Tag Archives: spurs

Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.

Hey, that’s no way to say goodbye.

So whoa, how ace was yesterday, as transfer deadline days go?! Man City, I don’t even know where to begin, Man City started the day with effectively no owner after absolute nutjob of a Thai ex-prime minister billionaire “human rights abuser of the worst kind” fly-by-night Thaksin ‘Frank’ Shinawatra had his £800m assets frozen. Not the most promising of starts, and then by lunchtime the boys in sky blue are apparently rolling in oil money, waving over £30m of it at Wor Dimi, pictured above, presumably at least half sincerely and the rest with the concerted aim of pissing all over the cornflakes of veteran veiny-nosed gobshite ‘Sir’ Alex, also pictured above? And buying Robinho.

Incidentally, I myself was praying for Kevin Keegan to sneakily nab this sulky bugger off our hands for 50p or something, having never forgotten the mildly entertaining chat when he first came over about his being a mental Magpie: “Dimitar told me it was his dream to play for Newcastle United one day and wear the same shirt as Alan Shearer, who is my son’s hero”, said his ma. His old schoolmate Mario Bekov, who has known Berbatov for 20 years, said his admiration for the former Toon ace bordered on obsession. “Dimitar never missed a Newcastle game when it was on television. And Shearer was up there with Pele as a God for him.” Alas, this one really was but a dream. Sure he would only have fallen victim to the curse of NUFC/Michael Owen syndrome and sustained a mysterious ‘training ground injury’ like all their other half decent players ever. Serious, what is it with that? Is it from foightin’? Well, now they have Joey ‘stubbed out a lit cigar in a youth player’s eye and also assaulted a 15-year-old’ Barton, so probably yes. And also the Messiah himself is heading off down the Gallowgate Jobcentre. Or not. Probably. Maybe.

So, the point is, yes I am going to miss Berbs. I’ll miss his weirdly early receding hairline, complete with girly Alice band, I’ll miss his deep-set eyes and his lovely accent, I’ll miss his great long runs and his flailing predation and I guess I’ll miss his teenage strops. And I’ll definitely miss the time he netted four against Reading. WHAT IS THAT EVEN CALLED? A four-trick? A fat trick? A hat-trick-and-then-some? A fourgasm? A Dimi? And what will become of him? I’m not too sure. I think, as we’ve seen, boy’s perhaps got too much of an ego on him and he wants to be a superstar, and I just am not sure whether he’ll look quite as good as he thinks he will lining up alongside Ronaldo and Tévez and even, on a good day, Giggsy… and there is just no sign of anyone EVER stopping wanking on about Ronaldo, so will there be enough wankery left over for wee Berbs? WE SHALL SEE. Also I just really really dislike Man U and always have and always will, I dunno. Even though I do love red.

What will become of Berbatov? What will become of Keegan and NUFC? What will become of Pavlyuchenko with no Arshavin? How cute was it when Corluka said he was really happy to come to Spurs because Luka Modric is his bestest friend? Is Daniel Levy a nob head and should I have given up on him years ago? Why do I get so worked up about this stuff, actually? Do you care about footy? You mostly don’t, do you? What about some of you? Club football? International football? Do you know what I mean if I say something about no matter how rational and logical and sensible you want to be about it, you just can’t help but feel disappointed with mornings like this one and ever so slightly angry at players who’re ‘disloyal’ to the club, even when they’re Bulgarian Toon fans and you hated the way the whole Jol thing was handled and it all really has very little to do at all with lovely old scummy old North London and the grimy smoggy streets you walked and ran and grazed your knees on as a little girl, and besides all that you actually lived very slightly closer to Upton Park anyway? No? I should go to bed, really, shouldn’t I?

With no transfer window to entertain me, I had to console myself with playing the old ‘Elvis Costello-lyrics-related-facebook-status-updates’ game with my brother instead, today. In case you were wondering. That’s awesome.

I went to Critical Mass! With M, who is wicked cool. I met a nice Australian(?) girl. My back wheel/mudguard situation was a little bit mashed up: boo. P fixed it, pumped my tyres and stopped the seat squeaking too: yay yay yay.

You know what is really really cool?


sri’s mehndi hands by darcitananda


the end. by misscaro

Islamic tile art

Image Plate from Owen Jones’ 1853 classic, “The Grammar of Ornament”, as scanned by cool origamist EricGjerde

Isfahan/ Imam(Shah) Mosque by HORIZON

And pretty much all intricately detailed fractalicious abstract things. AWESOME.

I used to think that this day would never come.

I know it’s my facebook status and I further know hardly any of you give a shit about this but I do:



that is all.