A Radge-like blog

To those of you who have been checking my blog this last month waiting for my latest entry, I'd like to apologise to taking so long and thank you for your patience.

Like I said, I'd LIKE to apologise but I just can't so fuck yis all, I didn't blog because I was either busy, lazy or drunk.

Since my last blog, many things have happened. For starters there was Christmas, were I celebrated the death of Santa in true style, followed by my birthday which I had a couple of ales during and New Years which I can't remember.

What I do remember is that by New Year's Day, I had drank 20 odd days in a row which put me well the wrong side of the Cuddihy line.

Tangent: For the uninformed, the Cuddihy line is the line on which Radge lives. You know the way no one can ever work out how he gets away with stuff - getting paid for working, drinking so much and not dying, just generally being a cunt and still having friends. So, dropping below the Cuddihy line is not good and in my case meant I was out drinking a man who actually has an alcohol stream rather than a blood stream (I know this because he once asked me to lick his cuts - he's got some strange fetishes). Of course, the reason, Radge can survive on the Cuddihy line is because of the Cuddihy factor. That factor of course just explains that he is a jammy cunt.

So where was I, oh yeah, too much booze. Can't remember too much about early January so it must have been...oh no, wait I was in London. That was good as I bought lots and lots and lots of records. Spent loads of money, ate curry on brick lane and even visited the Tate Modern. Apparently, clowns jumping up and down is now art.

After that and several all day sessions, I was off to New York and t'was a great time. Again spent too much money, but couldn't drink too much on account of bar keeps not serving the booze fast enough.

Swore when I got back, I'd stop drinking just to piss people off but was only off the plane at a gig inbibing alcohol. Been more or less the same ever since right up until last night.

The Doggers

Coming towards the end of the year and I have been requested to come out of retirment to bring you the Doggers.

Did them last year, but, perhaps due to alcihol, this year, I'm struggling.

BOOZE
Drink of the year
1. Stella - It's cheap, it's strong. What more do you want?
2. Baby Guinness - good for the first eight
3. Corona - still hangover free
4. Delerium Tremens - something like 18 percent. The smell will knock out.
5. White wine - all varieties. The cheaper the better.

Drinking occasion of the year (this section has been viewed by a solicitor.)
1. Day after Radge's birthday. Lots of beer, nearly broken foot and games of Buzz. Enjoying watching Radge take it seriously when he starts getting beaten (he's the music hack).
2. Pizza Stop, wine, home, more wine, more wine, more wine, more wine, Jimi Hendrix albums, more wine, Byrds albums, more wine, more wine, Bob Dylan albums, more wine, more wine.
3. European Cup run 2005. Bayer Leverkusen, Juventus, London hooligans (Jose Mourinho is a cunt and his team were beaten by a clear goal and it's great that he is now losing the plot), Milan. All seven nights were class.
4. Several 'pre-matches'
5. Session involving starting at one end of the fridges in Porterhouse and drinking a different drink the whole time until we either passed out of got to the other end of the fridges. Delerium Tremens ensured it was the former.

Worst drinking occasion of the year
1. The one in Lucan recently where I ended up leaving early despite only starting to get in the swing of things.

Best moment drunk
1. Canal+road sign = fun for all the family
2. Trying to punch a dog in the head as it tried to give me rabies.
3. My input into a traditional Irish sing song at Miley's wedding. They sang Christy Moore, I sang Sultans of Ping.
4. Radge's oh so diplomatic way to talking to certain people at his birtday.
5. Not fucking up

Worst moment
1. Concussion.

Best quote
1. "Johnny is a subhuman specimen with a predilection for sticking toothbrushes up his arse. I gag every time I look at him. I must admit, however, that I respect his ability to hide his fetishistic leanings from the general public. He reminds me of Brady." - I know Radge only sent this around today to get on this but still.
2. "Oh unclean" - I don't care if it was me, when shouting it at someone from the leprasy mission who wants to you stop and talk to them and give them money, I thought it was good. And I'm going to hell for it too.
3. "What too soon?" - A number of people after a number of disasters.
4. Not quite a quote but a conversation between myself and Johnny about a new reality tv programme where all the X-factor contestants are gased and some depraved individual will then have sex with the corpses.
5. "So exactly how far away should you park when out dogging?" (Name with editor).

