In The Key Of C

I went to my youngests class assembly today, and very good it was too. I hadn't been to such a thing for ages and I had forgotten all about the school hymn, which, as usual, was given a lusty chorus, and it very nearly spoiled my mood. It is the most achingly obvious ode to God that there could be, it's all shine jesus shine and glory to our father and all that tripe. It's actually quite uplifting, but why can't they have an uplifting song about all the beauty and good in the world that is a bit more secular?

They certainly take no account of other belief systems and it is not a church school; the irony being that we have such a thing at the end of our road but chose not to send our nippers there because it would be hypocritical and we didn't want them indoctrinated into Christianity. It's a much better school, but at least our kids don't have to mix with kids whose parents are utter charlatans. The good news is that when I just asked two of the little buggers to sing the hymn to me so I could quote it, neither of them could remember a single word!

Despite myself, I enjoyed the Champions league final; it was a pity about the ridiculous build up though, of which Martin Kelner has written in typically amusing fashion. I loathe the way most commentators build up certain players to be god like............John Terry makes a routine clearance and the commentator tells us in awed tones, that typically, Terry gets there first. Typically, most centre halves get there first when the ball is crossed into the centre spot from nowhere near the byline, but most of them aren't heroic yeoman. Actually, most of them are, but there you go.

Which brings me, unsurprisingly to Terrys tears, which made me laugh, and I am not a man who lacks compassion, but Christ, lets have a bit of perspective. Old JT has been reading his own press and clearly believes he is the man for any occasion, when, clearly, he isn't. The way he strode purposely forward, tugging at his sleeve, making sure his armband was just so, spoke of a man who was absolutely sure of his own destiny, his own heroic role in the glorious unfolding of events. But the champ chump missed. Ho Fucking Ho. Chuckle Fucking Chuckle. Man, I pissed myself.

Still, it's not nice to kick a man when he is down; nor is it nice to see ungracious losers. I thought Chelseas behaviour at the end was despicable. They all wallowed in the most disgraceful and selfish self pity, apart from Avram Grant, who was wearing his despair the way a widow wears her weeds. He was playing to the gallery, the bad, bad man. Terry's tears were not for the fans or his team mates, they were for himself, for his newly battered ego, for his new found vulnerability, and they were not a pretty site, as his spoilt brat nature was on display for all the world to see.

It is too much to hope for nothing more than a manly handshake all round, but what the hell ever happened to dignity, manliness? Remember the pic of Pele and Moore after an epic battle. It spoke of nothing but mutual admiration and respect, whatever happened to that? Whatever happened to appreciating and saluting your opponents achievement? I have played some games of football, tennis, snooker and god knows what else when there have been epic battles and sometimes I have won and sometimes I have lost. When victorious, I genuinely applauded the loser, when vanquished, visa versa. I have been delighted to have had enjoyed a great, close game. Even at my humble level they don't come around that often (not all actually, said the couch potato). Of course, that probably makes me a loser, but then so is John Terry, which is why I will be supporting Sweden at the Euro championships, not England.

Labour is fucked, better start preparing ourselves for the new era of all the toffs. IE, get some good home security in because the Tories are going to send the underclass into an even greater pit of despair than it already inhabits, in which it will grow exponentially and they will quite rightly take it out on all the rest of us. Not that I'm defeatist or anything.

Can anyone spare me a cup of petrol?

As behind the zeitgeist as ever, I have just discovered Jim Noirs 2005 album, the name of which escapes me for a minute. It's a bit of alright. The reviews will tell you all about the influence of The Beach Boys but it puts me in mind of the Swingle Singers. Don't let that put you off though.