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Climb Every Mountain
I am HERE
Bahhhhhhhh
| Monday 2 August, 2004 |
I am HERE
Bahhhhhhhh
| #permalink |
Oh When the Saints…
Cycling through New Cross on Sunday and the rousing sound of All Saints had the effect of me pulling over and allowing the healing power of soul music to inspire me to peddle past Peckham.
Please don't confuse the wailing coke-fuelled cries of four West London slappers who managed to make a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover even crapper than the original with the sweet soul sound of the marching band of All Saints Church, New Cross. These boys certainly know how to blow their own trumpets.
Strangely the All Saints Church flag was the same as the Millwall crest. Draw your own No One Likes Us conclusions from the sparse (but spirited) congregation.
Back in Sunny Stockwell and we're use to the Sunday afternoon treat of a Southern style marching band leading a funeral procession southbound towards Brixton. Obviously not exactly a 'treat' for the deceased and their nearest and dearest though.
The All Saints sound was devoid of death; a smiling rosy cheeked vicar and bunting in the churchyard suggested nothing more sinister than a summer fete. Not worse than death, etc.
Back to the late '90s baggy arsed 'shag me I'm a pop star' tarts.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Monday 2 August, 2004 |
Cycling through New Cross on Sunday and the rousing sound of All Saints had the effect of me pulling over and allowing the healing power of soul music to inspire me to peddle past Peckham.
Please don't confuse the wailing coke-fuelled cries of four West London slappers who managed to make a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover even crapper than the original with the sweet soul sound of the marching band of All Saints Church, New Cross. These boys certainly know how to blow their own trumpets.
Strangely the All Saints Church flag was the same as the Millwall crest. Draw your own No One Likes Us conclusions from the sparse (but spirited) congregation.
Back in Sunny Stockwell and we're use to the Sunday afternoon treat of a Southern style marching band leading a funeral procession southbound towards Brixton. Obviously not exactly a 'treat' for the deceased and their nearest and dearest though.
The All Saints sound was devoid of death; a smiling rosy cheeked vicar and bunting in the churchyard suggested nothing more sinister than a summer fete. Not worse than death, etc.
Back to the late '90s baggy arsed 'shag me I'm a pop star' tarts.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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| #permalink |
Crap Match Report
Dulwich Hamlet 0 Fisher Athletic 1, 31/07/04
A larger than life figure has been casting a sizeable shadow on Dulwich's pre-season fixture list; returning hero Pete Garland fills the boots (and shirts) of two average players at this level and the meaty midfield player clearly still has the appetite. For the game of course.
Differing accounts exist surrounding the circumstances of the first departure of Garland from Dulwich; was there an off the field bust up at the highest level? Or did the club bar simply run out of Mars Bars? Hid dad being Manager and also leaving the club probably didn't do much for his claim for captaincy.
Garland is still looked (through a wide angle lens) around these parts very favourably. A definite cult figure, the kind of character that you always want playing FOR your club, but never AGAINST. Despite the excess baggage (definitely ON the field time, but he did look noticeably leaner in this game), he is without a doubt the most skilful and intelligent player that has been at Dulwich in the past decade. Gazza meets Ready Steady Teddy with the 'gift of the gob' Roy Keane style thrown in to liven things up.
Welcome home Pete – there's a beer (and a pie) behind the bar for you. I hope you'll be appreciated this season.
Dulwich welcomed Fisher Athletic to Champion Hill in a game that would no doubt be styled as 'The Battle of Southwark' had shitty Sky Sports been involved. Actually it was dubbed exactly that by The Voice of Champion Hill but his golden mic skills never utter anything but the truth.
Fisher are going to be casting their hook across SE22 on a permanent basis with the Surrey Docks club anchoring at Champion Hill for a ground share this season while they undergo their own ship repairs.
The hastily arranged marriage of convenience between the two clubs led to the bastard offspring in the form of the Fisher and Dulwich DJ double act, Southwark's very own Little and Large sharing the match day microphone. The Fisher fraternity was friendly, whilst the Dulwich delegation was strong on discipline:
'To the boys playing football: DON'T. Just as the players can't keep the ball on the pitch, you can't keep the ball off the pitch.'
Firm but fair I'd say, although it doesn't bode well for the Dulwich youth set up in years to come.
The first returning visit to your ground at the start of each season is always filled with hope and anticipation; will a 20,000 capacity cantilever stand have been built during the summer months? Which multi-national will be secured for a multi-million pound plus sponsorship scheme? And will the club have a flash new megastore?
Well...
The pigeons have finally got the better of the front row seats towards the Greendale end of the ground and these have now been ripped out after years of shit abuse. From the pigeons, not the supporters. Castlemaine XXXX had hastily pinned up a few advertising boards behind the goal (quite apt for the artists that reside there) and the Supporters Trust shed is still standing and still selling all things Pink 'n Blue.
