Hangover Days

I took advice from experts and I read advice from experts and the consensus was that my shinbones ache so much because I am a fat git and I have overdone it. Rest and recuperation was recommended. So I rested, and rested, then I recuperated and then I rested some more. First I overdid the wrunning, now I am overdoing the resting. Now I feel guilty, because people have been very generous but I shall get back to it tomorrow, then I am going to have to keep at it, sore legs or not.

Arsene Wenger will be an inspiration when it comes to keeping on, because he keeps keeping on about that tackle, which was the cause of another poor performance by his team at the weekend, apparently. I don't care how well they played last night, I cannot bring myself to enjoy anything about Arsenal, because I can't stand Wenger and his constant petulant whining.

Regardless of the tackle, Blues performance against Arsenal has to be one of the performances of the season, but we got no credit for it, nor did we get any credit for hammering Spurs last week, they were hungover. Fit young men, hungover 6 days after the event.......... that must have been some party. I don't expect it will do us any harm to be underestimated though.

I also feel a bit guilty because I don't think all that much of the new Ray Banks, which the publisher sent me for free; I sort of feel obligated to say it's brilliant, but it isn't. There's nothing particularly wrong with it; if you buy it, or borrow it, you won't be disappointed, because it's a damn good, page turning read, with some fantastic moments, but it ain't really up there with his first two.

The hero, Cal, wasn't particularly likeable in the first place, but in this one he seems less likeable and isn't particularly believable either. The plot I found a bit tiresome. Radical students taking on slum landlords and the local facists. Sorry, but students aren't radical and credibility was lost, for me anyway. Maybe I just wasn't in the mood for it, but don't let me put you off, I did whizz through it and as good, undemanding reads go, it's good enough. Moreover, as much as I found the plot a bit irritating, it doesn't insult your intelligence, and in this genre, that is a major plus.

A good interview with the man.

David Haye fights Enzo Maccarinelli on Sunday morning and I won't be watching it because even if I were inclined to pay, I know I would be sound asleep before it starts. It could be a classic, they are both big, big punchers, at the top of their game. If soundbites counted, Haye would be a clear winner: 'I couldn't care less about fame - the whole celebrity thing is a joke,' he says. 'And I've had more than one lifetime's share of women so I'm definitely not motivated by pussy.'

I remember having a furious argument when I was student regarding the use of the C word. It was frowned upon, which gave me a problem because it was just about my favourite word at the time. Now that it has been alluded to in a humorous way in the Guardian Society pages, I think it is well on the way to being rehabilitated.


Dear old Brummagem: a foodies paradise.

Blues got beat by Manchester City in the 1956 cup final, which was the last time we had even a sniff of glory. Someone stuck a photo of the two keepers on a Blues message board and it is brilliant, it is redolent of a very bygone age in which sportsmanship, camaraderie and respect were prevalent. Anyone for a glass of warm beer?