onionbagblog

Another day, another walk. Live to walk, walk to live, etc. Of course I’d rather run, but I’m still partially crocked with my dodgy calf.

It’s been over three weeks now since it first pinged. I was foolish enough to attempt a pickleball game one week after the initial injury.

OUCH. That bloody hurt. I was back to square one.

I’ve slowly, slowly been building up with the walking each day. The 5km-ish route stays pretty much the same. I’ve picked up the pace to look like a right twat as I power walk around the town.

It’s done the job. I feel ready to return to running. But I’m increasingly cautious in all areas of my life as I age. The weekend has been pencilled in for a return to pounding the mean streets of CO7 once again.

The walk today was quite lovely. The harsh coldness of the past few days has disappeared. The snow and ice has gone. We’re waiting for the next weather phase with rain and wind incoming.

But for today, a brisk walk to the top of the town, and then back down along the Quay was what I needed.

The Postman Delivers: Forest home, 1994. So what if I owned an original back in the day, wore it pretty much 24/7 for around three years, and then flogged it for a small fortune on ebay a couple of years ago?

Whoops.

The arrival of the kit today was of course a replica, and not an original. I did think when I was buying that it was one of the club endorsed Copa kits, but now I think it’s a Far East knock off. It’s spot on with the detail, as well as the quality.

I remember when the kit was first introduced. It was quite a departure with the black bands running parallel along the front. I wasn’t a fan at first. I had finally grown to love the 1992 pinstripe relegation design. We also wore this in the promotion season.

It’s funny how your passion for a particular football kit is more about the memories of the time, rather than the actual design. I’m not holding much love for the current Forest pinstripe effort.

After the Postman had Delivered this morning, I took the kit up to my Forest kit box. Yes - it really does exist. The current count is fourteen. I thought I was still on single figures.

But OF COURSE I never get to wear them all. But that’s not the point. Ditto with CD buying and listening.

Refused to listen.

⭐

The joy of writing a Crap Match Report is that it is just that: complete nonsense. I had the foresight almost twenty five years ago (!) to give myself a get out of jail card. You’re not going to read about tactical substitutions, in game analysis and XG bollocks on this blog.

And so in short: Fuck. I don’t ever want to see that again from Forest. That was a bloody horrid watch, It was exhausting. It came close to ruining what had - by my own low standards - an almost half decent day.

The hour leading up to KO with Sir Colin of West Bridgford was a little emotional. We had the highlights of Nuno’s time at the World Famous being played out once again. It was a Greatest Hits compilation including The VAR is a Luton fan, Why Colin, Why? Plus also a reminder as to how high the highs from last season actually took us.

LIVE the dream. I wish I had at the time, rather than look at endless spreadsheets and graphs to see how that CL tracker was playing out.

And then we came to KO at the London Stadium this evening. SHOUT OUT to the 2,000 or so Forest fans who made the trip on a nasty evening of weather in East London.

West Ham have been spamming me on Facebook for the past month or so, trying to flog me £15 tickets. The crappy algorithm of being a 50 something bloke living in Essex makes me prime marketing material for the Hammers.

I resisted, but then had the half thought earlier in the morning that I could make the trip. A cheapo train ticket to Stratford could be snaffled up, and then £15 to sit on my hands alongside the most miserable fan base in the PL - that’s West Ham, not Forest, btw.

Come full time and I’m pleased that I opted for the telly coverage instead. It was a miserable first half for both teams. The game was a race to the bottom to see which manager wanted to lose his job first. Both Nuno and Dyche were in serious danger of being turfed out during the half time break.

Forest has zero attacking threat up front. Jesus cut a lone figure - and not for the first time, etc. The best thing I can say about the first forty five minutes was that I rather liked the old school Umbro badge on the West Ham kit.

Murilo’s OG was unfortunate. At least it might divert the gaze away from him from any circling European super power clubs. And there ends my first half notes.

The second half wasn’t much better. I feel for these players after being fucked around by Forest with three managers in one season. Oh go on then - why not try a fourth? It can hardly make matters any worse.

There’s the usual SHOUT OUT to Neco, and now also Ola. Both of them never let us down.

A surprise addition to this reliability category for Forest is VAR. Bloody hell. We looked down and out at 2-0 down. The thought of VAR intervention didn’t even cross my mind as Nuno leapt up for his little jig along the touchline.

Dominguez did well to get us back in the game. I’m now firmly of the opinion that we can’t waste £25M on Luiz, with Sangare also back with us hopefully soon. Dominguez does the job.

I was all settled to take a point away from the London Stadium, and then have a rethink about what the chuff comes next. The punch to MGW in the face was just what Forest needed. POW! Right in the kisser, etc.

Don’t take the penalty, Morgan. DON’T TAKE THE PENALTY, MORGAN.

