onionbagblog

And so the final team news of what has been a cluster fuck of a season for Forest landed. Still no Murilo. wtf was that Villa Europa semi all about? The dark recesses of the modern interweb has the rumour mill working overtime. It does sound like the Boy from Brazil is probably fit, and wanted to remain so before seeing what other options are out there ahead of the new contract signing.

Bournemouth are no mugs, They rocked up at the World Famous on a seventeen match unbeaten PL run. That’s quite some going. An unthinkable Champions League place was even within their grasp ahead of KO. Let’s sink them, along with their crappy Lego ground and embarrassing club badge.

Harry Hodge was on fine form on BBC Radio Nottingham ahead of KO:

“It’s been a good season and I’ve really enjoyed it.”

Blimey. Speak for yourself, fella.

KO came. My eyes were elsewhere. I had Forest on the telly, and then #lolspurs and West Ham across a couple of MacBooks. On the beach, on the settee, etc. The main action was elsewhere.

The tribute to Robbo just before KO was lovely. Forest may be a BONKERS club on and off the pitch, but they do seem to pull off these important occasions with class, showing the respect that is deserved for Robbo.

Out came the players, out came the kids. Awwww, isn’t it sweet? Erm… I’m sorry to sound all old school on you, but I can’t get my head around players' kids coming out for a bit of a family photo album moment ahead of KO. This is SERIOUS business. I do wish we could return to the old City Ground days of the away team running out first at 2:55pm, to be greeted with:

“WHO THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU?”

The MGW chants started early. They were swiftly followed by the Trent End letting its collective voice air an opinion on Tuchel. Anderson aside, I have zero interest in what will be a crappy and increasingly corporate World Cup. Pre-season can’t come quick enough.

The game started at a killer pace. Both teams would struggle to keep this up under Mediterranean temperatures down on the banks of the Trent.

Cometh the hour, cometh MGW. UP YOURS, Tuchel, etc.

The second half was a little shaky for Forest. Bournemouth are a bloody good team. But we were on the beach, and tbh, I really didn’t give a shit. It was finally fun watching Forest after what has been a very painful season. The equaliser almost passed me by.

It was a smart move to sub Anderson after sixty minutes. It meant he was injury free ahead of the World Cup, which will only increase his price value. If he does miraculously decide to stay, then no doubt he will thank Forest for giving him a safe passage for what is to follow this summer.

Meanwhile, over in MacBook Land and #lolspurs were winning; likewise for West Ham. Imagine how bleak this could have been if we were still involved in a last day shoot out.

And so farewell season season four in the PL. Thank fuck that’s over. At least we didn’t get relegated wearing pinstripes again.

I felt a little sorry for Nuno, but only for a fleeting moment. If only he had kept his mouth shut back in August - which feels like an absolute age away.

A farewell to Anderson? Possibly. But we can cash in, and hopefully rebuild over the coming weeks, preferably starting ASAP. There’s a growing pile of deadwood that needs to go. My manta for the summer months is to not get sucked into the transfer hype machine that is FFTV.

TAP WARS broke out at the allotment on Sunday morning. I was pressed with two tasks: mow the verges and water the entire patch. I failed spectacularly on both counts. I forgot to charge the battery on the mini electric flymo the night before; early Sunday morning tap hoggers had already hooked up their hosepipes to the limited water supplies.

Arse.

It’s a little like the towel on the sun bed trick whilst off on your fancy foreign jolly. I don’t do fancy foreign jollies. I also don’t do Sunday morning watering, it seems.

Oh well. I took a little time out, sat on the allotment bench and surveyed my land. The poppies are adding a lush red sweep through the green colour palette. Things are starting to grow. I’ve no idea what most of these things are, but hopefully I’m in for a rich harvest, TAP WARS or no TAP WARS.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Sunday morning. It already started to heat up as we made our way through the public car park and on to the field. The local running group had regathered, all hot and sweaty after a morning of trying to beat the heat. Good luck, as they say, with that one.

Our own warm up was rubbish. Once again we aimed for the pro-style corner to corner continuous rally, TWATTING the ball with an increased intensity after every shot. It looks impressive if you can pull it off. We managed a rally of three shots max.

Time to crack on with the actual game, before the blue skies up above completely burned all energy out of us. It was most tranquil for the first three games. I raced to a 3-0 lead. The bloody Church bells then kicked in. They put me off my stroke. I called time whilst I was still 3-2 ahead.

