with regard to corporal punishment meted out to latecomers back to the classroom. In practice there is a sliding scale of nihilism, from those who hasten to stand in line as soon as the bell rings, known as "poofs", through those who will hang on until the time they estimate it takes the teachers to down the last of their gins and journey from the staffroom, known as "chancers", and finally to those who will hang on until a teacher actually has to physically retrieve them, known as "bampots". This sliding scale is intended to radically alter the logistics of a match in progress, often having dramatic effects on the scoreline as the number of remaining participants drops. It is important, therefore, in picking the sides, to achieve a fair balance of poofs, chancers and bampots in order that the scoreline achieved over a sustained period of play - a lunchtime, for instance - is not totally nullified by a five-minute post-bell onslaught of five bampots against one. The scoreline to be carried over from the previous period of the match is in the trust of the last bampots to leave the field of play, and may be the matter of some debate. This must be resolved in one of the approved manners (see Adjudication).
Parameters
The object is to force the ball between two large, unkempt piles of jackets, in lieu of goalposts. These piles may grow or shrink throughout the match, depending on the number of participants and the prevailing weather. As the number of players increases, so shall the piles. Each jacket added to the pile by a new addition to a side should be placed on the inside, nearest the goalkeeper, thus reducing the target area. It is also important that the sleeve of one of the jackets should jut out across the goalmouth, as it will often be claimed that the ball went "over the post" and it can henceforth be asserted that the outstretched sleeve denotes the innermost part of the pile and thus the inside of the post. The on-going reduction of the size of the goal is the responsibility of any respectable defence and should be undertaken conscientiously with resourcefulness and imagination. In the absence of a crossbar, the upper limit of the target area is observed as being slightly above head height, although when the height at which a ball passed between the jackets is in dispute, judgement shall lie with an arbitrary adjudicator from one of the sides. He is known as the "best fighter"; his decision is final and may be enforced with physical violence if anyone wants to stretch a point. There are no pitch markings. Instead, physical objects denote the boundaries, ranging from the most common - walls and buildings - to roads or burns. Corners and throw-ins are redundant where bylines or touchlines are denoted by a two-storey building or a six-foot granite wall. Instead, a scrum should be instigated to decide possession. This should begin with the ball trapped between the brickwork and two opposing players, and should escalate to include as many team members as can get there before the now egg-shaped ball finally emerges, drunkenly and often with a dismembered foot and shin attached. At this point, goalkeepers should look out for the player who takes possession of the escaped ball and begins bearing down on goal, as most of those involved in the scrum will be unaware that the ball is no longer amidst their feet. The goalkeeper should also try not to be distracted by the inevitable fighting that has by this point broken out. In games on large open spaces, the length of the pitch is obviously denoted by the jacket piles, but the width is a variable. In the absence of roads, water hazards or "a big dug", the width is determined by how far out the attacking winger has to meander before the pursuing defender gets fed up and lets him head back towards where the rest of the players are waiting, often as far as quarter of a mile away. It is often observed that the playing area is "no' a full-size pitch". This can be invoked verbally to justify placing a wall of players eighteen inches from the ball at direct free kicks It is the formal response to "yards", which the kick-taker will incant meaninglessly as he places the ball.
The Ball
There are a variety of types of ball approved for Primary School Football. I shall describe three notable examples.
1. The plastic balloon. An extremely lightweight model, used primarily in the early part of the season and seldom after that due to having burst. Identifiable by blue pentagonal panelling and the names of that year's Premier League sides printed all over it. Advantages: low sting factor, low burst-nose probability, cheap, discourages a long-ball game. Disadvantages: over-susceptible to influence of the wind, difficult to control, almost magnetically drawn to flat school roofs whence never to return.
2. The rough-finish Mitre. Half football, half Portuguese Man o' War. On the verge of a ban in the European Court of Human Rights, this model is not for sale to children. Used exclusively by teachers during gym classes as a kind of aversion therapy. Made from highly durable fibre-glass, stuffed with neutron star and coated with dead jellyfish. Advantages: looks quite grown up, makes for high-scoring matches (keepers won't even attempt to catch it). Disadvantages: scars or maims anything it touches.