Oh shit. He’s taking the penalty. Just don’t do your stupid hop, skip and a jump thing then.

Bloody hell. We’re 2-1 up. This was a game that deserved a negative deficit for goals being scored. How three were managed throughout the ninety minutes is beyond me.

It was heartbreaking to see Nuno look so crushed at FT. It was even more heartbreaking watching him hug the Forest players he became such a father figure to.

Oh Nuno. Why oh why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut during those early pressers? Ride it out. We’d be top eight, riding high in Europe and the whole Forest fan base would still be on the piss with you.

Meanwhile we’re left with Dyche. We all knew it would develop to be played out like this. We all know what the ending is likely to be with the Big Fat Greek.

What a horrid, DIRTY DIRTY game of football to watch.

Never again.

I walked it all the way to the other end of the Trail and onwards towards the Hythe on Monday. I was in desperate need for a swim and a stretch. The ice and snow was still heavy along the Muddy Banks. I wouldn’t have fancied riding along there.

And so I crunched along at a pace, wearing my walking boots. You get to see a whole different perspective walking the Trail, rather than riding it. No shit.

I approached Windy Corner opposite Rowhedge. Slowly, slowly on the horizon I could see a bloody great big barge being tugged along the river. This is quite a rarity. It reminded me of my early 90’s student days up in the Towers, watching Russian shipping boats heading up and down the Colne.

Those days are long gone, with a silted up river, no shipping industry to speak of around these parts, and, erm, Russian ships not exactly being welcome right now. At the time I was probably reading a first year politics textbook about how the end of the Cold War would lead to a brave, safe new world.

But anyway - the barge thingy being towed up the Muddy Banks on Monday. It looked a little perilous. The tugging thing pulling it along looked like a contestant for World’s Strongest Man that had arrived a little underprepared. It was swaying from side to side, still trying to keep the big old bastard of a barge moving.

I pressed on with the walking. I reached the Hythe, and made my way along King Edward Quay. Ahh - so that explains it. The community of house boats now has a few gaps. The barge was being moved from the Hythe to Gawd knows where. Brightlingsea? There’s certainly no room for it in Weird Wiv.

The City Council had a particularly spiteful policy just before Christmas of hiking the morning fees for the close knit community of house boats down by the Hythe. It looks like the gathering has now been split up, with gaps appearing along the quayside.

A decent walk. I should take in these ramblings and observations more often.

I’ve been catching up with some Andy Kershaw Plays Some Bloody Great Records podcasts. Tell It Like It Is, etc. Where else can you hear the Stones covering The Temptations, a Martin Stephenson kitchen session, and some DIY recordings from a field trip the Democratic Republic of the Congo from back in the late 1980’s?

Kershaw sounds as bitter as ever from being sidelined from the BBC - and indeed he should. There are few other broadcasters who understand their audience, and who also know their music inside out. He is a rare asset that the BBC should have ‘reintegrated’ back into what platform Kershaw now fits these days. It’s remarkable to consider that he once held down a Radio 1 spot, playing pretty much the same music that he is still playing on his podcasts these days.

He also has a great relationship with the artists he has championed over the decades. They’re still lining up to appear on his podcast, live and direct from his kitchen table. The background barking from his dog Bertie sounds almost like a canine two fingers being raised up to the BBC.

I’ve always loved the bashfulness of Kershaw. Put simply, he doesn’t give a shit. This Live Aid clip where he held court with the unlikely trio of Sting, Phil Collins and, erm, Howard Jones is a brilliant watch. He cuts the interview short and tells Phil to bugger off to the other side of the Atlantic.

You get the first hour of the podcasts for free. A Patreon endorsement unlocks a second hour. I confess to not having signed up - but I really should. Cost of living shit, innit. I do have a list of ‘creators’ who I really want to endorse, should a little more money come my way. Without the likes of Kershaw still kicking over the statues, well, then we’re left with a very bland cultural offering.

This has got an experimental feel to it. The ideas sound half-formed, almost with improvisation taking place around some loose, central message. The album is all the better for this.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

“We’re rubbish, they’re rubbish.”

Happy El Sackico Day, Comrades.

A couple of G Force beanies, all the way from the Fair City. It’s Nottingham NG1 heritage, right?

These were originally only available in person at a couple of pre-Christmas events back in the Fair City. Sadly time and tide kept me away.

A few DM’s later, and a deal was done. They’re bloody lovely and fit to perfection.

The 0602 is nice call back to the old dialling code. The orange thread is the exact same colour scheme of a G Force 90’s cardigan that is still going strong for me.

Jase wears G Froce, innit.

But when, exactly?

I seem to spend most of my time these days aresing around, wfh in my indoor trackies.

Quirky. Bonkers. Unlistenable, Christ, she can’t half shriek.

⭐