Recent updates and the last footy one.

When you're close to tears remember,
someday, it'll all be over,
One day we're gonna get so high ..

England played Germany today.

Thank fuck we can take solace in the fact that we won the war. My god, we were a shambles. Not even our one goal was impressive; if you watch the replays, the ball sort of bounces aimlessly off Matthew Upson's face into the net. Compared to Germany of course, who scored 2 goals in 3 minutes. Oh yeah, and two other ones.

Shrek and Donkey commiserate another miss.

Everything about it was shite. Terry and Upson hang around having a fag break while Germany's strikers run straight up the middle, Heskey replaced Defoe for some inane reason, and Lampard's obvious goal was denied, for all the difference it'd have made. Forget the 'spirit of 1966' that people keep mentioning; we were playing football from 1066.

Ahh, and Rooney managed to get in his customary effing and blinding piece to the ref and a little angry piece to camera at half time. Just beautiful.


Enough footy.


I've officially moved out of my Leeds house, which means I'm back home with a shitload of stuff I never knew I had, which needs sorting tomorrow, joy. This also means I'll be travelling near and far to find friends (Southern people take note: I'll be a-knocking end of July/early August) and forms of entertainment outside of a small village.

Moving out has meant sorting out a whole host of needlessly pointless stuff, like taking pictures of the gas and water meters for a final record, sending Virgin Media their balls internet equipment back and trying not to incur charges from our landlords, which begin at £15 per tenant at the cheapest, all the way up to £250 for a range of increasingly petty obligations. Hopefully this will all be finished painlessly.

I'm also getting more letters from Germany, which is exciting. The school that they want me to go be an assistant at has offered me an apartment and a bunch of other paperworky bits and pieces that I wish I could read more easily.


Anyway, I'm off to Newquay soon, to sit in a tent and wrestle with cooking equipment, driving down in a car that will probably be pulled over at least once. My money's either on no MOT, expired tax disc, or wheel missing. Guy, make me proud mate.

Vuvezelas

When our souls were introduced,
No one of us could ever know,
What we will be going through,
Feeling high, feeling low ..

England beat Slovenia!

Sadly I missed the match itself as I was cavorting around my home village with the penis pirate and his wench (goddamn, you two know who you are) at the time, though I did catch a couple of minutes on the telly at Shepley co-op during a prolonged ice cream choosing session.

So yeah, 1-nil to us. Well, what can you expect against a country whose currency is probably vegetables?

Also, credit to John Terry for that block-dive thing that wasn't quite so. Never mind mate, it looked good in slow-mo even if it didn't prevent anything.

Another footy one ..

You might think I'm crazy, but I don't even care,
Because I can tell what's going on ..
It's hip to be square ..

It's wednesday today, which means that at 3pm, England will kick off against Slovenia in the morose, lip-bitingly tense party that is World Cup 2010. This entry has been brought on partially by a growing number of facebook status updates in support of England, and partly because I fear that today will be another all-too-familiar replay of bygone matches. Grim, grim.

If this is the case, then the inevitable pre-match build-up will be all but destroyed long before half time.

We can hope however, that England fare better against Slovenia than they did Algeria; the latter country is just a desert for Christ's sake. Improvements for our team would include, but are not limited to:

• No more Hair-raising 'passes' back to the goalie
• Fewer crap punches from said goalie.
  
• Less dismal, aimless long balls to the opposing defenders/midfielders
• Heskey not falling over
• Rooney getting more than 2 touches of the ball per match
• Lampard aiming for the goal and/or not fumbling the ball at every opportunity
• Capello not hopping round on the sidelines like an angry granny at bingo
• Gerrard shooting for the goal when he's open and clear instead of misguidedly passing it back

But - we shall see.

Loneliness and football punditry

Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose,

Nothin' ain't worth nothin' but it's free ..

The Leeds era is coming to an end; 6 of my 7 housemates have now moved back down southward, meaning that I can finally wander round the house naked, bb gun slung round my neck, flaming torch in hand, screaming profanity to the world.

Or something like that.

North Korea are playing in the World Cup again today. I speculated the other day over the fate of the team that played last week; are they the same ones playing today, or are they already doing hard labour in a gulag somewhere? We may never know. All that's certain is that being a football pundit for North Korea must be the most nerve-racking job in the world ..


"..Weather lovely in South Africa, tiny island off coast of glorious Democratic People Republic of North Korea. Floor in South Africa so dirty that people must eat and sleep in buildings. Poverty so great that people must travel in cars. Here for covering of World Cup football, game invented by glorious leader KIM JONG-IL, exported recently to rest of world.

Today we play Portugal, inferior country who must be bricking it. Match will not be broadcast live, but with 24 hour delay, for reasons entirely uninvolving CAPITALIST RUMOURS that time for photoshopping face of DEAR LEADER onto head of goal-scoring player needed."

DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE REPUBLIC goalie reprimand for checking out arse of glorious midfield!

"Prepare to see DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE REPUBLIC players rice and dust-based diet and whip and execution training superiority over rest of world! For now, witness footage of cheering DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE crowds with their capitalist vuvezelas!"



I feel for that team. I really do.

I'm gonna prepare the flaming torch now and chill out in my empty house.

Deutschland-bound.

Buffalo soldier, dreadlock rasta,
There was a buffalo soldier in the heart of America,
Stolen from Africa, brought to America,
Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival ..

Well, after ages of waiting, a letter came for me yesterday with details of the school that I'm meant to be an assistant at in Germany next year. Place itself is called Neuerburg, google images tells me that it's one of those very pretty German cities, with castles and forests and whatnot, which is nice.

Now theres only the prospect of filling out all my forms and then it's official and real. This is a little nerve-racking.

Banzai!

When that cloud arrives we'll live on Ocean Drive ..

Don't know why you're so blue,
Sun's gonna shine on everything you do ..

This is a big one.

I've done a fair amount of flying over the past god knows how many hours.

It remains a complete mindfuck, this timezone/travel business. Flying from Japan to Manchester via the Middle East will screw with your mind in the worst way, as well as allowing you to set off at any hour, fly for 10 hours or so, and arrive at the next destination only 3 hours after you left the last place .. the previous day.

But here's a breakdown, some bits more detailed than others, of a week with the Japanese.

JOURNEY

The flight's a transfer one: from Manchester, it's 6/7 hours to Dubai, then 10 hours from there to Japan. The flight out was pretty comfy as the bloke meant to be sitting next to me didn't turn up, so I got his window seat and leg room, which was nice.


On the return journey, due to either a stroke of major fortune or a bizarre admin problem, the very nice people at Emirates decided I should fly to Dubai business class. Oh well, go on then. Just this once. Remember Monsters Inc.? There was a great little short film released shortly after it came out called 'Mike's New Car'. Youtube it; watch Sully's reactions when he climbs in. Mine were pretty similar.

It was a lot like this.

If you haven't flown business class before, it seems naturally to be a very expensive affair; mostly white haired brits or arabic guys, wearing pressed suits and shined shoes, with an array of newspapers in various languages. They sit with their glasses on the end of their noses and sip the complimentary champagne. They address the air hostesses in a polite, yet clipped manner. Impeccable plane behaviour.

Cue me.

Sweaty, big hair, 3 shirt buttons undone, fumbling with flight documents and dropping my passport. A friendly stewardess comes to my rescue. Looks of chagrin sweep the faces of the cabin occupants; is this unkempt bastard going to be sharing this section with us? Surely not.

But I did, and it was ruddy awesome. I tried not to take it on a personal level when the grey-haired bloke next to me pushed a button somewhere by his seat and a little wall slid out of the armrest and blocked me off from him. S'matter old timer? You don't like sharing a row with a sweaty student?

The catering gets a little more chic in business class too. Yes, gone are the days of "would you like the chicken or the fish sir?" and in it's place are multi-lingual menus offering a vast variety of dishes, all 3 courses. I had the marinated duck with fresh herb sauce. Consider that. I had duck with herb sauce on a fucking plane. It was even prepared restaurant style, with little gloops of sauce spirally dripped around artistically arranged slices of duck, each separated with a little orange segment.

Yes Chef. Good effort.

Also note the real cutlery and the tablecloth for your fold out table, which comes out of the seat; they're having none of that 'attached to the seat in front' nonsense like the rabble eating in steerage. Oh, and there's a separate tablecloth JUST FOR THE TRAY! Aah, does good service have no bounds?

JAPAN

There's an absolute shitload that I could ramble about, and each bit would probably end up with it's own blog size paragraph devoted to it. How about just some pictures? You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Yup, Japan. It's a very nice place.

There's a very quick transition, just as there was in Berlin, between me looking like a shameless tourist, and then me being a massive poser. Shamelessly, may I add. Here we go.

Me on the ferry heading out to Miyajima Island, home of the Itsukushima floating shrine. I'm looking very touristy indeed. For those of you that follow me on facebook then yes, this is the island with them cute deers.

The next photo I hope is a vision of my future which involves travelling, except with a smaller bag.

The two women on the left in this next photo couldn't believe their luck in seeing me. Their exact words were something like "My God, is that Max?". A once in a lifetime opportunity for some.

Pose! Pose like there's no tomorrow!

That's me in Osaka, in a very culturally rich district. Also, readers: If you happen to be the very pretty European-looking girl who was taking pictures on the bridge, then I feel we should have exchanged words instead of just smiling at each other. I was with the guy with the brown hair who nearly got hit by a pigeon, if you recall.

I don't think I was even posing in this next one, which means I'm more photogenic than you.