3. The "Tube". Genuine leather ball, identifiable by brown all-over colouring. Was once black and white, before ravages of games on concrete, but owners can never remember when. Adored by everybody, especially keepers. Advantages: feels good, easily controlled, makes a satisfying "whump" noise when you kick it. Disadvantages: turns into medicine ball when wet, smells like a dead dog.
Offside
There is no offside, for two reasons: one, "it's no' a full-size pitch", and two, none of the players actually know what offside is. The lack of an offside rule gives rise to a unique sub-division of strikers. These players hang around the opposing goalmouth while play carries on at the other end, awaiting a long pass forward out of defence which they can help past the keeper before running the entire length of the pitch with their arms in the air to greet utterly imaginary adulation. These are known variously as "moochers", "gloryhunters" and "fly wee bastards". These players display a remarkable degree of self-security, seemingly happy in their own appraisals of their achievements, and caring little for their team-mates' failure to appreciate the contribution they have made. They know that it can be for nothing other than their enviable goal tallies that they are so bitterly despised.
Adjudication
The absence of a referee means that disputes must be resolved between the opposing teams rather than decided by an arbiter. There are two accepted ways of doing this.
1. Compromise. An arrangement is devised that is found acceptable by both sides. Sway is usually given to an action that is in accordance with the spirit of competition, ensuring that the game does not turn into "a pure skoosh". For example, in the event of a dispute as to whether the ball in fact crossed the line, or whether the ball has gone inside or "over" the post, the attacking side may offer the ultimatum: "Penalty or goal." It is not recorded whether any side has ever opted for the latter. It is on occasions that such arrangements or ultimata do not prove acceptable to both sides that the second adjudicatory method comes into play.
2. Fighting. Those up on their ancient Hellenic politics will understand that the concept we know as "justice" rests in these circumstances with the hand of the strong. What the winner says, goes, and what the winner says is just, for who shall dispute him? It is by such noble philosophical principles that the supreme adjudicator, or Best Fighter, is effectively elected.
Team Selection
To ensure a fair and balanced contest, teams are selected democratically in a turns-about picking process, with either side beginning as a one-man election committee and growing from there. The initial selectors are usually the recognised two Best Players of the assembled group. Their first selections will be the two recognised Best Fighters, to ensure a fair balance in the adjudication process, and to ensure that they don't have their own performances impaired throughout the match by profusely bleeding noses. They will then proceed to pick team-mates in a roughly meritocratic order, selecting on grounds of skill and tactical awareness, but not forgetting that while there is a sliding scale of players' ability, there is also a sliding scale of players' brutality and propensities towards motiveless violence. A selecting captain might baffle a talented striker by picking the less nimble Big Jazza head of him, and may explain, perhaps in the words of Lyndon B Johnson upon his retention of J Edgar Hoover as the head of the FBI, that he'd "rather have him inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in". Special consideration is also given during the selection process to the owner of the ball. It is tacitly acknowledged to be "his gemme", and he must be shown a degree of politeness for fear that he takes the huff at being picked late and withdraws his favours. Another aspect of team selection that may confuse those only familiar with the game at senior level will be the choice of goalkeepers, who will inevitably be the last players to be picked. Unlike in the senior game, where the goalkeeper is often the tallest member of his team, in the playground, the goalkeeper is usually the smallest. Senior aficionados must appreciate that playground selectors have a different agenda and are looking for altogether different properties in a goalkeeper. These can be listed briefly as: compliance, poor fighting ability, meekness, fear and anything else that makes it easier for their teammates to banish the wee bugger between the sticks while they go off in search of personal glory up the other end.
Tactics
Playground football tactics are best explained in terms of team formation. Whereas senior sides tend to choose - according to circumstance - from among a number of standard options (eg 4-4-2, 4-3-3, 5-3-2), the playground side is usually more rigid in sticking to the all-purpose 1-1-17 formation. This formation is a sturdy basis for the unique style of play, ball-flow and territorial give-and-take that makes the playground game such a renowned and strategically engrossing spectacle. Just as the 5-3-2 formation is sometimes referred to in practice as "Cattenaccio", the 1-1-17 formation gives rise to a style of play that is best described as "Nomadic". All but perhaps four of the participants (see also Offside) migrate en masse from one area of the pitch to another, following the ball, and it is tactically vital that every last one of them remains within a ten-yard radius of it at all times.
