Salty but funny . . .

Should I be laughing? I still wish it was the third of December.

When's Christmas again?

I've been known to say these words during league play . . . to the extent that individuals on both nights are known to repeat the words in what can only be described as Brigadoon accent. 

I would totally get this T-shirt . . . if it wasn't for the fact that I would have to sell one of the kids' kidneys to pay for it.

A mystery solved

I was wondering why I had a label for 'Shutter Island'. Life  . . . and blogging . . . was so much easier when the MySpace Weekly Bulletins were still a thing.

PS - Kara watched Shutter Island last night. I passed up the chance to watch it, and opted to take a wee nap on the wee couch. For as much as I had a thing for Lehane back in the day - see the labels for proof - I never fancied this film. Nothing to do with DiCaprio or Scorcese. I eventually got over my profound disappointment with Gangs of New York. Just something about it seemed off to me . . . okay, it probably was DiCaprio.

In rude political health . . .

A bit crude, but I laughed anyway.

13-Darter

Fuck, I just hit a 13-darter (against a Dart App, admittedly) . . . and my Dartitis was really playing up.

140, 140, 140, 31 . . . bull outshot. (115.6 average.)

The Lowdown (2025)

 

Another part of my childhood gone . . .

Well, that's an absolutely gut punch on a Christmas morning.

For a few years in the late 1970s, John Robertson was one of the best footballers in the world. An absolute legend.

In the words of the late Brian Clough: "What is the point of giving you the ball when there is a genius on the other wing?" (Question to Martin O'Neill about John Robertson, 1979.)

Against Malmo, 1979 European Cup Final.

And it should also be stated for the record that he was front and centre on the greatest football song of all time. ('World in Motion' and 'Three Lions' can get fucked.)

Trading Places (1983)

 

Monday morning . . . erm . . . milestone?

Inspired alliteration can be a bastard sometimes.

The eldest is moaning, resentful that he has to go to school on December 22nd. I'm resentful and moaning back at him 'cos I have to get up super early in the morning to drag him out of bed, and the only silver lining is an early morning 180. 215 for the year.

215/50

If he's a total pain in the arse on the 22nd, think what he's going to be like tomorrow morning when I have to drag him out of bed again? Give me another silver lining tomorrow morning, ye darting gods. I will need it.

I'm not a nice guy . . .

 I can't explain it but of all the irritating darts players out there, all round good guy Rob Cross is the player I find the most irritating.

That's a lie. I can explain it . . . it's his fucking throw. It does my nut in.

Sorry Rob. It's not you, it's me.

147

Not my highest checkout but I'll take it. Finishing on D18 is especially pleasing 'cos, as a rule, I really dislike the 18 segment. (I have my reasons.)

'In your head, you wish you were a mod.'

A zinger. Guilty as charged. Sadly, I didn't have the ears to be a Mod.

It's so much easier to update the 180s on the blog when Kara comes out with lines like that. Gregory's Girl one-liners, where did you disappear to?

Posted Monday morning, 22nd December . . . 9.18 AM.

214/50

The Visitor?

The last time Celtic lost four songs in a row, this song was number one in the British charts:

I mean, it's a stone cold classic -  and Agnetha is DDG in the video -  but I just want to climb into my DeLorean and go back two weeks. Put it through a car wash. Do a Bobby Ewing . . . or was it a Pam Ewing?

A bit obvious but I laughed anyway . . .

Found via Urban75 but I'm guessing it's a screen grab from Private Eye.

 

I'm guessing the name 'Your Party' is an attempt as some sort of rebranding of Left Populism. Make it more voter-friendly and fresh sounding. Probably looked at similar initiatives in Spain and Greece. The problem is that they didn't look close enough.

Down Cemetery Road (2025)

 

In a German accent . . . 'Nein'

First 3 darts of the day . . . going back to bed.

SPGB London Meeting: “The Romantics’ Critique of Capitalism.”

File under the label, 'If I was in London . . . '. 

 

An SPGB meeting next Saturday at their Head Office in South London. Cut and pasted below is a post from Johnny Mercer, who will be the speaker:

"CALLING All ROMANTIC REVOLUTIONARIES: Mulled wine and a Christmas critique of capitalism, what’s not to love? In this talk I’ll be discussing the revolutionary ideas of people like Shelley, Turner, and Mary Wollstonecraft. I’ll be analysing how romantic concepts influenced socialists from Marx to Morris. And how these ideas continued in art/anti-art movements from Dada, to the Situationists, to a bit on my own arts practice. As ever plenty of time for questions and discussion! 3pm Sat 13th of December, 52 Clapham High Street. PLEASE SHARE LONDON ARTSY FOLKS!"

