onionbagblog

It’s been a while since The Postman Delivered some CD’s tbh. I’ve been rather restrained in my late night online spending sprees. I’ve managed to resist the daily ebay emails for what seems like half the back catalogue in the entire history of popular music.

But then two searches hit the spot with prices that I couldn’t ignore: Stephen Stills' debut, and Genesis' Selling England by the Pound. They’re hardly cutting edge new music to carry me into 2026. Don’t worry. I still dip my toe into some DIRTY D ‘n’ B each week.

Both albums came via the 1,001 Albums list. I’ve already ticked off the entire list, apparently. But each day, a new offering is sent m way. If we’re looking to point the finger at anyone for my CD addiction, then the 1,001 Albums list is a decent starting point.

The Stephen Still debut was a lot more soulful than I was expecting. It all hangs together with a lovely Hammond organ lilt. I’ve always had a soft spot for Genesis - the earlier, the better. Selling England drifts in places, but I love the Wardrobe song.

Less than a tenner all in - not bad. I do need to seriously address the CD storage situation sometime this year.

High water down at the Hythe as I cycled through on Friday morning. Which can only mean one thing: Haven Road is flooded, innit. I don’t quite understand the physical geography of why Haven Road cops it, whilst King Eddie Quay somehow gets away with no extra water. I don’t think the stalled Hythe Taskforce does either. I’m just grateful for having a safe passage and the opportunity for a few cheeky sunshine snaps.

Right from the opening beats of Buffalo Stance, Sushi is pure joy. Uplifting, thoughtful, cheeky, experimental and funny as fuck in places. This is what I ask for in my music.

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The state of the left and right

Some half decent analysis shocker. And yes, Badenoch is cooking of late.

“Our team probably went into the dressing room afterwards to tidy up for them and wave them onto the bus, just to complete their royal visit to Nottingham.”

Tell It Like It Is

I had the misfortune to watch a Championship match earlier. Christ, that was crap. Don’t let the fact that it was D***y Vs ‘Boro deceive you. I’m being objective when I declare once again: Christ, that was crap.

It sounds incredibly snobbish to say that the PL is where it’s at for me right now. It wasn’t always this way of course. But I have allowed my interest in the Championship to drift, with Forest no longer being involved.

I occasionally watch the blink and you’ll miss it goal fest that is the ITV4 Football League highlights on a Saturday evening. But it’s bloody hard going with the pace and goals that are flashed in front of your eyeballs.

The D***y Vs Boro slugfest was a wake up call for what fate possibly awaits Forest if we fuck up. Im stating the bloody obvious when I say that it would be a disaster for our club.

It was never meant to be this way. Even the planning documents for the stadium expansion had the line that it was “unlikely” that Forest will be relegated from the PL over the coming seasons. Can you imagine being the ticket office manager trying to shift 45,000 tickets for Forest Vs Portsmouth?

I’d like to think that we’d absolutely stroll through any season back in the Championship. But then again that’s what fans of L******er probably thought back in May. That first bounce back season in 1993-94 was also hard work for Forest.

The only saving grace from being back in the Championship would be a likely renewal of the D***y derbies. I haven’t missed them. They had become so intense. A break was needed.

All of which just confirms the natural order of things: Forest looking nervously down, D***y forever looking up.

The annual contesting of the New Year Day’s Cup at the Table of Dreams. Much like the Christmas Cup, there is no actual Cup. But that doesn’t make the competition any less fraught.

I tried to focus. Honest. But it was bloody freezing out there. I was distracted by what seemed like an army of dog walkers doing the New Year’s Day dog walking thing.

The scoreline wasn’t looking too healthy when I was 5-0 down. Hey! I know: how about a final decider game with winner takes all? Like a FOOL, she fell for it.

A few trick shots and some crafty spin, led to me walking home with the New Year’s Day Cup. I just need to find it first.

This wasn’t the outlaw album as advertised. It was country twee with only a slight hint of rebellion. There’s nothing dark or sinister, only country-lite songs that seem to be sung with a smile and no menace. Sure, you don’t always want gloom. But you don’t always want generic country crap either.

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The final game of wiff waff at the Table of Dreams ended in the same way that we started the year: I bloody lost, innit. The final scoreline of 4-1 sounds like a severe beating. Truth be told and I pushed her all the way. Honest.

Time was a little tight. We were playing under fading skies with the bloody Estuary Wilds sun fast disappearing behind us in the woods. One end of the table had a serious light advantage over the other. I would like to say that this impacted me. But we swapped end after each game.

We returned to the standard table tennis ball, rather than the wind heavy version. This led to a game of spin. I bloody love spinning the ball to showcase my skills. So what if it doesn’t always land on the other side of the table?

A gathering of local yoof were hovering nearby. At first I thought they were after a game. I think they were just bored local yoof kicking around, looking for some shit to do on New Year’s Eve.

There’s the possibility of the New Year Cup being contested in the morning. I’m not a betting man, but already my odds are looking a little long.

THREE pairs of tights were needed for the New Year’s Eve roll out. We started off with the temperature barely above freezing. The dial didn’t move when we headed back to base a couple of hours later.

Brrrrr. That was a bloody cold one.

We played it safe with the tried and tested Bobby George BONER route. I know every kerbside, pothole and potential danger spot inside out. I wasn’t taking any risks on New Year’s Eve.

That still didn’t stop FOUR dickhead motorists from deciding to close pass us. On NYE ffs. It’s not so much the danger that it puts us in; it’s the bloody pain of uploading four separate video clips to Essex Police each time.

But I am a persistent bugger, if nothing else. If you close pass me, I’ll dob you in to the police. I see it as my duty to try and stop you from intimidating other cyclists. So there. Happy bloody New Year, etc.

The rest of the ride was pretty uneventful. We passed some road kill by the side of the road. I think it was a fox. Poor thing. Betcha he didn’t have an on board video cam.

An optimistic ice cream van was trying to conjure up some NYE trade towards the Sunny Colch end approach of the ride. Good luck with that one, fella. We pressed on to Lidl and stocked up with some cheapo cheese instead.

Chapeau!

Over-produced. The songs would have benefitted more if they were raw. Sure, she has a half decent voice. But it’s also too AOL and MOR for me. No ta.

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