Stoppages
Much stoppage time in the senior game is down to injured players requiring treatment on the field of play. The playground game flows freer having adopted the refereeing philosophy of "no Post-Mortem, no freekick", and play will continue around and even on top of a participant who has fallen in the course of his endeavours. However, the playground game is nonetheless subject to other interruptions, and some examples are listed below.
Ball on school roof or over school wall. The retrieval time itself is negligible in these cases. The stoppage is most prolonged by the argument to decide which player must risk life, limb or four of the belt to scale the drainpipe or negotiate the barbed wire in order to return the ball to play. Disputes usually arise between the player who actually struck the ball and any others he claims it may have struck before disappearing into forbidden territory. In the case of the Best Fighter having been adjudged responsible for such an incident, a volunteer is often required to go in his stead or the game may be abandoned, as the Best Fighter is entitled to observe that A: "Ye canny make me"; or B: "It's no' ma baw anyway".
Stray dog on pitch. An interruption of unpredictable duration. The dog does not have to make off with the ball, it merely has to run around barking loudly, snarling and occasionally drooling or foaming at the mouth. This will ensure a dramatic reduction in the number of playing staff as 27 of them simultaneously volunteer to go indoors and inform the teacher of the threat. The length of the interruption can sometimes be gauged by the breed of dog. A deranged Irish Setter could take ten minutes to tire itself of running in circles, for instance, while a Jack Russell may take up to fifteen minutes to corner and force out through the gates. An Alsatian means instant abandonment.
Bigger boys steal ball. A highly irritating interruption, the length of which is determined by the players' experience in dealing with this sort of thing. The intruders will seldom actually steal the ball, but will improvise their own kickabout amongst themselves, occasionally inviting the younger players to attempt to tackle them. Standing around looking bored and unimpressed usually results in a quick restart. Shows of frustration and engaging in attempts to win back the ball can prolong the stoppage indefinitely. Informing the intruders that one of the players' older brother is "Mad Chic Murphy" or some other noted local pugilist can also ensure minimum delay.
Menopausal old bag confiscates ball. More of a threat in the street or local green kickabout than within the school walls. Sad, blue-rinsed, ill-tempered, Tory-voting cat-owner transfers her anger about the array of failures that has been her life to nine-year-olds who have committed the heinous crime of letting their ball cross her privet Line of Death. Interruption (loss of ball) is predicted to last "until you learn how to play with it properly", but instruction on how to achieve this without actually having the bloody thing is not usually forwarded. Tact is required in these circumstances, even when the return of the ball seems highly unlikely, as further irritation of woman may result in the more serious stoppage: Menopausal old bag calls police.
Celebration
Goal-scorers are entitled to a maximum run of thirty yards with their hands in the air, making crowd noises and saluting imaginary packed terraces. Congratulation by team-mates is in the measure appropriate to the importance of the goal in view of the current scoreline (for instance, making it 34-12 does not entitle the player to drop to his knees and make the sign of the cross), and the extent of the scorer's contribution. A fabulous solo dismantling of the defence or 25-yard* rocket shot will elicit applause and back-pats from the entire team and the more magnanimous of the opponents. However, a tap-in in the midst of a chaotic scramble will be heralded with the epithet "moochin' wee bastard" from the opposing defence amidst mild acknowledgement from team-mates. Applying an unnecessary final touch when a ball is already rolling into the goal will elicit a burst nose from the original striker. Kneeling down to head the ball over the line when defence and keeper are already beaten will elicit a thoroughly deserved kicking. As a footnote, however, it should be stressed that any goal scored by the Best Fighter will be met with universal acclaim, even if it falls into any of the latter three categories.
*Actually eight yards, but calculated as relative distance because "it's no' a full-size pitch".
Penalties
At senior level, each side often has one appointed penalty-taker, who will defer to a team-mate in special circumstances, such as his requiring one more for a hat-trick. The playground side has two appointed penalty-takers: the Best Player and the Best Fighter. The arrangement is simple: the Best Player takes the penalties when his side is a retrievable margin behind, and the Best Fighter at all other times. If the side is comfortably in front, the ball-owner may be invited to take a penalty. Goalkeepers are often the subject of temporary substitutions at penalties, forced to give up their position to the Best Player or Best Fighter, who recognise the kudos attached to the heroic act of saving one of these kicks, and are buggered if Wee Titch is going to steal any of it.
