The Oath (2018)

Odd Job (2016)

The Lady Vanishes (1938)

Some Sunday Morning

It's been a while  . . . well, a  month if you have to quibble. Just nice to get the monkey off my back. And it's official: I have now hit more 180s in Indiana than I have in New York. (That last line's a bit garbled but I'm tired.)

I'm officially a Sporting Hoosier Great . . . in my head, at least  . . . like I said, I'm tired.

Intermission (2003)

Perrier's Bounty (2009)

Round 203: Running On Empty

Darts Thrown: April 5th 2019
Blog Written: April 5th 2019

Highest Score: 132
Lowest Score: 2

Sixties: 22

Blogger's Note: Written in haste, so there will be spelling mistakes and slapdash grammar.

Burning the candle at both ends. In between chucking shit out and waiting for the computer to charge - my charger doesn't love me - I decided to throw some darts. I'm knackered, and I can feel it in my arm but, for all that, the darts were just a wee bit off the usual. Go figure. Bottled another 180. Hit a 12 on the third dart this time. I forgot to take my own advice about shutting my eyes.

The book in the picture? John King's Headhunters. Have I read it? Yep, twenty plus years ago. I may have read it in the same work place as Toby Litt's Beatniks. I know it was one of John King's books in the Football Factory trilogy. Would I read it again? Probably not. I seem to be remember that none of the books in the trilogy really gripped me, but I read them all the same.

On a separate note, Jim Broadbent can't do a Dublin accent to save his life.

Round 202: Ooh, Gary Davies . . . ooh, Gary Davies . . . on my phone again.

Darts Thrown: April 4th 2019
Blog Written: April 4th 2019

Highest Score: 138
Lowest Score: 2
Sixties: 30

Blogger's Note: Written in haste, so there will be spelling mistakes and slapdash grammar.

For some reason I was listening to that episode of The Sound of the Eighties again whilst throwing the darts. No idea why. I guess it was still on the phone and I couldn't be arsed to switch to something else. Anything to add to that show? Nothing much. Transvision Vamp are still shit. Early New Order sounded like Josef K, and 80s pop music really did turn irredeemably shit after 1985. Which sucked for me 'cos it was a formative time when I should have been lapping music up. I lapped something up, but it was thin gruel in comparison to music from the first half of the 80s.

Bingewatching the first season of Fleabag on Amazon. Grimly fascinating. Enjoying it more than I did first time round. I feel guilty watching it 'cos posh people usually get on my tits. It's why I've never watched Downton Abbey. 2016 seems so long ago  . . . or maybe it was never meant to be that kind of show.

The darts? I threw for a 180 but I bottled it. And I by bottled it, I mean the third dart hit the 18. That some jitters. I think next time I throw for a 180 I will close my eyes. What's the worse that can happen.

The book in the picture?  Toby Litt's Beatniks. Have I read it? Yep, about 20 years ago. I must have read it within months of it coming out. A random buy that bore fruit. I seem to remember reading it during teabreaks and lunch breaks whilst working nights on a nighshift in Hemel in 97 or 98. Would I read it again? I would . . . if I got my reading mojo back. I always thought it would make a great film.  There were rumours that it'd been optioned for a film but at the time of writing . . .  If Nick Hornby had written it  . . .  Two unfinished sentences for the price of one.

And, let's be honest, Beatniks were always more interesting than the Hippies.

Pineapple Express (2008)

Four Lions (2010)