An interesting and very creative album but really not my kind of shit. I like the way that she’s not afraid to push boundaries and explore new directions. It’s the kind of album that I might have liked if it came out in the ’70s and didn’t have all the digitised stuff. There’s something to be celebrated about artists who don’t give a shit and just do their own thing. This is one of those occasions but the music just doesn’t work for me.
⭐ ⭐
Another Sunday, another CTC club run.
Rain wasn’t forecast. If there’s no rain we ride, right? Actually if there is rain we also ride, but don’t include me in that plural. My OCD bike cleaning ways mean I ain’t getting wet for no one.
Which all made it slightly upsetting that there were a few drops of drizzle at the 9:30 am Leisure World rollout rendezvous. I did make a half joke about catching the train back home and giving it all up.
Ha bloody ha.
Except I wasn’t joking and was in two minds to turn around again.
I’m pleased I persisted.
We had nine riders rolling out from Leisure World, with others being picked up along the route.
I did fear a few years ago that the Sunny Colch Sunday CTC rides were dying out. Not so. We’ve got plenty of young blood coming through.
On Sunday morning this included a new rider who rocked up on a gravel bike.
Easy, fella.
There was also a tandem couple on a resplendent recumbent. We’re a very inclusive cycling group.
As ever I had absolutely no bloody idea as to where the route was taking us. We seemed to cross back around the half town/half city and ended up making our way over to Suffolk. The border was crossed.
Oh I see, so we’re rolling out over to Constable country.
11 am came. I think there were vague plans in WhatsApp to try and make some Remembrance service somewhere but we were running a little late, behind schedule.
No worries. We stopped by the roadside, got off our bikes, took off our helmets, and then looked around for a minute or so. At least that’s what I did.
It was quite a wildlife ride. I clocked some goats, a bull, and a field full of peacocks. That’s something you don’t see back in Sunny Stockwell.
Destination Flatford Mill was reached. We stopped here to replenish.
I know I’m very out of touch with all this cost of living shit but seriously, £16 for two cups of tea and two sausage rolls? That’s almost my entire Lidl weekly food budget.
Some of the riders then had plans to head on towards Weeley and then back towards the half town/half city. I was pretty much spent, both in terms of energy and what was remaining left in my bank account.
I tagged behind one group that was heading roughly back in the direction of Weird Wiv. One poor rider was having problems with electronic gear shifting.
I was back at base in time for the 2 pm kick offs in the Premier League. I couldn’t get warm all day. This felt like the first proper ride of the winter.
Chapeau!
Sooner or later all Forest managers call upon Ryan Yates. We’ve seen this time and time again. Glasner is just the latest in a long line on the conveyor belt who understands that Yates is the true spirit of this club.
So when the team news dropped an hour before kick off, it was something of a surprise to see Captain Yates’s name on the starting eleven.
Yet simultaneously it was no great surprise. Sure he’s not there to win the game for us - although there would be a few cold water swimmers down by the Trent if that was to happen.
Nope. Captain Yates is there as a significant turning point in Glasner’s short time at the World Famous so far. We’ve reached that tipping point when it’s time to call on Yates. Let’s hope that the rest of the team would recognise the symbolism here.
I listened to the build- p on BBC Radio Nottingham. I did raise a smile when Notts manager Martin Patterson commented on his Third Division outfit being live on TNT at the same time as Forest on Sky:
“This is a great chance to showcase our club to the rest of the country.”
Behave, fella.
There was mist rolling in from the Trent when the two teams walked out. PROPER Trent End mist, m’duck.
First observations: why the chuff weren’t Man City wearing their usual blue? There was absolutely no need to wear a white away kit. It looked all wrong.
I settled down and… SHIT THE BED. We’ve only gone and scored first at the World Famous as well.
Blimey.
Cuna’s goal was as unexpected as it was welcome. We’ve heard that there is much more to him than simply being a lanky central defender that has the height to play in the Premier League.
We weren’t told, however that he also has some dribbling skills and is actually incredibly tricky and technical when on the ball. Good effort for having the belief in yourself and basically ramming through a very disorganised City defence.
The Sky telly cameras then panned in on the Big Fat Greek who was in the house. He’s been absent for a few months now. I’m not sure of the details surrounding this. I did fear when his beaming face appeared on the telly that he had turned up with a P45 in his back pocket.
Spoiler alert: it wouldn’t be needed this evening.
And then we come to Delap.
Stan Collymore is reborn.
His first goal was just an absolute beast of a centre forward’s effort. It showed he has absolute balls and belief in his talents. The way he just bullied the entire City defence, and he had a rocket of a shot that would have got Stan firing his pistols.
And so 2-0 up and Forests were in dreamland. This wasn’t what we were expecting.
The inevitable City goal followed. It then got a little nervy.
Defend! Defend! Defend! Defend! Defend!
We could seriously do with an Andy Dibble moment here. The one goal lead never seemed enough against City. Haaland was incredibly quiet - he always is until he then goes and bags a hat trick.