Close Season
This is known also as the Summer Holidays, which the players usually spend dabbling briefly in other sports: tennis for a fortnight while Wimbledon is on the telly; pitch-and-putt for four days during the Open; and cricket for about an hour and a half until they discover that it really is as boring to play as it is to watch.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Review of 2007
I had every intention of continuing with regular postings here, but for various reasons real life has got in the way of virtual life somewhat, so there are gaps in this Blog. Time then for an update of what's been happening.The year started with me still in the rented flat in Dowanhill in Glasgow's west end, where I'd moved after leaving Johnstone, in Renfrewshire, when my wife and I separated and we sold our lovely house in summer 2006.
January 2007 saw me starting to look properly for my own place and I had decided I didn't want to waste money on chasing "offers over" properties, so was interested only in fixed price. Not only that, but with Ernie & Elmo, our two cats, living with me I was only prepared to consider ground floor or at a push first floor flats so they could get out. It also had to be in the west end of Glasgow. My choices were, to say the least, limited!
Taking advantage of all t'InterWeb has to offer, I was on various mailing lists, and eventually I was notified of a flat which ticked all of the boxes except that it wasn't in the west end but 5 miles further out, in Clydebank. Long story short, I bought it and have been happily living here since May. More recently I had a cat flap fitted in the back door, so Ernie & Elmo have now got used to 24/7 access to the great outdoors, which seems to suit them well!
In March I was playing badminton, for only the second time in a long number of years, when I ruptured my Achilles Tendon, putting me into a plaster cast for 2 months, and off work for 3 months. That was not a pleasant experience.
My enforced lay-off from singing in the choir of St Mary's Cathedral while unable to stand without crutches, led straight on to a period of time out from singing there for various reasons I don't intend blogging about. I am still not singing in the cathedral, and I have only been back in the building twice, once for a funeral and once to sing in a concert with another choir. I remain very disillusioned with organised religion, which is a shame.
I visited Belgium with my dad over a weekend back in about April to see my brother who was working there for a few weeks, and despite being on crutches which made things difficult, that was the high spot of the year, partly because I haven't done much travelling abroad in my life, and partly because it was great to spend time like that with dad and with my brother who I see so rarely because he lives in California.
In Manchester I attended the civil partnership of the brother of a friend. It isn't all that long since these were first allowed in the UK, and a straw poll conducted during the speeches at the reception confirmed that not one person attending had been at one before!
Later in the year I was in Kent, this time without crutches, at the wedding of friends of a friend, and that was good partly because they're nice people, but also it's a nice part of the country.
In September my divorce came through. As an observation, it's easier to get divorced than married, at least as far as the amount of paperwork which need completing is concerned! We remain on friendly terms, and I sincerely hope it remains that way. No reason for it not to.
Work is good again. I moved out of my comfort zone into a different department a bit over a year ago, and that caused me for a time to consider where my future lay, but thankfully I am now enjoying it again and have no intention of moving. Sticking with my personal policy of not blogging about work, that's all I intend saying about it.
In late summer I embarked on a quest to pass my Institute of Advanced Motorists bike and car tests. It has been the subject of extensive posts over the past month or so, so suffice to say that I have now passed my advanced bike test, and I'm awaiting a date for my advanced car test.
Missing singing, but not missing the cathedral, in September I rejoined Glasgow Chamber Choir. I was one of the original members when it was founded, and I've sung with them on and off since then. I'm enjoying it immensely and, because there are a fair number of people who have joined since 2002 which was the last time I sang with the choir, I have been enjoying making new friends, some of whom look like becoming very good friends indeed.
So, there you have it. The short version of Lay Clerk's 2007.
Put simply, I have come from a real low in summer 2006 to being just about back on track, and the future looks potentially bright for all sorts of reasons.
My New Year's resolution for 2008 is to start to really enjoy life again, and to try to do what's right and necessary for me even if it's not necessarily right for other people. I'm certainly not going to go out of my way to hurt or upset anyone, least of all my friends, but I need to get my priorities sorted, and my priority this forthcoming year is going to be me!
Can I take this opportunity to wish everyone reading this, particularly those (and I am told there are some) who for some obscure reason read this Blog regularly, a very happy Christmas and a prosperous new year.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
A class act
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the mixed martial art sport of K-1, and in particular the rather spectacularly good Ernesto Hoost. Don't watch it if you don't like watching boxing, because this goes much further and is so much better.
