A Strictly Stressful Saturday!

I have come to a conclusion - Life is undeniably stressful on a continual basis, in otherwards all of the time!
Everybody is stressed 24/7, and the pressure to be successful is forever unforgiving!
Why is there so much emphasis on bringing home such a substantial slice of the bacon?
Is it in order to pay for.......the nanny, the chef, the housekeeper, the gardener, holidays to exotic far away destinations, the flash motor or two, the country retreat in Berkshire and the chalet in Verbier?

All for what? In a penny-pinching attempt to keep up with the Joneses.

That is of course in between the winter showers, the freezing days and nights, and all of the seven hours of daylight we get at this time of year!
Nobody has any spare time!
(Nobody has any manners! That is a whole subject in itself, but I'm not going down that road now, perhaps a topic for discussion at a later date).

Monday to Friday is habitually monotonous - up, work, home, eat, bed.....roll on the next day!

After a painfully busy first week in a new job that incorporated the standard 'virgin new boy' artificial pleasantries and introductions that accompany any new vocation, namely 'this is the coffee machine,' 'that's the bog,' 'meet the team' and the added bonus of 'we don't talk social topics of conversation to our fellow colleagues during office hours, irrespective of your persona.'

The reason, because these people are all so damm self-righteous, they live to work and do so assiduously, in between kissing the Company's backside.
All very noble......I think not!

Then only a few days into my first week the opening test of my own persona was bestowed upon me - 'The Xmas Work Bash' on Thursday evening, (where I must have known all of 3 people).
It was so appalling that I might just need counselling if I am ever to contemplate attending another one by choice!

Think Boy George meets the Spice Girls and allow a bunch of inebriated suits the opportunity to shrill, screech and whine away with the aid of a geriatric karaoke machine. Throw in some sesame toast and spring rolls smothered in acidic red ketchup, and wash it down with the poison of choice, tawdry vino and warm beer. All this on a dancefloor covered in rancid vomit.

Visualise, and the words cheap and nasty spring to mind!

And then to have to go into the office the next morning (Friday) pretending you enjoyed yourself and then finding yourself with no option but to agree with people you have never spoken to before (let alone know their names) that it was without a shadow of doubt the best soiree of the year - better than any Hollywood showbiz shin dig of the modern era.
Yawn!

The euphoria I felt as the clocked ticked around to 5.30pm on Friday was short lived for by the time I rocked up at home I felt too dog-tired to go out socially, and with the usual chores to do before footy on Saturday praying on my mind I decided on a relatively early night, so I could wake up fresh as a daisy in the morning and raring to go!

But I overslept on Saturday and time was against me. I looked at my 'to do' list, attempted to prioritize my chores and off I went with purpose.....initially.

First stop, the barbers, but inevitably on a Saturday there is a queue, not a substantial one, but a wait of sorts. As I leave I look at my watch and the pressure is on. I'm running late now.
The wait combined with not getting up as early as I had intended meant I had no time to do anything else.
I was due to meet the boys in a pub in South Norwood before the game at about 1pm for a bevy, and to watch our South London rivals, the Addicks hopefully get tonked by the Albion in the lunchtime kick-off on Sky.

The combination of heavy Xmas traffic and the propensity of public transport to let you down ( particularly it seems when you require it most) added to the frustration, and meant I arrived later than planned at the pub and as a result was faced with a heaving, dogged throng of like minded fans all wanting the same thing - beer!

To the match. 1-0 down early on to the Yorkies of Wednesday and the day was already spiraling inordinately downhill at rollercoater pace.
Wednesday fans are giving us plenty of stick but then we get an equalizer and a bit of respite.
In the 2nd half the tension mounts, the opposition graze the woodwork twice and Speroni dives full length to tip one over the bar - are we heading for a first defeat in eight games.....and thus spending the evening looking pitifully into the bottom of our post match beer glass for an answer?
No, because 17 yr old Sean Scannell comes to the rescue and gets the Eagles' winning goal a minute from time, with a sublime chip.

We breathe a huge sigh of relief, combined with a slight sense of 'we got out of jail' & then the inevitable elation that accompanies any positive result.
Off back to the pub to meet the boys again, one of whom has just become a father for the first time.
Who needs an excuse but we had one......lets paint the town red (& blue).

We leave sumptuous South Norwood about 7pm and headed at pace for the salubrious surroundings of The London Borough of Bromley.
Anyway three of us did, as we hailed a taxi to take us to one of our regular haunts.

Ten minutes later we were inside and comfortably perched at the bar.
We sank a few more pints, nailed some shots, toasted baby Alice umpteen times and then proceeded to get thrown out!
Ok so we were a little the worse for wear, but we were behaving, our language was clean and we were generally minding our own business.
It wasn't like we were manhandling the ladies, nicking other peoples drinks or riding unicycles through the bar whilst fire-eating.

