This pans out . . .

This is the kind of misinformation on the internet that I can get behind.

Should have posted this a month ago but I was too busy enjoying the football . . .

My kids don't like football . . . or Maths  . . . or History.

What do they like?

A screenshot from an old issue of Roy of the Rovers. I don't actually remember the strip itself. It was called 'The boy who did not like football'. Sod him.

Fake it till you make it

15 darts thrown (2 bounced out). There's a (fake) 180 in there somewhere.

Dicking around 'cos my darts' performance at the moment are absolutely shocking. It's my worst slump in at least a year. No cast iron explanation but a lot of bullshit theories. The least bullshit - and, therefore, the most plausible - is that I'm just winding down on the darts. A combination of age, health, indifference and just feeling fucking blah.

All melancholy aside, throwing multiple darts at the board in a random fashion actually serves some purpose. It's good for the dartitis . . .  if nothing else.  I even threw the darts without using the 'fake' throw. I haven't thrown darts like that for a while.

Bunker mentality

A variation on an old joke.

Play for Today: A Mother Like Him (1982)

 

An Accidental Studio (2019)

 

Hollywood: A Third Memoir by Larry McMurtry (Simon & Schuster 2010)

 

HOLLYWOOD—as opposed movies, its principal product—entered my life almost simultaneously with my son, James McMurtry, who arrived in March 1962, at which time I was teaching world literature—all of it, from the Ramayana to Dylan Thomas—at Texas Christian University in Fort Worth, Texas. To the farm and oil patch kids I was teaching, literature—or at least my mandated selection of it—held little appeal. In desperation I began to challenge these reluctant students to Ping-Pong matches, a game at which I was then quite good. If a student won, he or she got an A; if they lost they got a C.

That may seem a little unorthodox, but then five classes is a lot of classes. Between matches I was able to make friends with two writers, John Graves and Dave Hickey, both still alive and both still friends.

Then one day a man from Paramount Studios called, taking me by surprise. He turned out to be a location scout—that night he took me to dinner at what was probably the best restaurant in Fort Worth. Though, by this time, I had lived in both Houston and San Francisco, I knew nothing of fine dining. The man wore a pin-striped suit which bespoke a standard of eloquence far beyond my own. Though the suit was probably just normal Brooks Brothers, I remember it to this day; and I also remember the news he brought me, which was that Paramount had just bought the film rights to my slight first novel, Horseman, Pass By, and planned to film it in the Panhandle of Texas, starting almost immediately, with Paul Newman to star. The sum they planned to pay me, $10,000, meant, to me, farewell forever to the Ramayana and to table tennis as a grading system as well.

Hey, I made this . . .

Posted in early August.

Two points: 

1. It would have been funnier if I'd actually posted this on the day I made it. (Minutes after the game had ended.)
2. Don't get judge a man too harshly who wants to clear up his desktop.

This meme refers to this game.

Rik Mayall: Magnificent B’Stard (2026)

 

Listening to podcasts about Adrian Mole and a family revelation

Posted late evening June 27th.

Just walked in whilst listening to a podcast about the enduring brilliance of Adrian Mole,  only to meet with the sad realisation that I'm the only member of my immediate family who likes Bolands Raspberry Cremes.

Absolute bloody heathens.

87/50