Lets See If It's True

Is a great line from this song.

And tomorrow is when it all starts.

This time tomorrow I'll be in a field somewhere need Chorley, Lancashire, with My Lover, playing guitars.

We are going to explore the local sights of course.

Bury market.

Old Trafford.

Anfield.

Eastlands.

And maybe even a "Kiss-Me-Quick" in Hollow Way country.

There'll be fish and chips.

Banter, Beer and Busking.

It doesn't get better than that!

Last Chance Saloon?

HL again this evening.

In my opinion, one of the recurring themes of this blog seems to suggest the idea that simple, one dimensional solutions to problems do not work. And that football, like many other aspects of modern life, is often victim or martyr to public opinion, public outcry or public condemnation.

Often such open debate is characterised by passion, hatred, biased-opinion, love, gobshitery and outright foolishness.

Never more so than in the current shambles surrounding Marlon King.

Ask yourself, is it OK for a man to attack a woman, be found guilty in a Court of law, go on to show little remorse for his crime, serve 9 months in custody and arrive back in the community to the open arms of the good people at Coventry City?

Me ? I'm not sure.

Let's see what GB thinks...........

..............

GB here.

My view?

Well I have a fundamental belief that anyone can make a change if they really want to and have the right support.

I also know there are some who don't want to.

I don't think there's much doubt about which camp Mr King sits in.

What a crazy world we live in.

So much better in the good ol' days, when people knew how to deal with a problem once and for all.

Silly Season

Football has taken a low profile in this house over the last few weeks. A few brief moments of interest for me.

Roy Hodgson's arrival at Anfield, subsequent welcome to Joe Cole too.

It's HL tonight btw.

GB is still alive and kicking, I've not done away with her.

She may have something to say if I prod her hard enough, however. Let's see!

"OK! OK!"

I probably can be coaxed out momentarily.

Not least as I have been shamed by Sandy for my recent poor performance.

"I looked at your blog", he said.

" Oops!", I thought, "I've been rumbled".

"I've just felt a bit disengaged with it all. After the World Cup and everything", I said feebly.

"Never mind", he comforted, "only 3 weeks until it all starts up again. I've had all my telly's serviced ready".

And somehow, I believe him.

My Ding-a-ling

"You've fallen out of love with football haven't you?", said My Lover a few days ago.

I was shocked by his question but denied he was right.

It made me think though.

Unable to face posting on my blog for days at a time (first time in the 2 and a half years I have been writing it). Not wanting to even think about it.

Even Sandy has not been able to engage me in discussion.

I felt the end of my blog may well have arrived.

It's been a joyless time.

But as I walked to my train this evening, I made a firm decision to write a post this evening.

Isn't that what true love is all about about?

Fidelity and faith.

I would do nothing less for my lover, my children and my guitar.

And in my heart I know, football too.

So lets get at it girls.

And to kick off, what's the difference between Sepp Blatter and a boy's favourite toy?

Not much it would seem.

It Is Now!

It's HL tonight. GB is still reeling from the aftershock of her first failed World Cup campaign, the loss of Fox's manager ( a man in whom she believed) and, worst of all, living with a bloke who believes LFC are going to win the Premiership next season.

So, it's all over; the big 4 yearly adventure, Fabio's Folly or, as it's become known in our house, the cultural event that must not be talked about.

For it is like a death of many cuts. The TV adverts are still in place. Red and White displays proliferate supermarket shelves and BBQ's have become fashionable again. Every foray outside the house brings one into contact with our national failure. Broken roads and public cut-backs to (now) sporting disaster and broken hearts.

Those in charge (as ever) say lessons need to be learnt. Fresh blood, new structures and a different approach called for.

Frankly, I'm bloody fed-up with it and I have other fish to fry.

Until the next time of course.

HL

Sure As Eggs Is Eggs

I feel the need to indulge in a little self flagellation.

That's better.

Meanwhile, back with Laurel and Hardy.

What's that?

Time to move on?

You're right of course.

Time to start thinking about My Lover's simmering excitement at the appointed of his royal Hodgsonness to his beloved Liverpool.

He hasn't yet said the immortal words "I think this will be their season. Georgina, prepare to witness the renaissance of the Liverpool football team".

But he will.