'New stems, please!'

Is it stems or shafts? I don't really know. I guess 'shafts' is too much of a Viz like double entendre. 

Anyway, I got some new stems but they're longer than my usual kind - enough with the double entendres, ffs -  so, right now, I don't know how I feel about them. They were supercheap(ish), and I thought I was getting my usual kind of stems lengthwise. I was wrong. A cheap order means a wrong order, apparently. I got some cheap flights alongside them. I wonder how they'll work out. Probably 10 bastard microns. It'll serve me right.

206/50

Only Murders in the Building (2025)

 

Backdoor and back-chatting . . .

Just trying to tidy up. I can't remember much about this 180, other than the fact that it occurred during a bout of dartitis. 

For some reason, I'm thinking about the league match played on the Monday night. We got battered 13-6. A bit of a bitter taste in the mouth about it as we were 5-0 down after the first round (hint, fucking, hint). I didn't cover myself in glory in later rounds. Words were exchanged.

205/50

The Return of the Unsunny Ds

. . . with a bastard vengeance.

I am genuinely perplexed to know what happened. It really cropped up again at the eve of Thanksgiving Luck of the Draw, but I attributed that to extreme tiredness. Christ, it only cropped up at 2am that night/morning. But last night was horrific. Is it the team? The division? The bar? The change in the weather? Did I burn down two orphanages in a previous life? All I know is that I have no idea what is going to happen tonight. It might be the mother of all nightmares.

I should, despite all that, be happy enough with my 204th 180 of 2025, but I'm sure you can understand my bittersweet misery.

204/50

Catch a star . . .

. . . and, shit, I forgotten the next line. A banging track, mind. Better than the better-known Elton John version.

203/50

No Hammarby puns, please.

Finished second and I got the highest score of the night. I'll take it.

High Times (2004)

 

I feel unusual

I was not expecting that. Remember folks, it's the hope that kills you.

#NinetyMinuteNationalism

Houchenesque

 Sometimes the Zuck comes up Trumps . . . as opposed to him usually kissing Trump's arse. 

"Ronnie Clayton heading Blackburn Rovers' 78th-minute equaliser against Liverpool, FA Cup 6th Round, 1 March 1958. Ally MacLeod scored Rovers' winner a few minutes later. Crowd of 51,000 in Ewood Park."

I love a diving header. We all do. You look at the photograph, and you'd think Clayton was doing that every other week but it turns out that he scored less than 20 goals in a full and successful career. 

Killing time after breakfast . . .

Monday morning . . . one teen already at school . . . one teen dreading going to school. It's a league night, and as the Dartitis is haunting me again, I'm not playing legs against the Russ Bray Darts App. Just throwing semi-randomly at the board to get my Dart muscle memory up and running again. I really fear the worst tonight. I won't know until I'm actually there whether the Dartitis has enveloped me again.

What a thing not to look forward to.

198/50

"My clock's ticking now . . . "

Sod Peter Kay, my clock's ticking . . .  I need to get to 200 before the end of the year.

197/50

"Putting me in charge of Christmas . . . "

Just plough through this. Line up The Waitresses. 

196/50

"School caretaking, my eye . . . "

Two 180s in 16 minutes. Nice when that happens. (Wrong order, naturally.)

195/50

"Shush with your genuine shit."

  could be a Peter Kay's Car Share quote but, no, it was family life . . . family drama . . . so it goes.

Still watching Peter Kay's Car Share. It's the dogging episode piping through my ears right now.

194/50

Dream Baby (1989)

 

153 . . . for the hard of hearing.

Turns out it's been a while since my last recorded Round of 9. Still haven't gotten one in League play. Another one for my Darting bucket list. (Does 'bucket list' work in this context? I don't have a scooby.)

Correction or addendum . . . you decide:

According to this post from July, it looks like I hit Round 9s more often than I think. I guess I don't record them all for posterity.  If it's a Round 9 of, say, T19, T18, T17, I don't usually post a picture. The funny thing is that that sort of Round 9 is much more difficult than the Round 9 posted above, or even a 180 for that matter.

"I don't want to wake up dead"

No comment.

193/50

"He's shot up, hasn't he?"

 Insert "I had to hire an air balloon" joke here. Vertigo's no joke when you get to my age.

192/50

"This is the station with the timeless hits"

No inspiration at this point. True Colours coming through at this point. (Groan.)

191/50

Barney Miller (1975)

 

Through a (camera) glass darkly . . .

Another one of those 180s hit in a Brooklyn bar on a league night before the start of the actual main event. I didn't come close to hitting one in the actual match itself.