With a crowd only slightly higher than the blazing hot temperature (thankfully Fahrenheit), this summer work out was only semi-competitive with more drinks breaks than a Dublin pub crawl.
Dulwich controlled the midfield with Garland adding his weight, but were weak up front after the departure of last season's top scorer Omari Coleman to Watford. Fisher were the reverse, finding the superb Subbuteo style lawn pitch a little too much of a luxury in the middle of the park, but they looked dangerous in the box.
The goal came after fifty three minutes but I missed it as I was too engrossed in Test Match Special on my walkman. I almost shouted out HOWZATTTT!!!! following a Dulwich penalty claim. Must get my football, basketball and ice hockey heads sorted out within the next few weeks.
Highlight: The FREE pitch side BBQ provided by our friends from Fisher. Get in there before Garland does (but seriously, it is GREAT to see him back in the Pink 'n Blue).
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
crap match report compendium
hamletweb
| Sunday 1 August, 2004 |
Dulwich Hamlet 0 Fisher Athletic 1, 31/07/04
A larger than life figure has been casting a sizeable shadow on Dulwich's pre-season fixture list; returning hero Pete Garland fills the boots (and shirts) of two average players at this level and the meaty midfield player clearly still has the appetite. For the game of course.
Differing accounts exist surrounding the circumstances of the first departure of Garland from Dulwich; was there an off the field bust up at the highest level? Or did the club bar simply run out of Mars Bars? Hid dad being Manager and also leaving the club probably didn't do much for his claim for captaincy.
 The pigeons finally got the better of the front row seats |
Welcome home Pete – there's a beer (and a pie) behind the bar for you. I hope you'll be appreciated this season.
Dulwich welcomed Fisher Athletic to Champion Hill in a game that would no doubt be styled as 'The Battle of Southwark' had shitty Sky Sports been involved. Actually it was dubbed exactly that by The Voice of Champion Hill but his golden mic skills never utter anything but the truth.
Fisher are going to be casting their hook across SE22 on a permanent basis with the Surrey Docks club anchoring at Champion Hill for a ground share this season while they undergo their own ship repairs.
The hastily arranged marriage of convenience between the two clubs led to the bastard offspring in the form of the Fisher and Dulwich DJ double act, Southwark's very own Little and Large sharing the match day microphone. The Fisher fraternity was friendly, whilst the Dulwich delegation was strong on discipline:
'To the boys playing football: DON'T. Just as the players can't keep the ball on the pitch, you can't keep the ball off the pitch.'
Firm but fair I'd say, although it doesn't bode well for the Dulwich youth set up in years to come.
The first returning visit to your ground at the start of each season is always filled with hope and anticipation; will a 20,000 capacity cantilever stand have been built during the summer months? Which multi-national will be secured for a multi-million pound plus sponsorship scheme? And will the club have a flash new megastore?
Well...
The pigeons have finally got the better of the front row seats towards the Greendale end of the ground and these have now been ripped out after years of shit abuse. From the pigeons, not the supporters. Castlemaine XXXX had hastily pinned up a few advertising boards behind the goal (quite apt for the artists that reside there) and the Supporters Trust shed is still standing and still selling all things Pink 'n Blue.
With a crowd only slightly higher than the blazing hot temperature (thankfully Fahrenheit), this summer work out was only semi-competitive with more drinks breaks than a Dublin pub crawl.
Dulwich controlled the midfield with Garland adding his weight, but were weak up front after the departure of last season's top scorer Omari Coleman to Watford. Fisher were the reverse, finding the superb Subbuteo style lawn pitch a little too much of a luxury in the middle of the park, but they looked dangerous in the box.
The goal came after fifty three minutes but I missed it as I was too engrossed in Test Match Special on my walkman. I almost shouted out HOWZATTTT!!!! following a Dulwich penalty claim. Must get my football, basketball and ice hockey heads sorted out within the next few weeks.
Highlight: The FREE pitch side BBQ provided by our friends from Fisher. Get in there before Garland does (but seriously, it is GREAT to see him back in the Pink 'n Blue).
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Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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crap match report compendium
hamletweb
| #permalink |
Ich Bin Ein Londoner
Sun, sex and cycling. Two out of three 'aint bad. Must remember to cycle next time then, boom boom. The summer months are always boom time for Critical Mass London. Who could resist the post-work pedal through the city with a thousand plus similar cycling freaks?
Not many two wheelers judging by another tremendous turn out. Even our friends the Bobbies on Bikes seemed to make their way around the Mass with a grin wider than an eight lane London highway.
Cycle lanes however are a waste of space, not that it's much space to be honest. The Mass wasted no time in reclaiming the road as we exited at the Imax leaving the bike lanes blocked by busses. No change there.