Orange Juice’s Rip It Up. This was something of an ebay BARGAIN. Prices of around £30 are not uncommon. Somehow I managed to land this one for £3. GEDDIN.

It’s perhaps a near perfect pop album, with the lead single being the absolute perfect pop song. It stills sounds so alien to me. The drums and rhythm sound exotic, more than forty years on. The guitars fall up and down the scale.

I’ve only realised in recent years that the song should be understood in its literal sense: Orange Juice were at a stage where they wanted to… Rip It Up and start again. Sometimes the best plan is to say fuck it, and come back with a Plan B. Or C, D or E.

Just Kick It Until It Breaks.

Thirty three minutes in and WOH! Here we have Long Hot Summer. It’s the season, etc; it somehow feels appropriate. It also still sounds bloody lush.

The occasion was Paul and Mick dropping in on Jo Wiley for a chin wag about Cafe Bleu Deluxe. I’ve still not picked up a copy of the CD boxset. But it will come, don’t worry.

EXTREME fan boy, etc - but I just bloody love seeing photos of those two together again. The ending was messy - not in a personal sense, but certainly in terms of major label support and a feeling out of being out of time.

The quality never went away; and neither did the loafers, judging by the smiling press shot with Jo Wiley. Would it be too much to wish for new music from TSC?

A quick shifty over at the Dulwich Hamlet forum over on Urban, and OH MY DAYS. The Hamlet will have an away fixture at Stanway Rovers next season! Blimey. I can leave the house at 2:30pm, and still have time for a pint over in Stanway ahead of KO.

I had no idea that Stanway Rovers (not to be confused with Pegasus) had reached such lofty heights in the non-league pyramid. It wasn’t that long ago that Wivenhoe Town Vs Stanway Rovers was a key local derby match.

There’s some half decent boozers around Britain’s Oldest Recorded that the Rabble will be able to enjoy, whenever the away day is announced. Early autumn before it gets too bloody cold would be nice.

Likewise for Maldon and Tiptree, another possible Dulwich away day for me. Transport would be a bit tricky here. The Raleigh electric would be the only option. A nice early away day with a bicycle ride thrown in would work.

I was dreading this. Track 1 almost did for me. To bail or not to bail? Wait! What’s this? It’s gets a little more melodic with Tuesday’s Gone. There’s even a pleasant piano solo in there. It then reverts to hairy old bollocks form. I bailed, natch.

⭐ ⭐

George Benson’s Breezin'. There’s always been a jazz funk fusion blend to my musical tastes, etc. It’s the perfect album to signal the start of early summer. I may even dig out my Soul Boy plastic sandals to complete the look. Martinis ahoy! Or cheapo Lidl lager, as is more likely to be the case…

Budgie! Gang of Four! That’s quite a cast list. High hopes, etc. But Christ, this was shit. The alarm bells should have been sounded with ‘folk rock duo,’ It’s wishy washy to the extreme. The Dire Straits cover did for me. I’m surprised I survived to track 8.

⭐ ⭐

I couldn’t be arsed to swim. It involved too much activity: a bicycle ride to the pool, the actual swim, and then a bicycle ride back to base. No ta, especially so with rain threatening around the Estuary Wilds. And so a walk instead. Live to walk, walk to live, etc.

I had plenty of podcasts loaded up to keep me company - the usual shit: Forest Focus, Novara, Never Strays Far. Podcasts and putting in the strides is something of a thing around these parts. It’s rare now to notice someone who isn’t wearing a pair of AirPods whilst they are out plodding away.

The route was pretty random, and pretty much made up as I went along. I headed out along the Estuary, always a good start. The water was choppy with the wind blowing down the Muddy Banks. Rowing for earlier in the day had already been cancelled.

Both sides of the sea wall have seen significant overgrowth in recent weeks. Some stretches required a little delicacy when passing through. I wouldn’t fancy running along here with all the thorns poking out to scratch away at my BEAUTIFUL sleeve ink.

I reached the Creek. I headed up towards Alresford. The plan was to walk through the centre of the village and back to Weird Wiv. But this would have meant walking along the road with rush hour approaching. I’ll give that one a miss.

I went a little cross-country, having hung around for a short while inside the burnt out shell of St Peter’s. It was pretty magical with the bright sun illuminating the walls of the old, abandoned building. A decent walk. I’ll swim tomorrow. Yep.