onionbagblog

Not a lot happened at the Sailing Club Monday evening table tennis social. There was a foggy walk down there. This added to the atmosphere as we approached the quay.

Once you get down past a certain part of the town, then the street lighting just dies on you. I think this is supposed to be Weird Wiv atmospheric.

But wait! What’s this?

Guiding us the final 500 metres or so was an abundance of Christmas lights already on show down by Toy Town.

A little bit early for festivities, Sir, etc.

We made our way upstairs to the Sailing Club. As ever there was a committee meeting taking place downstairs.

I had been tipped off earlier in the day by one potential committee member that she may come and join us upstairs if it got a little bit too stuffy downstairs.

It certainly was stuffy upstairs but not in a ceremonial kind of way. We had the heating on full.

That’s what I love about these table tennis socials. I can save money at home and spend my evening TWATTING a ball back and forth with like minded folk.

I stormed to my first win. I was pretty unplayable.

I’ve got a new serve which involves standing to the extreme left of the table and then just hitting the ball incredibly hard and low down the left corridor.

It’s not exactly a trick or deceptive shot. As soon as I take up my stance, then my opponent knows exactly where that ball’s going to go.

But I seem to have the knack of judging it just right so it lands right in the corner on the extreme left hand side.

Gotcha. Pow. Right in the kisser.

The next game was a little elongated. We went to 20-20 with the first to 21. You need two points to win and go clear.

I lost, natch.

This unsettled me slightly. The other games were a little hit and miss.

We finished off with some rather comedy inducing doubles. For some reason I have developed a reputation as not the type of player you want to serve to in doubles. I can land the ball on the other side of the table and isolate the server’s playing partner.

We walked back with more extreme fog and more Christmas lights. I made a mental note to get mine out on Christmas Eve.

Yep another G Force cardigan. Collectors will be collect, right?

If it moves buy it. I’m not on an unlimited budget but the rarity of this original early 90s G Force knitwear is starting to become scarce. I do feel that I’m fuelling some kind of inflated buyers' market.

Here we have a rather simplified G Force design compared to some of the usual extravagance. It’s a rather smart blue number with some orange trimmings.

I wasn’t sure at first. The measurements didn’t quite stack up. The chest size is fine and so is the arm length, but it is rather short around the waist down.

That’s the style. There are only two ways with G Force: a little short around the waist or FUCK OFF huge full on tent style that almost comes down to your knees. No messing, no middle ground.

It arrived in perfect condition. This is a piece of knitwear that is 30 to 35 years old. There are no stains or holes to be seen. It was packaged up perfectly.

I also like the fact that I might have paid something of a premium price, but it’s being sold by Mind. It’s good to know that a charity knows the market and what the value is.

Will I wear it? Yeah sure. I’m starting to wear G Force now as my everyday look and not just for getting tarted up.

Yep, I’m becoming a full time PONCE. Nothing wrong with that.

To the Sunny Colch Odeon! …on Monday afternoon. Screening as part of the cheapo cheapo grubby fiver deal was the new John Malkovich film, Wild Horse Nine.

But first of all we had to overcome a mountain. That’s a mountain of popcorn.

It was most disheartening when rocking up at the Sunny Colch Odeon to find the entrance door stacked high with what must have been sacks full of popcorn that were at least two metres in height.

Peering behind the mythical popcorn curtain was a real heartbreaker. Whaddya mean they don’t make it themselves on site at the Sunny Colch Odeon?

That’s awful lot of popcorn to eat - or even throw around the cinema, as is the case with the Cheapo cheapo grubby fiver deal.

Whatever.

I don’t want to come across as some kind of cinema snob but a John Malkovich film doesn’t attract the usual type of audience that you get on these cheapo cheapo outings. There were a fair few studious single males dotted around the cinema.

I knew little of the film. Thinking back I think I did hear a review on the Robert Elms show at the weekend, but I didn’t make the connection with Malkovich and what we were about to witness.

Except sadly I didn’t witness that much of it. I fell asleep during the trailers, natch. That takes quite some effort, dozing off when a loud as fuck PA system blasts out the latest Marvel universe crap.

I vaguely remember seeing the British Film Board rating for Wild Horse Nine, and then drifted in and out for the first half hour or so,

Which was a shame because the bits that I did pick up on were rather captivating.

I did manage to shake off my lethargy just as the film picked up. It meant that I had missed out on most of the setup, but fast forwarded straight to the action.

This is a film where Malkovich is absolutely captivating. There’s not a lot of action taking place. It’s all about the dialogue. The scripting was superb.

It’s difficult to describe the plot, even with the barest of detail, without giving too much away. Basically it’s a bromance movie as two CIA agents go on a week’s jolly to Easter Island.

Malkovich’s character is elderly; you can see where this is heading.

It’s a rather remorseful film. There’s plenty of looking back via the dialogue rather than through flashbacks. This works incredibly well. The storytelling and use of language carries the entire film.

And then somewhere towards the final quarter or so, SHIT THE BED. Blimey it’s only the old timer Tom Waits popping up to make the most memorable of cameos.

As ever Tom Waits plays Tom Waits. But I could watch the old soak on the big screen all day. I really do miss his all too rare film outings these days.

There are a few sideways plot changes in Wild Horse Nine that you aren’t expecting. There’s a great historical narrative with JFK also being involved.

There that’s as far as I’ll go with the spoilers.

This was a great American film. I mean not a truly great American film, but something that is certainly worthy of a second watch - unlike Digger, which was absolutely shite last month.

The Stones Out of Touch sounded bloody ace as the end credits rolled two hours later. That’s something I’m not going to fall asleep to.

This album has got such a rhythmic flow running throughout. The way the bass just bounces along and carries each track. The music more than makes up for the lack of lyrics. Who needs words anyway? It’s proper space cadet territory, which is basically all sorts of prog and psychedelic shit brought up to date for a contemporary audience. It does get a little tedious in places mind.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

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.