London should adopt the Dutch style of dedicated cycle lanes, and not some piss poor lip service of a lane that is only suitable for a superwaif cyclist on a diet.
Keeping with the continental theme and it was wonderful for Critical Mass to welcome a couple of cycling tourists! Herr and Frau Freewheelers looked as though they had made the trip especially for the monthly ride, peddling away with their panniers either side and a London A-Z stretched out on the handlebars. Hadn't the heart to tell them that there's no such thing as a planned route on Critical Mass.
Speaking of the Germans, we almost visited the family at the end of The Mall, but common sense got the better of us. A sharp turn into St James and I was reminded why SW1A is such a wanky area. Next time I want to buy a deer hunter hat, some Havana cigars and a gentleman's walking stick then I'll know where to go. Not exactly Brixton market is it?
The Critical Mass sound systems were by now in full effect, competing for attention on the ride and no doubt giving some musty old Colonel figure in Mayfair a cardiac. A couple of cowhorn bells were also keeping rhythm, but before you jump to conclusions, they weren't banging out an Ich Bin Ein Londoner theme.
It didn't take long for my newly purchased Twat-ometer (£4.99, Argos) to alert me to a fine specimen; approaching Piccadilly and some suit in a sports car came out with the classic 'I pay my bloody road taxes blah blah blah' bollocks.
That may well be Sir, but your little toy car also chokes out more shit than my backside after a night out on the Brackwurst and beer, you petrol head prick. Auf Wiedersehen.
The first profanity of the Mass was heard just as we hit Piccadilly. Much in the same style that you can lip read a Premiership player puffing and panting on TV, one of the nice Bobby's on a Bike let rip with a just about audible 'OH FUCK' as it dawned on him the scale of the Mass and how we had shut down the centre of London. He was still smiling though.
Ten years of Critical Mass London and there's still no sight more satisfying than seeing the pained expression of a Cabbie hemmed in by bikes for a change. I left the Mass with Grace Jones' Pull Up To the Bumper blasting out from one of the sound systems and gave my own lip synch rendition to a confused cabbie.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
| Sunday 1 August, 2004 |
Sun, sex and cycling. Two out of three 'aint bad. Must remember to cycle next time then, boom boom. The summer months are always boom time for Critical Mass London. Who could resist the post-work pedal through the city with a thousand plus similar cycling freaks?
Not many two wheelers judging by another tremendous turn out. Even our friends the Bobbies on Bikes seemed to make their way around the Mass with a grin wider than an eight lane London highway.
Herr and Frau Freewheeler had made the Mass |
London should adopt the Dutch style of dedicated cycle lanes, and not some piss poor lip service of a lane that is only suitable for a superwaif cyclist on a diet.
Keeping with the continental theme and it was wonderful for Critical Mass to welcome a couple of cycling tourists! Herr and Frau Freewheelers looked as though they had made the trip especially for the monthly ride, peddling away with their panniers either side and a London A-Z stretched out on the handlebars. Hadn't the heart to tell them that there's no such thing as a planned route on Critical Mass.
Speaking of the Germans, we almost visited the family at the end of The Mall, but common sense got the better of us. A sharp turn into St James and I was reminded why SW1A is such a wanky area. Next time I want to buy a deer hunter hat, some Havana cigars and a gentleman's walking stick then I'll know where to go. Not exactly Brixton market is it?
The Critical Mass sound systems were by now in full effect, competing for attention on the ride and no doubt giving some musty old Colonel figure in Mayfair a cardiac. A couple of cowhorn bells were also keeping rhythm, but before you jump to conclusions, they weren't banging out an Ich Bin Ein Londoner theme.
It didn't take long for my newly purchased Twat-ometer (£4.99, Argos) to alert me to a fine specimen; approaching Piccadilly and some suit in a sports car came out with the classic 'I pay my bloody road taxes blah blah blah' bollocks.
That may well be Sir, but your little toy car also chokes out more shit than my backside after a night out on the Brackwurst and beer, you petrol head prick. Auf Wiedersehen.
The first profanity of the Mass was heard just as we hit Piccadilly. Much in the same style that you can lip read a Premiership player puffing and panting on TV, one of the nice Bobby's on a Bike let rip with a just about audible 'OH FUCK' as it dawned on him the scale of the Mass and how we had shut down the centre of London. He was still smiling though.
Ten years of Critical Mass London and there's still no sight more satisfying than seeing the pained expression of a Cabbie hemmed in by bikes for a change. I left the Mass with Grace Jones' Pull Up To the Bumper blasting out from one of the sound systems and gave my own lip synch rendition to a confused cabbie.
Crap Picture Gallery (click on thumbs to see large image)
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| #permalink |