Cometh the hour cometh the man once again. OH MY DAYS what an absolute dream of a second goal from Delap. I think I preferred it more than his opener.
It was a way that Yates had some kind of comical bicycle kick in defence to give the ball to MGW. He set off on one of his mazy runs and timed his pass to perfection.
TWAT!
Back of the net.
Everything always starts with Ryan Yates, right?
And so Forest finally had a home win at the World Famous. This all came after the week in which Glasner dared to open his big mouth and say things that perhaps he shouldn’t have said.
When Nuno had a Benny fit he got sacked. When Glasner had a Benny fit he walked away with three points, thank you very much.
Oh and I love the stat that Forest ran more than Man City but had a lower XG.
It would just be Forest luck if all Man City results are ruled null and void at the end of the season, but let’s enjoy this for the moment.
This was a memorable night down at the World Famous and one that Forest fans have been waiting for far too long.
I was absolutely crocked at the University Table of Dreams on Saturday afternoon. That’s not surprising considering I had run a half marathon ahead of playing table tennis.
That’s not quite true. It was a half marathon in distance but it was stop start with four separate runs.
Yeah, you absolute dick.
The new running regime, which is basically run everywhere instead of cycling, took its toll on my game of table tennis. You don’t say. I couldn’t even bend down to pick up the ball.
My playing partner didn’t help:
“Look at the ball when you hit it.”
As ever, cheers for that, luv.
A further compliment came:
“That’s a good serve.”
Yeah, I know. Although I think she was being slightly passive aggressive at the time. It was a bloody good serve though. GEDDIN there.
The game started to drift. I was in with a shout when I went from being 3-0 down to pulling a game back at 3-1. Win the next one and I’m hanging on in there.
But of course I lost the next one.
“Always show positive body language”
…came the next line of wisdom from my playing partner. That’s apparently one of the mantras she’s been told when swinging her stupid golf clubs out on the course.
I showed her some positive body language and gave her a Michael Jackson style hand on the crotch type movement. It wasn’t my best moment.
Alas, I lost 6-2.
It was actually much, much closer than it sounds.
To the Essex Sports Arena! …on Saturday afternoon.
It was a slightly odd sporting geographical crossover. With a couple of hours to kill up on campus, I found myself heading to the Arena for a spot of volleyball.
Yep, I’m a Sports Billy. I’ll watch pretty much anything if it’s live.
The Essex Rebels women had a home fixture against Nottingham. And here’s where things got a little confusing.
The Rebels women’s basketball team were also playing Nottingham. Only this time they were away, with a trip up to the Fair City looming later in the afternoon. As I rocked up on campus shortly before 2pm, the basketball team were still waiting for their coach. Tip off was scheduled for 7pm.
I’ve made that journey often enough to know that, allowing for at least an hour to warm up, it’s going to be a little tight, ladies.
For me, the volleyball was a convenient way of killing a couple of hours before the main event: Forest against Man City back at the World Famous City Ground.
Essex, Nottingham, Arthur, Martha etc.
There was, however, a slight change of plan. An open day was taking place on campus, and the Arena had been commandeered as a glorified freebie distribution centre for prospective students in search of a tote bag stuffed with goodies.
No bribes here. Nope.
No worries. The volleyball had been moved into the sports centre next door. The Arena can be a fairly soulless place when it’s half empty. The sports centre was absolutely rammed. Every seat was taken with standing room only.
Volleyball is seriously competitive at this level. Both the Rebels men’s and women’s teams play in the top divisions, and there was certainly no shortage of intensity.
The first set was a tight affair, with a little Premier League style dissent directed towards the referees along the way. The Rebs narrowly lost it 23-25.
I’m slowly, slowly getting to grips with the fundamentals of volleyball. Essentially, it’s about TWATTING a ball over a net in such a way that your opponents can’t return it. Simple enough. Except, of course, there’s a whole lot more going on.
I particularly enjoy the secret hand signals. You have players facing the net, waiting for their teammate behind them to serve, flashing one, two or even three fingers to communicate the intended serve and tactics. All very cloak and dagger. MI5 with knee pads.
It’s also great to see the team spirit. Both the Rebels and Nottingham were clearly enjoying themselves, despite the competitive edge. That’s one of the things I love about watching university sport. You get to see young sporting talent developing, learning and improving, while having a bloody good time along the way.
The Rebs bounced back in the second set, taking it 25-16. There was a little confusion involving the referees and some new rule changes, which didn’t exactly go the Rebels' way.
The third set was more comfortable, the Rebs winning 25-17. The fourth was much tighter, with Nottingham fighting to stay in the match and the Rebels looking to finish the job.
I didn’t quite keep a note of the final scores, but the Rebs got over the line. A home victory, plenty of smiles and another afternoon of sporting entertainment.
The men were up next, but sadly we couldn’t hang around. We’d booked a table tennis court in the squash court next door. Because apparently watching one sport wasn’t quite enough.
It does get a little confusing, this business of hopping between teams and sporting allegiances. There had even been some fighting talk earlier in the day about taking out a niche telly subscription to watch ice hockey and follow the Panthers again.