I used to watch this a lot when I had Sky in a previous house, but it doesn't seem to have reached any of the channels on Virgin Media at all.
I used to watch this a lot when I had Sky in a previous house, but it doesn't seem to have reached any of the channels on Virgin Media at all.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika
The final of the 2007 Rugby World Cup is upon us. England v South Africa. I have no chip on my shoulder about England or the English (unlike several Scots I could name) at least partly because I only have to go back a couple of generations to be firmly English in more than one strand of my ancestry and perhaps partly because I have been married to two English women (at different times, obviously) and have lived there for a few years, but my opinion, for what it's worth, as far as performance during the tournament so far is that South Africa deserve to win, not England.
A long time ago my family (i.e. mum dad me and my brother) almost emigrated to South Africa, my parents changing their minds at the very last minute. In tribute to that country, and nicked from the ANC Website, I present to you some stuff relating to their National Anthem
So, join in if you know the tune:
A long time ago my family (i.e. mum dad me and my brother) almost emigrated to South Africa, my parents changing their minds at the very last minute. In tribute to that country, and nicked from the ANC Website, I present to you some stuff relating to their National Anthem
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika was composed in 1897 by Enoch Sontonga, a teacher at a Methodist mission school in
Most of Sontonga's songs were sad, witnessing the suffering of African people in
Solomon Plaatje, one of
The Rev J L Dube's Ohlange Zulu Choir popularised Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika at concerts in
For decades Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika was regarded as the national anthem of South Afrika by the oppressed and it was always sung as an act of defiance against the apartheid regime. A proclamation issued by the State President on 20 April 1994 stipulated that both Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika and Die Stem (the Call of South Africa) would be the national anthems of
There are no standard versions or translations of Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika so the words vary from place to place and from occasion to occasion. Generally the first stanza is sung in Xhosa or Zulu, followed by the Sesotho version.
So, join in if you know the tune:
Classic Xhosa Version:
Nkosi, sikelel' iAfrika;
Malupakam'upondo lwayo;
Yiva imitandazo yetu
Usisikelele.
Chorus
Yihla Moya, Yihla Moya,
Yihla Moya Oyingcwele
Sikelela iNkosi zetu;
Zimkumbule umDali wazo;
Zimoyike zezimhlonele,
Azisikelele.
Sikelel' amadod' esizwe,
Sikelela kwa nomlisela
Ulitwal'ilizwe ngomonde,
Uwusikelele.
Sikelel'amakosikazi;
Nawo onk'amanenekazi;
Pakamisa wonk'umtinjana
Uwusikelele.
Sikelela abafundisi
Bemvaba zonke zelilizwe;
Ubatwese ngoMoya Wako
Ubasikelele.
Sikelel'ulimo nemfuyo;
Gxota zonk'indlala nezifo;
Zalisa ilizwe ngempilo
Ulisikelele
Sikelel'amalinge etu
Awomanyano nokuzaka,
Awemfundo nemvisiswano
Uwasikelele.
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika;
Cima bonk' ubugwenxa bayo
Nezigqito, nezono zayo
Uyisikelele.
Original Lovedale English Translation
Lord, bless
May her horn rise high up;
Hear Thou our prayers And bless us.
Chorus
Descend, O Spirit,
Descend, O Holy Spirit.
Bless our chiefs
May they remember their Creator.
Fear Him and revere Him,
That He may bless them.
Bless the public men,
Bless also the youth
That they may carry the land with patience
and that Thou mayst bless them.
Bless the wives
And also all young women;
Lift up all the young girls
And bless them.
Bless the ministers
of all the churches of this land;
Endue them with Thy Spirit
And bless them.
Bless agriculture and stock raising
Banish all famine and diseases;
Fill the land with good health
And bless it.
Bless our efforts
of union and self-uplift,
Of education and mutual understanding
And bless them.
Lord, bless
Blot out all its wickedness
And its transgressions and sins,
And bless it.
Current Xhosa Version
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika
Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo
Yiva imathandazo yethu
Nkosi Sikelela Nkosi Sikelela
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika
Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo
Yiva imathandazo yethu
Nkosi Sikelela
Thina lusapho lwayo.
Chorus
Yihla moya, yihla moya
Yihla moya oyingcwele
Nkosi Sikelela
Thina lusapho lwayo.
