Two Horse Race.

Listening to the footy, and listening to Arsenal getting hammered by Man U. It's us and them now, I guess. Update on the food situation - did the Farmer's Market thing - got some wonderful Haslet (a bit of a forgotten thing, but I love it) some organic butter (it's gone straight in the freezer) and wondrous cheese. Still trying to balance all the food that's now in the fridge, trying to work out how to utilise all the various ingredients and use as much as possible without throwing anything away ( I hate waste). With the impending arrival, this might be tricky, but I'm going to try.
Need to crack open a cold one and think about getting dinner ready.

Another year older....

...and deeper in debt *sighs*
The weekend was notable for a number of things, but top of the list were:

1. My First Home Chelsea game of the season. Due to a combination of bad luck and prior engagements, Chelsea v. Fulham was the first time I'd been back in my seat (Matthew Harding upper, just to the left of the goal). We were awful, so there was a Little bit of a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Also leaving a taste were the new pies (there's been a bit o a catering overhaul). The steak pies are now square, not round: the filling tastes more homemade, but not quite as good as the old pies. the Bovril tastes exactly the same.
2. I got a pair Of Doc Martins! When I was a kid, they were the one pair of shoes I coveted more than any other, and my love affair with the brand never really stopped, it's just that I forgot about them for a while. Plus, I've lived in trainers for years, so I think it was about time I had some sturdy footwear. I got a pair of cherry-red low tops, and in true hooligan fashion, immediately polished them using BLACK polish, so they turn into the colour of a wonderfully livid bruise (how apt).

This was my Saturday.....

..And most enjoyable too (if a tad nerve-wracking)

Spent the train Journey back up to town listening to some Dirty Vegas mix CD action, and trying to finish off "Mother London" By Michael Moorcock. It's a wonderful book, essential for anyone in love with the city, anyone who sees life in London as inexorably linked to the lives and dreams of its past inhabitants. The whole tome of the prose seems to be almost psychedelic, lots of free association and scatter gun shards of random thoughts....at certain points, it spirals into what feels like a literary acid trip; as ideas pile on top of each other, smothering some, giving birth to others. The only downside to all this restless creativity is that it's hard to grasp the story as it squirms out from under your grasp....

I'd almost forgotten it was the same Moorcock who'd worked with Hawkwind (getting a snide reference from Alternative TV along the way-mp3 in the middle of the text) suddenly it's all making a lot of sense.....