Like I need another sporting team to follow.
A return to ParkRun on Saturday morning. Blimey it’s been a while. Injuries, work, Forest, more injuries - all have kept me away, on and off for the past year or so. I bloody miss ParkRun.
There was a most splendid autumnal feel to Castle Park in Sunny Colch just ahead of the 9 am start time for the race that isn’t a race. It looked and smelt like autumn. We’re past the Goose Fair Weather stage of the season and rapidly approaching crappy Christmas Advent calendar time.
For once I felt very chilled and relaxed ahead of ParkRun. I have a love hate relationship with ParkRun. I think everyone has a love-hate relationship. The hatred is throughout the entire duration of the 5 km course, but then you bloody love it once you’ve finished.
But I was remarkably chilled this morning. Like a dick I’ve decided to run everywhere rather than cycle. Let’s see how long that one lasts, Jase. I ran the 7 km from Weird Wiv over to the half town, half city.
This all meant that the pre-ParkRun adrenaline had already been well spent. Today was not going to be a day for a PB.
I started in the middle pack compared to my usual position in the front few rows. Let’s just take it easy and see where this gets us.
I was marked for pretty much the entire race by a very young ginger kid. We’re talking primary school age here. Fair play for the enthusiasm, but primary school ginger kids tend to run in a rather anarchic fashion, zigzagging in and out when you’re least expecting them to.
The final few kilometres had some flat-footed beast of a fella pounding down behind me. I made it my mission for him not to catch me.
Mission completed.
I was bunched in a little towards the close but I still managed a lame sprint finish. I had an OCD pleasing position of 100 in the race that isn’t a race.
As expected this was no ParkRun for personal achievements. My official race time was bang on 26 minutes. I would hope to run somewhere between 22 and 23 if I run box fresh. I was seventh in my age cat, where usually I’m around third.
I ran on to the pool, put in the lengths, and then ran back to Weird Wiv. Thirteen miles in total. Like I say, let’s see how long that one lasts.
Markdown as the default browser
Neat new tool from Dave Winer
“He was the most thoughtful and interesting interviewee you could imagine. And although his songwriting output slowed after that astonishing run of albums in the ’70s, he remains the true successor to Duke Ellington: a musician who brings it all together and makes it his own.”
Richard Williams on Little Stevie
In photos: a walk through a dark and foggy night in Brixton, autumn 2026
via Buzz
Italian Terraces in Crystal Palace park are removed from the Heritage at Risk Register
Close passes on cyclists “require exceptional circumstances” for drivers to be punished, police force admits
via road.cc
The ultimate guide to psychedelic London
via the excellent Peter Watts
This is a right mess of an album, which is a shame as it didn’t have to be this way. What we’ve got is essentially live studio recordings with some piped in live background cheers and whoops. It’s never going to work, is it?
What makes it all the more annoying is that the rawness of Chuck Berry in the studio is sufficient. You don’t need some canned in happy clappers to give it the atmosphere.
If you try and isolate all the live crap, then there’s mighty fine musicianship as well as some raucous rock and roll tunes.
But it’s like watching a film on the telly with commercials that crash over and play simultaneously at the same time as the film itself.
Very odd.
⭐ ⭐
To the University Table of Dreams! …on Friday lunchtime. It doesn’t matter how you get there; It’s what you do when you arrive, right?
That’s the metaphor for life, I think. It’s all about the journey, bollocks, etc.
My journey up to the University Table of Dreams involved running. Having been cropped for pretty much the past year, I’m making up for lost time when it comes to pounding the mean streets of C07.
It’s only a short 3 km hop up to campus. What could possibly go wrong?
I was running late as ever. Yep that’s what went wrong. It meant that I had to absolutely bloody leg it up to Wivenhoe Park rather than a more relaxed approach to my running.
I arrived absolutely knackered and in no fit state to play table tennis. I suspect the very friendly person on reception was having something of a laugh behind my back at my expense.
What do you mean you’ve never seen anybody play table tennis in a squash court wearing a running head sweatband?
The poor form upon arrival continued with poor form into the game. I collapsed right from the very, very first shot.
Soon I found myself 3-0 down.
“This isn’t working out, is it?”
…observed my playing partner.
Cheers for that, luv.
I turned to desperation. Desperation and table tennis and me are not great bedfellows.
This means I arsed around with my serve, trying all sorts of stupid things in a misguided attempt to pull back the points.
One of the tricks I have is just to smash the ball down on my side of the table so it bounces up incredibly high at the other end. It’s a shot that confuses the opponent.
Not so this lunchtime. My playing partner simply TWATTED it back right into the corner.
I found myself 7-1 down.
Oh dear.
Time was running short and squash players were waiting to take over the court.
“Next shot wins the entire game.”
…I optimistically offered.
That didn’t go down very well.
It was something of an epic game, playing first to 11 and then 2 clear points if we were all square. I managed to push ahead, winning 15-13, leading to an overall 7-2 defeat.
Now I’ve got to a bloody run back, YEAH?
