K. (infinitemonkeys) wrote,

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A vast and all-encompassing sensation of whatever

I am only watching two things on telly now: Euro 2008 and Doctor Who. One will finish this weekend, the other the next, and I will be thrown back into the wasteland that is my life, on my own intellectual resources. I'm screwed then.

I made my feelings on the latter abundantly clear in the tealdeery post below. So, other stuff:

Euro 2008 has been a blast. It's actually been pleasant having no representation in this tournament from any of the home nations. (Though I do wish Scotland had got through at the expense of France. They really deserved it)

We've had none of the pissing and moaning, and "what are the WAGs wearing" (I DON'T GIVE A FLYING F***) and has Rooney bust his metatarsal, who will be captain -- England's Brave John Terry or Rio The Drug Idiot -- and a week and a half of lacklustre, embarrassing semi-achievement to be followed by the inevitable loss on penalties to Germany or Portugal (Argentina if it's a world cup) and acres and acres of newsprint devoted to armchair management and "we have the best league in the world so why don't we win anything" and the inevitable pillorying of whichever stupid bastard gets sent off, not to mention the fans singing racist and xenophobic songs and wrecking bars.

It's been lovely to pick a team based on good football and then if they go out, pick another. I am rooting for a Spain v Turkey final, just because the Spanish have the talent to play exquisite football and the Turks have been completely amazing in terms of team spirit and never-say-die goals, and neither has really got close to winning anything in years.

In other news, I've been fed up. You can tell that by the level of financial incontinence I am experiencing. I keep buying books and records to cheer myself up. This has led to some superb purchases: Fleet Foxes, the new Ladytron album Velocifero, a best of Mahalia Jackson that's amazing, The Black Keys' latest; and this song by Bryn Christopher The Quest, which sounds like Amy Winehouse or some mutant Eurovision/Motown torch song hybrid. I highly recommend.

I also bought This Is Your Brain On Music, and Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama, which I am finding fascinating. I already fervently hoped he will be president of the US come November, if for no other reason than that I vowed I wouldn't donate any more of my hard-earned cash to the US economy while that incompetent arsehole George Bush was president, and I think John McCain is another dangerous arsehole who will make the world a worse place.

After reading the first half of the book, I want to travel in time, join the US Marines, fight, gain citizenship ten years ago just so I can vote for Obama. I like America and Americans very much and want to go back on holiday there and resent that my utterly pointless protest might have to continue when there is this amazing literate, gracious, thoughtful intelligent man who could be president. It's like not being able to eat Fruit Pastilles because they're owned by Nestle, only serious and with a geopolitical dimension. I only wish we had a halfway decent choice for leaders in this country but when it's Boris bloody Johnson and David Cameron and the other shower of Conservative wankers versus the moral pygmies of New Labour are the best we can rustle up, it's a depressing prospect.

This month has already been Chapter 23 of Government By Clown. If any Al-Qaida types would like to get hold of Eyes Only British documentation and threat assessments I would suggest they look on the trains or computers left at MPs' constituencies since that's where we appear to be storing our top secret documents these days. And don't get me started on 42 days detention for terror suspects. We're becoming exactly what we hate, you incompetent fuckers. Kee-rist. Or ID cards for foreigners -- which does have a personal dimension for me, since my dad will leave the country rather than carry one. As you can tell, pointless political stands run in the family

In other book news, I just read Michael Tolliver Lives, which was the literary equivalent of going to a nice bar with an old boyfriend from way back that you were once mad in love with but who you just don't fancy any more. It's perfectly pleasant and you can just about see what got you so het up in the first place. You're pleased he's doing well but God, we're all looking old and tired and the conversation just aint what it was. Armistead Maupin also chickens out of a big thing at the end and I wish he hadn't.

In conclusion, When is Kung Fu Panda out? I've arranged to borrow a child so I can go see it; I hate builders and all their works; I am a big old tinhat about telly again and I am off on three days' holiday tomorrow and boy, do I need it.
Tags: football, politics, smartarsery, stateofthek

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