(Repeat)
Sesotho Version
Morena boloka sechaba sa heso
O fedise dintwa le matshwenyeho,
Morena boloka sechaba sa heso,
O fedise dintwa le matshwenyeho.
O se boloke, o se boloke,
O se boloke, o se boloke.
Sechaba sa heso, Sechaba sa heso.
O se boloke morena se boloke,
O se boloke sechaba, se boloke.
Sechaba sa heso, sechaba sa heso.
Ma kube njalo! Ma kube njalo!
Kude kube ngunaphakade.
Kude kube ngunaphakade!
Zulu Version
Nkosi, sikelel' iAfrika,
Malupnakanyisw' udumo lwayo;
Yizwa imithandazo yethu
Nkosi sikelela,
Nkosi sikelela,
Nkosi, sikelel' iAfrika,
Malupnakanyisw' udumo lwayo;
Yizwa imithandazo yethu
Nkosi sikelela,
Nkosi sikelela,
Woza Moya (woza, woza),
Woza Moya (woza, woza),
Woza Moya, Oyingcwele.
Usisikelele,
Thina lusapho lwayo.
Current English Version
Lord, bless
May her spirit rise high up
Hear thou our prayers
Lord bless us.
Lord, bless
May her spirit rise high up
Hear thou our prayers
Lord bless us Your family.
Chorus
Descend, O Spirit
Descend, O Holy Spirit
Lord bless us
Your family.
(Repeat)
Afrikaans Version
Seen ons Here God, seen Afrika,
Laat sy mag tot in die hemel reik,
Hoor ons as ons in gebede vra,
Seen ons in Afrika,
Kinders van Afrika.
Daal neer o Gees, Heilige Gees,
Daal neer o Gees, Heilige Gees,
Kom woon in ons,
Lei ons, O Heilige Gees.
Hou U hand o Heer oor Afrika,
Lei ons tot by eenheid en begrip,
Hoor ons as ons U om vrede vra,
Seen ons in Afrika,
Kinders van Afrika.
Seen ons Here God, seen Afrika,
Neem dan nou die boosheid van ons weg,
Maak ons van ons sonde ewig vry,
Seen ons in Afrika,
Kinders van Afrika.
So whichever version you know or prefer, join in. And good luck to both teams, may the better one win.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Ask an expert
And when you do ask the expert, he tells you "Six weeks, is that what they told you? No, it'll be three months in plaster for you my friend!"
I have completely ruptured (i.e. snapped in two) my Achilles Tendon. I was at the fracture clinic this afternoon and while the person I saw at A&E yesterday was knowledgeable enough, the experts at the clinic have told me what's actually happening. Apparently what I've done is a fairly major injury.
So I was given the choice of having surgery or not. They take about the same time to heal, they both involve immobilisation with a cast, but the surgical one results in a stronger end result. The reason I didn't opt for surgery though was that the stronger end result would only make a difference if I was a sprinter, an athlete, or basically if I took part in sport at a high level. I don't so there seemed no point in risking the complications (and presumably enduring the extra pain and discomfort) inherent in surgery. And I'm a woose.
So what's happening is that I have a cast on for 4 weeks, then a different one with my foot at a different angle for another 4 weeks, then ..... well, you get the gist of it. That said, in 3 weeks I'm off to Belgium for the weekend, so the day before I fly I have to pay a visit to the plaster room to have a different cast put on. A split one apparently so that if my foot or leg swells while on the aircraft there'll be enough "give" to be safe. The wonders of modern medical science!
The new cast which was put on today is just as comfortable as the one put on yesterday (so far), and although the painkillers I took just before going to the clinic are still working, I'm starting to feel a wee bit tender, not just in my ankle, but in fact in my shoulders, arms and hands, all of which is connected to my use of the crutches and the unfamiliar exercising of little-used muscles. Oh well, early days.
On the subject of work, clearly there's nothing to stop me actually working since all I do is drive a computer all day, but I was told that firstly I should be totally resting my leg and there would be the obvious danger of overdoing it if I was at work (and while travelling there and back - and on that subject I can't drive so that's another issue), and secondly it'd be OK as long as I was able to raise my leg. When I asked how high I would have to raise it I was told "usually we say up to the same level as your heart" so funnily enough I can't really sit at a desk with my leg on top of it so quite simply I can't go to work for the moment.
