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Tuesday, 31 October 2006

Twickenham Green...

Passing the site of the summer's impromptu floral tributes to Amelie, the wind picks up with an invigorating rush. Unburnished copper leaves scuttle across the road, brittle and sheenless commuters late for a train, or scurrying from the rain that will soon drench them to mulch. Perpendicular contrails slash the clear blue sky, shooting stars frozen on still frame. I recall the face of the kitsch Christ on a card of remembrance for the family, tacky and touching at the same time - a quiet sob hurled out in space from unknown to unknowns. The shock and sadness ongoing.

The Light of the World.

As a young child I played football here with my father, Dad a reluctant but patiently indulgent goalie as I played out the matches in my head, with team-mates unseen, sliding in to tackles with invisible adversaries to achieve the desired muddied shorts and socks effect. Lost in my own little world, innocent and safe.

Further on I pass the Red Lion pub, once a sorry dive inhabited by quiet old men, idling over their Ben Truemans. Now it's home to Filthy's rock club - a carefully manicured dive contrived to bombard the young with speed metal and fleece them for weak lager served in a plastic beaker. Pictures of Pete and Dud, Sammy D. Jr. and a collection of actual guitars are pinned to the walls - selling them a scene, off the peg. Happy now? Poor, poor 'yoof'. Poor, poor youth. There's a poster in the window for Rick Buckler's band - The Gift. Yes, that's The Gift as in the Jam LP of the same name, just subtly hammering home the pedigree, the name that's being traded on. The glories now long gone. The past casts long shadows. And I consider now what once seemed unthinkable - the thought of one day dying alone and unknown.

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  1. rswipe in a somber mood I see. Tis the season.

  2. Well Dickster, I figured there probably wasn't much stomach among my readers for another pin the avocado on the Dierdre Barlow type post....

  3. You having a melancholic (sp?) moment Bob? Still I liked it

    I'm still devising where to pin any vegetable on Carol Voderman !

  4. Ahhh the mists and mellow fruitfulness of Autumn. I'd say there was still room for an 'applying a pumpkin to some famous newsreader' type post.

  5. Not really that melancholic bb. Just a very atmosperic morning and I was just trying to find a way of unifying the image of the leaves and the Rick Buckler poster and Amelie and the childhood memories to make a nice mood piece. Yes, it's a sad conclusion to the piece, but I don't feel sad myself - got a mate I haven't seen for ages coming over tonight and a ticket for the Arse v. Moscow tomorrow, so generally very positive. But happiness writes blank and all that....

  6. As James Hetfield would say;

    "Speed metal = good, weak lager = bad!"

    Mind you, those Yank types can't appreciate the taste and strength of proper beer.

    Budweiser my arse.

  7. "I figured there probably wasn't much stomach among my readers for another pin the avocado on the Dierdre Barlow type post...."

    Three was probably pushing it Robert. Some of the ladies may be having trouble digesting the marrow.

  8. Well fingers crossed the Arsenal win tomorrow. I'm off to the footie tonight, it's not quite champions league, but it is QPR , here's hoping we snag all 3 points, don't fancy being depressed as well as cold (must remeber my hip flask, the coffee always tastes better with a liberal dose of Brandy :-) )

  9. As a young child I played football here with my father...

    No fields in Rothergavenny?

    Even still, it's a long way to travel for a kickabout.

  10. Ah yes, football on the green. Who could forget a former Ariels drummer and goalkeeper, incensed at a dog owner allowing his hound to foul the pitch, chastising owner and dog with the threat "I'm going to come round your house and crap on your chessboard..."

    That's not the only fouling that happened on that sacred turf either, but I won't go on or Bob will show me his leg injury again. Mind you, he never talks about it.

    50-50 ball it was, honest.

  11. Bring back the Pete Best Four, that's what I say.

  12. I thought Ricj Buckler had given up drumming? I saw a programme featuring him with his kit rusting away in the corner of his shed. Tsk tsk

  13. We miss the casts. Bring them back. You've made me blub now. You'll never be alone Bob. Everyone loves you.

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