MUSIC
Best albums
1. Funeral - Rcade Fire - music to be born to, to live to and to die a horrible death during a nuclear war. Etc.
2. Thunder Lightening Strike - The Go! Team. Don't care if it was last year. I got it this year. Sesame Street gets good.
3. Some Cities - Doves - anyone who doesn't like them is an idiot Radge. Why Shaun Ryder is a talentless fuck.
4. Get Behind Me Satin - White Stripes - And the best bit is people don't sing the guitar lines of this album like they did of Elephant.
5. Bloc Party - Silent Alarm - class stuff.

Honourable mentions
Kaiser Chiefs, Brendan Benson, Josh Rouse, The National, Ryan Adams (x3), Tom Vek, Hard Fi.
Best songs
1. Rebellion (Lies)
2. Laika
3. Power Out
4. Haiti
5. Huddle Formation

Most overrated
1. Frames

Best gigs
1. New Order (Oxegen). Sun going down, New Order greatest hits and glow sticks.
2. Rcade Fire (E-picnic). Drugged up crowd, great music
3. Bloc Party (Olympia). Loud and perfect.
4. The National (Whelans). Nice and intimate. Radge dropped the hand as well.
5. The Tears (Oxegen). Bernard Butler told me to go fuck myself when I demanded he play Suede. New stuff is not bad though. But they would sell out huge venues if they just got back to play Suede.

Worst gigs
1. Pixies. Sound was awful.
2. Whipping Boy. Fergal's voice is shot

Retirement

I've decided to retire from international blogging to concentrate on my club career. I'm getting on a bit now and can't possibly do myself justice domestically if I continue to blog at the same rate as I once was.

As I'm sure you've noticed I've lost my pace over the last while and I think it's time to quit while I'm ahead before it gets really embarrassing.

I'd like to thank my reader who continued to show faith in me even in my last few poor appearances and I believe that my reader still has what it takes at this level.

Mysteries of the universe and beyond

With Homer moving out on Marge in three new episodes of the Simpsons (to live with gay couple, in his motorhome and last night just out somewhere because he though Marge was having an affair with Kirk van Outen), will Homer and Marge actually get divorced (or as Bart spells it Divus) in a new episode ensuring that The Simpsons is always the zeitgeist-y programme on tv?

Why when performing the courting ritual is the first thing you try to find out is whether said woman/man (Do I have any female or gay readers?) likes to keep quiet for the same reason as you do? Books, films, music etc.

Having already introduced dogging and roasting to the masses what other peculiar sexual act can footballers teach the great unwashed about?

How many times will Radge tell me that my blogging to days ratio is woefully inadequate despite the fact that it is at least on a par with his? And I drink less than him*

Why do people who do not like Star Wars always deliberately confuse it with Star Trek? Actually, while on the subject, what is wrong with people who do not like Star Wars? Is it a repressed childhood memory? Were you all given a tonking with Daddy's lightsaber?

Why do independent record labels like Rough Trade and Domino continually get the most hyped 'coolest' bands on the planet? Are music hacks just making up for the fact that they all work for faceless multi-nationals by championing the little guys far too much?

Where is my toast?

And most importantly, why do I feel tireder when I haven't drank in a while? Is it (a) Alcohol is my fuel? or (b) my body needs time to recover from the damage inflicted and takes a long time to get back to normal afterwards?

*Hopefully this is the case.

Dance monkey dance

Busy day today - working for hours but my public weren't happy. Seemingly I've been neglecting my blog duties and Radge was quick to point it out this evening.

So I've finally got around to keeping the masses happy by letting people know what I've been doing, hating and drinking.

Firstly, the hating. Chelsea Millionaires Football Club. I hate them. I hate them. They get lucky in the European Cup and then violate Liverpool in the League game. Not just violate them but do it teasingly by still being lucky to get all the goals even though Liverpool were all over the shop.