Anyway there we are standing on the pavement outside scratching our heads - did we really get chucked out and if so why?
So I walked up to the entrance ushered to one of the meatheads on the door, who was then immediately joined by a fellow meathead and said in basic Anglo-Saxon English, 'Why did u throw us all out?'
I then said relatively calmly, 'my pal has just become a father and we were wetting the baby's head.'
He tells me my pal was asleep on the bar. 'No I said he did at one stage have his hands against his ears and elbows on the bar, but he wasn't asleep and so what?'

Feeling a little peeved and forlorn the three of us dejectedly trudged away shaking our heads in disbelief at the turn of events!

My pals and I on the odd occasion used to get thrown out of bars when we were in our teens & twenties, not in our forties!
So financially light and brassed off we headed our separate ways home and it was still only 10.30pm or thereabouts!

What a farce?

You go out to enjoy yourself, you're not bothering anyone, you're relaxing in good company and the above happens.

As I made my way home I considered my day.......then I reflected on all the stress, strain, tension, frustration, conflict, hassle, pressure and anxiety that had multiplied itself throughout the day.
It was a Saturday, no work, the opportunity to socialise with friends, watch footy, have a beer, and generally unwind.
The CHANCE to enjoy yourself away from the Monday to Friday rat race. FAT CHANCE!

As I neared my front door, Sunday was almost upon me, and I had calculated that there were only nine shopping days remaining until Xmas and I hadn't yet sent a card, let alone bought any presents!

Ok I'm a guy and we don't multi-task (according to women & scientists that is) and ok maybe, and perhaps in some people's eyes I had got my priorities wrong.
Maybe I should have forgone my real passion on a Saturday - not going to footy and meeting up with my pals, and instead gone Xmas shopping with the rest of the planet. But no I work all week, get up at 5.30 each morning, am I not supposed to use my weekends to do things I don't normally get to do in the week like socialize (work get-togethers definitely do NOT count).

With all the pressure and stress of my own weekend up to thus point, which had not included anything along the lines of shopping, household chores, or preparing for Xmas etc, I think work MIGHT in fact be more conducive to normality than one realizes!

Its predictable, admittedly dull, sometimes repetitive, but you know where you stand, what to expect, what time you start and finish, and of course it pays the bills......like next year's season ticket!

Anyway I'll be there next Saturday, at football that is, not doing chores or Xmas shopping!

Mobile Diarrhoea

Am I the only person that feels slightly embarrassed or at least somewhat uncomfortable using my mobile phone in public, in particular on public transport, such as crowded trains and buses.

Last evening (Thursday) I left work in London early, for an appointment, and as a result caught a train from Cannon Street station that left about an hour earlier than the one I would normally catch on a typical working day.
As a result I experienced the seated position on a train for the first time on my journey to or from work since.........penicillin was invented!

I will forgo sitting again in future!

The train was busy, not 'sardine' like busy! There were maybe half a dozen empty seats dotted about from which I could have chosen to sit, but I had the misfortune to park myself next to a woman who 30 seconds after I did so, removed a mobile phone from her bag and surgically attached it to her ear for the entire length of my journey.
The combination of sitting adjacent to the woman in question and the penetrating shrill of her voice meant I could quite clearly hear both parties involved in the conversation.

Normally I reserve idle chitchat on my mobile phone for my brisk daily walks between the station and home.
This woman on the train however seemingly wanted the whole carriage to know her business, and how dull was she? The answer, mind numbingly sterile!
In her monotone, arid, inarticulate dialogue she spent the best part of half an hour on her mobile to her partner to inform him she was.........

Held up at the office - No.
Experiencing transport problems - No.
Feeling unwell - No.
Had won the lottery - No.
Had run off with her best friend's hubby - No.

Try dinner.
Yes, half an hour discussing pizza. I would like to point out that she was no wafer thin model and no average sized, well proportioned curvaceous woman.
She was big, not huge but bigger than is healthy!

You may wonder where one might might find half an hours material on the subject of pizza? No problem!

Here we go......What brand of pizza, what toppings, what base, what size, what side orders, what time, what deals were currently available, what means of obtaining the pizza - collection or delivery?

What a farce!

Even as we went our separate ways I could feel my heart pounding, my head thumping, my blood boiling. I was livid, exasperated, absolutely seething!

How irritating, rude, inconsiderate, uncouth, selfish, egotistical, disrespectful,
conceited, vulgar and common are these people?

Mobile phones are like a rapidly disseminating disease. They are ubiquitous.
With the the pace and hullabaloo of modern day life they are quite simply an irritant, I for one could happily do without.
They should at best be banned on trains, at worst there should be 'phone only' carriages or 'phone free' carriages for people who wish to avoid listening to futile conversations and nauseating ringtones.