Yep, I know the picture looks like it was taken underwater on a secondhand Kodak Brownie. It couldn't be helped. My phone was dying  - fuck you, iPhone 6 - and the match was about to start. I didn't have time to line up my picture Cartier-Bresson style. It could have been worse; if my phone had died before I had the chance to take the picture, you'd now instead be looking at badly drawn pencil sketch of a 180.

189/50

P.S.

We won 15-4 on the night. Played 4, won 3 . . . and in the match I lost, I actually played half-decent.

Blue Ruin (2013)

 

I need to sharpen my darts before Monday night . . .

That second T20 was only staying in the board 'cos it was resting on the first T20. I had no choice but to go for the T19. Don't quote me on this but I think that's my first 177. Ordinarily, I would normally always go for the third T20 whatever the odds, but 20 minutes before my third dart had knocked out my first two darts when they were in and around the T20, so I went down a different darting road  . . . for once.

I might make a habit of it. Once I get past that itch of always wanting to hit 180s.

Rising Damp (1974)

 

14 Darter

I know I've hit 1 12-darter and 2 13-darters previously, so I shouldn't care so much for a 14-darter nowadays but it still hits the spot for me.

100, 100, 76, 140, 85 outshot (T15, D20)

107.4 average.

The morning after the night before . . .

Missed a 180 last night during a league game. A bit gutted, naturally, 'cos I always like a free T shirt. 

We played so well last week, and then get smashed this week. Such is the darting life.

This morning's 180 can only bring so much solace.

185/50

Monday morning miracle

 Where did that come from? I will take it nonetheless.

184/50

Slow Horses: London Rules (2025)

 

Three of three

The countdown concludes  . . . and the flash brightens up my life once more.

Three 180s in one day. That's quite a rarity these days. Last time I done that was May 29th.

183/50

Two of three

The countdown continues . . . and I'm still loving that flash. Give me my simple pleasures in life.

182/50

One of three

 A countdown commences . . .  I like it when the flash kicks in.

181/50

I need a drone for Christmas

There's a 180 in there somewhere.

My 180th 180 of 2025.

180/50

Field of Anxious Dreams

I have had three darts dreams in the last two and a half days. 

That's not good . . . especially when those dreams doesn't involve me scoring a 9-darter against Luke Littler at a World Championship or bonding with Marisa Tomei over a love of Loxley's latest range of darts.

Instead, my brain insists on me dreaming about snapped darts, darting mishaps involving four darts in the board, and darts matches which resemble that pub scene from An American Werewolf in London.

I need a new hobby.

Hanging by a thread . . .

I'm sure you can guess which one was the third dart. A bit cheeky that I took time out to take the photo. If it had been an actual match, I'd have been sprinting to the dartboard to retrieve the darts before that third dart dropped out.

179/50

Never fear . . .

. . . it may take 5 and a half years but I will hunt you down, and I will post those pics on the blog.

Where there's an opportunity for a humblebrag, it's never too late, never too sad or never too obnoxious.

Not so PC at PC's (groan)

Practicing before a Tuesday night league match. I think this might be my first ever 180 at this particular bar. I'm not 100% sure but a 180 is a 180. It could have spelt the kiss of death for the match itself but we ended up winning 10-9 on the night. And against a team from the same bar. Two derby wins in one week . . .and with Celtic flights. I need to pass them onto Brendan before the semi final.

178/50

The Mismatch Report

So last night's grudge match turned out to be a bit of a damp squib. Turns out they were nice guys, despite the fact that they had done the darting dirty on us last season (I'll give them the benefit of doubt for the season before that). 15-4 was a bit of massacre, but we needed the win and we especially needed the extra points.

I was just glad that the T-shirts didn't come back to bite us on the arse. That would have been embarrassing. Yes, I am being suitably cryptic.

In other news, just scored my 177th 180 of the year. They are few and far between at the moment. They always dry up in the fall. Don't know why. Probably my old bones and the weather.

177/50

Fuck you, Russ Bray

I was on double 2 after my first two darts. . . you can guess the rest. I wasn't waiting another 16 days for my next 180.

. . . I ended up losing the leg. I don't care. Fuck you, the Russ Bray App.

176/50

Use your imagination . . .

And breathe.

16 days . . . 16 bastard days . . .  it was 16 days since my last 180. It was lockdown all over again.

The daft thing is that I'm not actually playing that badly at the moment. I've probably thrown for a 180 about 7 or 8 times in the past week, but no banana. Funny how it works. Will I be able to hit 200 before the end of the year? Not if I only hit a 180 every 16 days. Fingers, thumbs and hot buns crossed.

175/50

Session Man (1991)