I really can't face being off work for 3 months (not that I'm a super-keen work-loving tosser, although I do enjoy my work very much), because apart from anything else I just know I'll be bored shitless, but right now I'm forced to consider that this is a real possibility. I'll take it a bit at a time though and what I'll do, while following medical advice of course, is to be off for the first 4 weeks, until my next appointment, and then see how I'm feeling, how the leg is doing, how I'm managing to get around on the crutches, and decide whether I need to stay off longer. That said, it's entirely possible that the doctors will overrule me and won't let me go back as quickly as I might want, or indeed work may not want me to come back until I'm 100% better. We'll see.
Anyway, who'd have thought that I'd ever have "sports injury" on my medical CV!
I have completely ruptured (i.e. snapped in two) my Achilles Tendon. I was at the fracture clinic this afternoon and while the person I saw at A&E yesterday was knowledgeable enough, the experts at the clinic have told me what's actually happening. Apparently what I've done is a fairly major injury.
So I was given the choice of having surgery or not. They take about the same time to heal, they both involve immobilisation with a cast, but the surgical one results in a stronger end result. The reason I didn't opt for surgery though was that the stronger end result would only make a difference if I was a sprinter, an athlete, or basically if I took part in sport at a high level. I don't so there seemed no point in risking the complications (and presumably enduring the extra pain and discomfort) inherent in surgery. And I'm a woose.
So what's happening is that I have a cast on for 4 weeks, then a different one with my foot at a different angle for another 4 weeks, then ..... well, you get the gist of it. That said, in 3 weeks I'm off to Belgium for the weekend, so the day before I fly I have to pay a visit to the plaster room to have a different cast put on. A split one apparently so that if my foot or leg swells while on the aircraft there'll be enough "give" to be safe. The wonders of modern medical science!
The new cast which was put on today is just as comfortable as the one put on yesterday (so far), and although the painkillers I took just before going to the clinic are still working, I'm starting to feel a wee bit tender, not just in my ankle, but in fact in my shoulders, arms and hands, all of which is connected to my use of the crutches and the unfamiliar exercising of little-used muscles. Oh well, early days.
On the subject of work, clearly there's nothing to stop me actually working since all I do is drive a computer all day, but I was told that firstly I should be totally resting my leg and there would be the obvious danger of overdoing it if I was at work (and while travelling there and back - and on that subject I can't drive so that's another issue), and secondly it'd be OK as long as I was able to raise my leg. When I asked how high I would have to raise it I was told "usually we say up to the same level as your heart" so funnily enough I can't really sit at a desk with my leg on top of it so quite simply I can't go to work for the moment.
I really can't face being off work for 3 months (not that I'm a super-keen work-loving tosser, although I do enjoy my work very much), because apart from anything else I just know I'll be bored shitless, but right now I'm forced to consider that this is a real possibility. I'll take it a bit at a time though and what I'll do, while following medical advice of course, is to be off for the first 4 weeks, until my next appointment, and then see how I'm feeling, how the leg is doing, how I'm managing to get around on the crutches, and decide whether I need to stay off longer. That said, it's entirely possible that the doctors will overrule me and won't let me go back as quickly as I might want, or indeed work may not want me to come back until I'm 100% better. We'll see.
Anyway, who'd have thought that I'd ever have "sports injury" on my medical CV!
OWWWWWWWWW!!
So there I was, enjoying being back playing badminton for only the second time in, ooh, more than seven years (I played last week) when back I went to smash the shuttlecock which had been lobbed in my direction and BANG! Simultaneous loud noise and pain in the back of my ankle.As happens, the slow motion playing out of the incident meant that my thought processes went something like:
The floor's collapsed; no wait, what's that pain?; I've broken my ankle; no, I didn't go over on it; I think I'll fall to the floor like a 15 stone sack of potatoes; and now maybe I'll scream like a girl; AAAAHHHHHGGGG!
As I hit the deck I think I realised that it was my Achilles Tendon which had gone PING. My playing partner, CG, heard the noise it made and said later that he also thought for a split second that it was the floor breaking until he saw me hit the deck hard. And scream. I'd be prepared to accept that in fact I did scream like a girly, but RM and NG have assured me that there could be no doubting it was a man roaring! I'm also told I didn't swear, which isn't like me at all.