So yeah, thats just a tiny selection of photos from Japan; the rest will make it onto facebook within the week. You may applaud now.


I leave you with this parting thought, which has been bothering me since I stepped off the last flight at Manchester Airport. We all have showers/baths/both, or take care with personal hygiene, right?

But it is possible to go for a short while without the promise of a wash, under circumstances, isn't it? The thing that confuses me is that bizarre plane ritual where the stewardesses hand out hot flannels for each passenger.

If it ever happens, watch the reaction. Rarely, I'd wager, do people at home or work sit back and think 'You know what'd be awesome? A really hot, damp flannel, to caress my face and hands with'. It's just odd. But on the plane, as soon as they're out, everyone does a very heartfelt, almost exaggerated wiping of the face and hands, rubbing round the cheeks and temples, taking care to wash between each finger, with an extra final wipe on the palms. It confuses the hell out of me. It's as if everyone's suddenly been told they're covered in crap, that they were completely unaware of before. Do they feel abundantly clean and refreshed now?


Just me?

Culture shock.

'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home ..

Today's entry is a rather special one in two ways; the first very important reason is that I'm in a Japan, in an internet cafe, sitting in a leather recliner, with a little ramikin full of ice cream, a fairly decent development by anyone's count.

The second reason is that this goddamned keyboard has very few keys with the letters intact, half of them are in the wrong place and I periodically look up to see that the last sentence has conveniently converted itself to Japanese Kanji characters. This paragraph has taken about 15 minutes.

I've only been here a day, yet I've seen a fair amount of stuff, cool and odd and humbling. The latter point was the Hiroshima memorial, which had an impact on a par with the Berlin Holocaust memorial and increased my fear of nuclear war. Sad and scary stuff.

On a lighter note, I can now claim to having been lured to a secluded spot by a friendly Japanese couple, who wanted to show us some rocks imported to Japan from Ben Nevis for reasons unknown, before producing a small book and proclaiming themselves to be Jehovah's Witnesses and seeing if we were unhappy with the God we already have, which was nice. Other points of interest and caution are that the 'leg of pork' served in the Izakaya by Hiroshima station is in fact a pig's foot, complete with nail, fat and grisle.

God, this keyboard is more trouble than its worth.

Another thing worthy of mention is Japanese toilets. Not only is the seat heated (who says wasting energy is an issue anyway?), Japanese loos are the only ones I've seen that resemble the bridge of a spaceship; one begins to feel like Darth Vader or Spock, sitting on a seat surrounded by consoles with options including 'increase pressure' and 'temperature control'.

My favourite option by far however (ohh man, this fucking keyboard!) is the option to play a flushing noise at the touch of a button. What purpose does this serve? Playing the noise even once, let alone repeatedly, before actually flushing would surely suggest to any bystander that might be listening only that you'd done a massive shit that one flush simply couldn't handle? Is this customary in Japan, perhaps? Is it considered polite or good luck to mash the 'flush noise' button before strolling out with an air of self confidence, proud of your shit-tacular toiletary fortitude?

That, or it's simply a tool to piss off anyone desperate for the bog, to make them think you're done when you're actually not. Who knows?

This keyboard is forcing me to wrap this up. This blog weighs in at a record time of 52 minutes to write. Enjoy it you ingrates, I'll regale you with tales of my travels in the East when I find an English computer and a half decent keyboard. Peace and love, and Minna Ki Wo Tsukette.

Britains got willpower.

When you believe in things

That you don't understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition aint the way ..

Britain's got Talent has been on for the past few weeks now, and the process of handing carte-blanche to members of the general public of varying idiocy is winding down and the more skilled performers are starting to make themselves known. Sadly though, it seems that there exist several holes in the talent-judging net, and a couple of stragglers have thus fallen through.

The prime example is from last night - this was my first time seeing this guy, I missed him during the audition phase.

His 'talent' is wood-chopping. Fair play, wood-chopping can often take some skill. But the term 'Royal Variety Performance' at least implies some sense of 'entertainment value', which is a void that wood-chopping simply cannot fill. The day that the Queen takes pleasure from watching a man in a knights crusader outfit haphazardly chopping at wood offcuts from his shed, while singing a song about chopping wood and it's delights is the day I lose the rest of my faith in humanity. Thanks mate, but no thanks.

As ever, one judge recognises shit when he sees it.

Then theres the other chap, hugely talented but fucking weird, who swallows stuff and .. regurgitates it. Once again, a talent in itself but still liable to induce feelings of 'why?' over 'wow'.

Britain's got talent? Undeniably, but it also has delusions of grandeur.

The Jews strike back.

Blue are the words I say and what I think,
Blue are the feelings that live inside me ..

Oh, and Israel are having all the people they didn't manage to kill on the humanitarian aid ship deported, yay! Oh Israel. You and North Korea should get together.