Next time you feel yourself about to be drawn into a tête-à-tête, not dissimilar to my recent experience, do yourself and the other people around you a favour - think again!

Fashionably Fed-Up!

On a busy commuter train home from London the other evening I overheard a fascinating conversation between two middle-aged guys.
One was telling the other how he had been out in a bar the previous evening, and an attractive vivacious woman he had never met before came up to him completely out of the blue and openly asked him if he was a Londoner.
Before he could answer she said, "You must be, you look fed-up."

People pre-suppose the hypothesis that smiling is good for you because it makes you appear more attractive!
I suppose it is probably safe to say smiling temporarily relieves stress, and by smiling it in turn raises the cheekbones and reduces that wrinkled effect on the face that tends to be associated with a puckered brow.

I presume the logic behind this theory emanates from the hip, sun soaked, well chiselled plastic fantastic inhabitants of Cali-for-ni-a, who have never done the 'commuting lark' on a daily basis!

Some of the world's so called most attractive men are a bunch of cantankerous morose individuals.
Take actors Clive Owen and Colin Firth, or ex-Chelsea boss Jose Mourinho. They all have contorted faces that ooze pain and anguish, as if they are required to help solve or ease the issues of third world debt!

Some of the world's most gorgeous or lusted after women have or have had partners with visibly grumpy faces.
Look no further than Madonna's hubby Guy Richie or Kate Moss's ex squeeze Pete Doherty and her latest flame James Hince. All of them sour faced and glum looking.

So perhaps smiling is 'overrated.'

If you go to a bar in London and stand there looking bored, at best irritated you become the 'object of desire' - sophisticated, powerful with an air of supremacy.
It has almost become acceptable to display an aloofness towards someone who has caught your eye by pretending not to notice them or by ignoring them. A form of reverse psychology.

Perhaps 'rejection is fast becoming an aphrodisiac'

So if your keen look mean!

Now I don't smile a great deal myself and I know this for a fact because for years it has been remarked upon, although more often than not it has been done so in a polite manner rather than a vulgar or critical one.

So after hearing this two-way conversation on the chuffer, on my arrival home I immediately headed straight for the bathroom.
I turned on the light switch above my shaving mirror rather than the main one.
I feel it works as a safety net mechanism by diluting the intensity of what the main light might reveal.
However I still couldn't hide from my reflection. I was indeed looking awful - gaunt, haggard, drawn, ghost like, macabre!

Yes I WAS definitely looking at the 'epitome of a native Londoner.'

Awayday Jolly - The Sweet Smell Of Saintcess!

With the lack of material on this site of late, due to my pc packing up I now have an opportunity to share with you a recent event that was indeed the buzz I felt on the opening day of the new footy season.
It arrived on Saturday 11th August and it did so in style, as myself and around 3,000 other Crystal Palace supporters headed down to the South-Coast on a balmy late summers day.

The day began about 10.30am when I met my pal Kevin at East Croydon train station for the first stage of the the journey to Southampton (Saufamptonne, if your from Sauf London of course) wearing my club colours, with a copy of a red top newspaper under one arm and a four-pack of lager under the other.
We hopped on a train to Clapham Junction to join the fast service to Southampton Central.
On our arrival at CJ we were greeted by a throng of red and blue shirts lining the platform. It was if we had hired a 'private' train to ourselves.
I felt the buzz inside of me. The new season was upon us!

It may have been a Saturday but as with most train journeys nowadays there were no seats.....well there were seats, but they were all taken!
In fact in truth we had to push and squeeze ourselves just to get onto the train itself. The doorways were packed with suitcases, anything up to three or four feet high.
Most generous of the travelling tourists we thought as some of us climbed up onto them and sat precariously on the mounds of luggage, necking the first beer of the day.
The look on the owners of the suitcases was priceless. Their faces dropped like canines that had lost their bones. But they were not going to say anything!
Confront a group footy fans on a train, necking beer in between exercising our vocal cords for the match ahead. Far too intimidating I would guess.
More fool them for any one of us would have respectively relinquished our hazardous positions if asked.
The majority of us either sat on the floor or lent on each other, the space was so limited!

One hour 20 minutes later, we arrived at Southampton Central and having joined up with some of our other pals at CJ or as we were being ferried out of the station we only had one thing on our minds - liquid refreshment,( it was a hot day!). We decided to head straight for the town centre rather than get the shuttle bus to the ground - it was only about 12.30 for goodness sake, and we had also made a loose arrangement to meet some more pals in a bar called 'The Standing Order.'
Anyway off we purposefully strode bypassing the cultural sights which rendered zero on the Richter scale, but the humour and banter was top draw all the way.