I mean, how the fuck can Drogba get so lucky for the penalty (not the tackle the ball bouncing off him), then miskick across to Cole for the third and watch Robben airshot for the fourth allowing Geremi to score etc etc.

Secondly, the drinking. I was actually on a sort of break for La Bella Booze for a wee while though that actually changed on the night of the European Cup match. In total, five people dismantled about 40 bottles of beer. I was drinking quicker than Radge too - he's getting soft.

It has continued since then on occasions - most spectacularly last Thursday. Out drinking, started with a whiskey to get things going, followed with beer, wine, rum and ended with concussion.

Back in my hotel, I realised that we weren't in a good hotel. I mean, what kind of self respecting hotel does not have a residents' bar that I can drink in at 4am. I wasn't happy and then discovered I had no mini-bar meaning I lauched myself across my bed for the phone to ring room service and demand beer. Trouble was, although I was drunk enough to believe I could fly like superman, it turns out I really could and I smashed my head into the headboard. Rang room service and got my beer. Mmmmmm.

Anyways, then went to bed. Woke up lying across the bed hours later. Messages left on the hotel phone and several missed calls on my mobile - I always wake up when my phone goes off so this was odd. I also had a surprisingly bad headache.

At first, I blamed the beer but as the day went on I realised it was more like concussion - especially when I threw up ages and ages later. It just wasn't me.

Thirdly, the doing. Radge, give me a call and I'll give you all the details.

The Chelsea FC humiliation thing

There are very very few things that have no redeeming features.
Hitler? Built the VW Beetle
Pinochet? Made sure we all know where Chile is on the map
Mao? Had a restaurant named after him
Alex Ferguson? Congratulated Rafa on winning the European Cup
Man Utd? The lost to Blackburn
Everton? European football exploits
Westlife? Nobody likes them
Ronan Keating? He's got a voice funnier than Wilbur the duck
Alcopops? The bennys who drink them acknowledge their bennyness
Budweiser? You can choose not to drink it

But one thing you cannot choose to do is ignore Chelsea. They are everywhere and they love it but the problem is they have absolutely no redeeming feature.

Jose is not a redeeming feature. Writing this now, I can guarantee that his post match press conference will be either gloating or scathing of everyone but his own players. Rafa's meanwhile will be either modest or modest.

So basically, I hate Chelsea more than any other football related subject and always have. The list is endless. Myself and Radge came up with 13 or 14 earlier without even trying. We only covered the last ten years with the usual shite - Graeme Rix, Denis Wise, Ian Porterfield, Glenn Hoddle etc.

Imagine if we really put our minds to it. So tonight, my hopes are that Liverpool win 1-0 with a dodgy penalty which Stevie (who of course must be having a nightmare) takes. It hits the post, bounces out hits Cech on the back rolls clearly on the right side of the goalline before Gallas clears it only for the assistant referee to give a goal.

Gudjohnsen will then miss a shit load of chances because he is a cheat who got Xabi booked last season while Fat Frank will break his ankle in an unfortunate incident when Xabi mistakes his ankle of the ball.

Some of that is karma. Some of it is just plain bad. I don't care though.

What kind of chickenhead are you?

In D' Examiner t'other day there was a thing about how metrosexuality was now officially bashed by skinheads down a dark alley to be replaced by...ubersexual.

It's all a pile of, in my humble opinion, shite and brewed up by women, feminists mostly, who have nothing better to do than talk about what kind of man they want while sitting in a bath of sented candles reading books called 'Your boyfriend is a cheating love rat' and stuff like that.

Who the fuck lets these people spread their views on men and men's behaviour when none have been within eight miles of a penis since Primary School?

Rant over.

Only writing that because I've done fuck all in the last ten days or so since my last blog. I have been less busy but rather than give me the energy to continue to burn by wick at both ends, it has left be knackered as the last few months all caught up on me.

I still found time to have several beers though I have a new saviour - coffee. It's got be through August and it's doing a damn job of getting me through September.

A better blog next time.