She's Gone

Nothing to see here. Move along.

I'm afraid I wont be gloating over the death of someone in their eighties. Hated her government and all that she stood for . . . and she certainly doesn't merit a state funeral . . . but the bastards are still in charge.

If only . . .

. . . this was the front cover of tomorrow's Guardian:

Sadly, they've gone for the much more sedate:

Thankfully, Steve Bell is on form:

"Slash it! Slash it!" High Five!

The second eleven:

Owen thinks he's Ron Swanson. We just wish he'd eat like Ron Swanson.

Firefox is doing my nut in. Nine out of ten masochists say it's their web browser of choice.

When I first heard that Ed Milliband was standing for the leadership of the Labour Party I immediately thought of the Guardian's Steve Bell. I'm not so daft after all.

My longstanding loathing of Chelsea is being seriously undermined at the moment by their current away kit. I haven't been enamoured this much by a football kit in a long time. In fact, it was probably the Inter Milan away kit from the late nineties that last caught my eye. And that was a nightmare as well; I had a soft spot for Roma at the time. Thankfully the rapaciousness and greed of modern football means that Chelski will replace all their kits at the end of the season, and that wee niggle can melt away. Only eight more months to hold out.

I wouldn't say no to the Caramac Kit Kat (number 29), but surely the editions from Japan are photoshopped? (hat tip to 'Itziko_Supersta' over at Urban 75.)

'Therese' by The Bodines kicked into iTunes last night. I'd forgotten I didn't realise until now what a good record it was.

My last pair of glasses lasted me five years. And, then, it was only because the dog snapped the frames and I had to get them replaced. The frames of my current glasses have fallen apart after only three months. Apparently it's the fault of the manufacturer but I bet we still get fleeced by the opticians. It rains. It pours. A bastard tsunami is coming down Ocean Parkway.

Finally got round to watching the first series of Gavin and Stacey the other night. Only checked it out because it turned up on Netflix Instant. I know I'm supposed to hate it because of Corden - yep, I did try and watch one of his World Cup shows - but I totally understand why it met with the success that it did. Likeable characters. Easy going humour. And Ruth Jones is a star.

*Beep*Beep*Beep*Beep*

I totally get that quote of Churchill, of "It is all right to rat, but you can’t re-rat . . . ", but I have been listening to Maximo Park again in recent weeks and I'm not embarrassed to admit it. It'll be Hard-Fi next. (Spot my gift of footballing prophecy in that old blog post.)

Sheila Rowbotham is speaking in New York on Friday at Bluestockings. I should try and get along to hear her speak. I last saw her speak at Conway Hall in 1998. At a commemorative meeting for the Communist Manifesto. (150th anniversary and all that.) Standing room only in the main hall and packed balconies with the other speakers including Maggie Steed, Julie Christie and an actress from Eastenders whose name now escapes me.