Now this bar was supposedly a 10 minute walk away from the station, smack bang in the middle of the town centre. Simple enough one would have thought, but oh no, half an hour later and gagging for a drink we found ourselves still aimlessly and vacantly wandering around the streets hopelessly looking for the bar in question. We had politely asked the well dressed locals of the town, who in turn just pointed and told us to keep walking, so we re-grouped and decided to pursue an alternative method of finding this particular venue.
Who did we feel would know the location of the local pubs and bars best?
Yes the local 'down and outs.' So we approached a couple of guys fitting a description not dissimilar and they couldn't have been more helpful or more precise.
Having discovered 'The Standing Order' was a part of the JD Weatherspoon chain they not only told us where to find this particular pub but also 'The Bright Water Inn' and 'The Giddy Bridge' also owned by the same chain.
They were quite charming, and we were most grateful in turn.
Five minutes later we arrived. The pub had a good mix of rival fans, the banter was light-hearted, the sun was out, the beer was flowing and it was just under two hours to kick-off!

As the time approached to move on and head for St. Mary's we all agreed to disagree as to the best way to get to the stadium. As a result it became a case of see you at the game, as some stayed to keep on re-fueling, others slopped off to look for a taxi, while myself, Kevin and six others left and headed in the same direction all the other fans were going.
To be fair this time we found ourselves on course, and even had time to stop off in 'The Anchor,' an old-fashioned ale pub for one final pre-match livener.
Although obviously outnumbered by about eight to one, a sea of red and blue was highly evident and the fans were in good voice, as we approached the impressive St. Mary's stadium. We walked around the outside of the ground to join the near 3,000 Palace fans in the Northam Stand.

Let the game commence!
We were sitting behind the goal in line with the corner flag, the Saint's fans were no more than 50 yards away to our left, and we gave them some stick from the very first minute. In fact we didn't sit down all through the game as what was to follow you usually only dream of.
Southampton, one of the favourites to go up, at home and up against Crystal Palace, 25-1 outsiders to win the Championship....we said on the way down we would settle for a point.
I don't think Taylor or the players had read the script, and the most unlikely of heroes emerged in the shape of James Scowcroft. Five goals in total for the whole of last season, he scored twice in a minute in the first half as Palace took control and the Saint's defence played like something out of a 'Wickes' advertisement. We looked very comfortable, but watching Palace is the ultimate rollercoaster, and in injury time in the first half Southampton nicked a goal back.
2-1 at half-time but as we queued for a lash and more alcoholic refreshment ( yes this was a stadium where the facilities meant you could achieve both during the interval ) you could sense murmurs of discontent among the fans.
Before the game all of us would have settled for a 2-1 lead at half-time but in a bizarre kind of way we felt we had thrown away our advantage by conceding late on in the half.

The second-half began, you could sense the Southampton fans felt their team could turn this one around, but our fans were still in good voice and we looked reasonably in control. Speroni had to tip one over as he had done equally athletically in the first half, but otherwise Southampton to be honest offered little more.
Then with about 20 minutes of the second-half gone it was not a case of whether the Eagles were going to win but by how many!
Scowcroft hit his third, his first hat-rick since 1998, and a couple of minutes later Saint's fans began to leave as Morrisson made it four.
We were delirious, we childishly waved good-bye to the opposing fans, sung our hearts out to the final whistle and at the end gave our players a fantastic round of applause.
How often do you go away from home, on the opening day of the season, watch your team win 4-1 against supposedly far superior opposition, on a beautiful sunny day and..........it doesn't get much better!
We all went for a couple of celebratory beers in a pub not far from the station before heading back to London.

But the night was young!
Four of us went back to East Croydon, headed for the 'Porter & Sorter' next to the station, sank a few more libations before deciding what to do next!
Kevin and I were now really reved up, so we said our good-byes and headed into Beckenham to party on. Still in Palace colours and pretty hammered we thought we would probably get thrown out of anywhere before we got in, but no it was only about 8.30pm and Patrick's bar let us in as if we were regulars.
Now it has to be said that this is a bar with a signed and framed Palace shirt hanging up, so maybe we had made a good choice.

Feeling elated and on cloud nine from such a cracking day out Kevin suggests it's time to wheel out the plastic and pop the champagne to celebrate. Not wishing to spoil the moment, he duly comes back from the bar, ice bucket, flutes, bubbly and........spouts those immortal words, 'Ladies would you like a glass,' as we suddenly 'seemed' to have become very popular in a heaving bar in the space of a few minutes.
A couple of middle-aged drunken footy fans under the influence maybe, but sober enough to enjoy the moment.
The night went on in much the same vain and they had to literally kick us out in the early hours of Sunday morning.

The only problem was we were probably two of 150 other people in the proximity all wanting a minicab home.
At this point we decided to draw stumps, it was late, well early to be precise and we each went our separate ways and 'walked' home.
It was nearly 4am when I hit the sack but what more can I say except......

Great Game!
Great Fans!
Great Day!