A man and his dog, trying to make sense of it. A man trying to cook, while avoiding the dogs Cato like attempts to brain him. A man trying very hard not to complain about his working day. A man of no faith, who worships Birmingham City. A man who loves the sort of music that gets him labelled with bad words. .A dog with little brain but great appetite. Welcome to our world.. a world full of wife, children, cats and vegetables. A good world.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Dedicated Follower of Fashion
There has been quite a bit across the media in the last couple of days about the essential toffness, or otherwise of the Tories. Some have pointed out that the Liberals aren't exactly short of a toff or three either. Johan Hari had a blog post in the Independent about it and has also written a decent article wondering how Cameron gets away with it.
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The Cameron-Brown student dichotomy probably should not be presented as a class collision. But it does undoubtedly reflect two contrasting versions of life, two utterly different and irreconcilable social narratives.
So the season is over and we are down. The telly cameras panned around St Andrews trying to find grown men in tears, but we had all come to expect this weeks ago, so all they found was one crying child and a lot of Brummie stoicism, which is absolutely as it should be. Minus the distraught child. Probably. The comic opera that is Blues continues though, with our owners railing against the fans and threatening to quit and Sullivan even naming and shaming Frank Quedrue as being useless, which prompted a hearty riposte from Frank. It is never dull with this lot. Christ knows what the next three months are going bring; a dignified period of silence is unlikely.
Life is better in the Championship anyway, I have always said it, it brings out a better class of fan. The premiership is absolutely joyless and so are most of the fans that see it as the be all and end all, so the lower division is like a bit of respite. Mind you I will make no predictions regarding our chances of a quick return to the "promised land" ...............anything is possible down at our pig circus, including not having a bloody team to support.
Richard Williams in the Guardian today suggested (rather tortuously) that the Premier league is the equivalent of the bloated prog rock of the seventies, while the championship represents sweaty pub rock. Pub rock wasn't everyones cup of tea at the time, though I was bit partial to it, and there is no doubt that it represented a more authentic rock and roll experience. I suppose if we were to be a pub rock band it would be someone like Ace, been around the block, solid enough, but, ultimately, losers. As far as the prog rock prem goes, Villa would be King Crimson.
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