Anyway, along came the staff of the Kelvin Hall with a little bag of ice (Remember folks - RICE, Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) and this was applied to the back of my ankle while a wheelchair was brought to the court. I was wheeled out to NP's car and he took me across the road to the Western Infirmary A&E where the happy staff (!) attended to me. After the triage nurse assessed me out in the waiting area (saved having to wheel me away I suppose but I'm glad it was a physical injury and not an STD, 'cos it was a bit public) I was taken in to be seen. This was actually fairly quick considering that the little poster in the window of where I was booked in said there was a four hour wait. All in all I think it was round about half an hour before I was taken through.
The next nurse I saw opined that, since I had most of my pain at the bottom of my calf rather than in my ankle, it was more likely not an achilles tendon injury, but rather a tear of the gastrocnemius (calf) muscle. When the doctor came and looked though, he diagnosed that it was indeed a problem with the achilles tendon.
He didn't actually say what he thought I'd done to it, and as I realise now it could be "just" a tear, or it could be completely ruptured. Anyway I have a lightweight cast (or stookie as they used to be known in these here parts for some reason) from toe to knee. I have my toes pointing down (think ballet dancer on points, although not that severe an angle) and it'll be like that for two weeks then the cast removed and another one put on at a different angle, bringing my toes up a bit, then two weeks later changed again, etc. The first estimate is about 6 weeks in plaster. Whoop de do!
Having spoken to a colleague at work this morning, he told me that his next door neighbour had the same injury playing football and, because he had separated the tendon from the calcaneus bone (heel) he had to have surgery to repair it, and he was off work for four months. I have also been told by RN of the choir (he of the medical bent) that when I attend the fracture clinic (at 1307hrs today - what the hell kind of time is that for an appointment? - as soon as it gets to 1308hrs if I haven't been seen I shall complain!) I am to ask for an ultrasound examination of the injury in case it is indeed fully ruptured in which case I should ask for surgery to have it repaired.
On the way out, the nurse who had thought it wasn't an achilles tendon injury said something like "it's very unusual to have the pain so far up the calf in an achilles injury" in a vain attempt at redeeming herself, but I wasn't fooled!
So anyway, I actually slept very well last night. The foot is cast in the position it would naturally fall when I sleep (sort of the recovery position for those who are first aid trained, and for those who are not first aid trained - get trained, you never know when it'll come in useful. Or at least buy a first aid manual and read it).
While I remember, the loathsome racist low-life wanker in the next cubicle with an equally loathsome ned female was there because on Friday he damaged his fist while punching someone and because it broke the skin it's now infected and he can't open or close his fist. Hopefully it is very very painful. I say this partly because I don't like neds, partly because I don't like people who punch other people, partly because I don't like tossers using mobile phones in a hospital where it clearly says that such devices must be switched off, but mostly because I heard clearly what he called the doctor once he had finished examining him and had gone off to get the orthopaedic person to look at it, and I DO NOT like racists.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
It was an accident, honest guv
I may have accidentally had too much to drink yesterday. You know how it is. Met a friend in town at lunchtime for a bite to eat and we went to The Counting House to eat (and have a drink), then decided to go elsewhere to have another drink (Red Lizard in the Merchant City), then a third (Arta, near Red Lizard), and remained there until I think about 7 or 8pm polishing off Guinness and Red Wine like it was going out of fashion. We then wended our respective merry ways home and I may have had some Pernod later. Then the twat upstairs decided he'd have a party with LOUD music and SHOUTING into the very small hours. It was still going at about 5am. To be fair that is the first time I've heard anything from the flat upstairs (apart from the odd bit of bad piano practice) so that's his free one. Next time I'll be up at the door once it gets unreasonable.
It's now Sunday afternoon and it's time to sleep on the sofa while "watching" the Turkish Grand Prix. I've set my alarm for Evensong though, just in case!
It's now Sunday afternoon and it's time to sleep on the sofa while "watching" the Turkish Grand Prix. I've set my alarm for Evensong though, just in case!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Aww, bless!
Well well, they aren't going to win the world cup this year then!
And potato-head showed his normal petulance while trying out his newly healed foot by placing it firmly into the groin of an opposing player as he was on the ground, so got sent off. Tit.
And potato-head showed his normal petulance while trying out his newly healed foot by placing it firmly into the groin of an opposing player as he was on the ground, so got sent off. Tit.
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