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