Well hidey hi!

"Lethargic" they said. "Lazy" they called him. "Blog-shy" - the list is endless. But..........................
He's back!

You read 'Simon Says' dear viewers at a festive time of year. I'm sure it is the same with you: Christmas lights, cheerful shoppers, and goodwill aplenty. Cheerful and goodwill would be pushing it fine on a fiery, cluttered afternoon in the Bath Xmas Market.



Looks all cosy and seasonally appropriate doesn't it? Don't be fooled. There's only one safe way to enter the centre of Bath in December.



Sadly though I do not have a legion or cohort at my disposal so I venture into the City by stealth.



Gladly I will be safely tucked away in the gym on Saturday so will be far from the madding crowd. Bah Humbug!

The Rules of the Game.

For those of you hoping to glean invaluable tips from a seasoned Pick-up Artist stop reading now. I am no Casanova and this is not a Shagger's Guide.



By game of course I mean football - the beautiful game.



Football abides by many different rules. Some simple, some not. For every "Each team must only have 11 men on the pitch at once" there is an "Offside is when a player is active and beyond the last defender as the ball is played."



There is one rule that is both simple and bemusing at the same time. This rule states that Arsenal, Leeds United and Bath City football clubs are to be incapable of winning on the same footballing weekend. This goes back to the very inception of the game, and all the greats at the 3 clubs were well aware of this stipulation and abided by it.


Billy Bremner and Don Revie find out Bath City have a virtual bye against Dover and Arsenal are playing Crystal Palace that afternoon.


Arsenal legend and literal munitions expert Osama Bin Laden went as far as planning a terrorist attack on Twerton Park and Elland Road to put an end to "The Rule".

A rumour yet to be substantiated is that the delay in the CIA finding and killing Bin Laden was due to Rupert Murdoch's request that he be allowed to total Leeds United's ground first.


Bath City's Jim Rollo with a more pragmatic way of dealing with his fate.

No matter what rung of the football ladder players and managers at these clubs find themselves on, all of them are indelibly tied to the Rules of the Game.

They're baaaack...

Seagulls? Cyclists? Plague-carrying rodents? No. STUDENTS



Everywhere: in the streets, in the shops, on the grass. Literally sprawled on the ground or standing stationary looking around themselves with the airy demeanour of a bunch of primates.



Its that lack of basic manners and intelligence that infuriates the working men (and women) who go about their business in the quaint city of Bath. The taxpayer doesn't subsidize their fees so they can spend their time walking around in a daze planning the next binge-drinking orgy.

Obviously not all students fall into this retarded hedonism, but the majority do. Basic good behaviour doesn't cost anything. Perhaps that's why they find it so repellent.

Anything that doesn't require them to 'max' out their credit cards isn't worth the hassle. May be a shock when they wake up one day and find we don't think they're worth the hassle.

Özil, the North and the Grim Reaper.

Quite a lot has happened in the last week. It all began on Monday with a trip to Leeds to spend a few days with my sister Ruth. We travelled down on Transfer Deadline Day - a day normally associated with Arsenal fans up and down the country attaching nooses to wooden beams and preparing for the worst. The Samaritans clearly got in touch with Arsene Wenger...



In an Özil-related post-orgasmic daze I accompanied Ruth into Leeds to visit the Royal Armouries.



Full to the brim with weapons and many other historical titbits, the Armouries kept us happily entranced for a few hours.



That evening we visited an Italian restaurant where my dinner and I had a stand-off to see who would eat who. I won in the end.



The following day we met up with some old friends and went on a trip to Bolton Abbey.



Feeling rather conquered by our friends' offspring we mustered the energy to visit the beautiful city of York. To a history nerd like me, it was manna from heaven.

It had a medieval house...



Someone to help you if you caught the Plague...



An excellent reconstruction of Viking York or 'Norvic'...



And my favourite street in the U.K...



The last day of a cracking week up North included Ruth conjuring up a sensational cooked breakfast, a Krispy Kreme donut and the obligatory trip to the home of Northern football...

Stuffed Turkey or Istanbulshit?

The mighty (or not so mighty) Arsenal are currently crossing swords with Fenerbahce of Turkey. Lots has been made of the club's lack of expenditure. Do we have any money? Is the manager senile? Questions like these will be plaguing many a Gooner.



With under 2 weeks before the transfer deadline and the 2 legs of a very important Champions League qualifier in the offing, the pressure mounts on the sometimes skeletal Arsene Wenger.

Amidst the hysteria and vulture-like sharpening of talons from the press, I have devised an escape route and most importantly breathing space for Arsenal's underfire custodian.



The escape takes the form of 3 vital steps:

1) Navigate past Fenerbahce into the cashcow of the greed-ridden Champions League.

2) Recruit personnel to strengthen the team (in layman's terms - SPEND SOME FUCKING MONEY!).

3) Probably the toughest ask - defeat close rivals Tottenham Hotspurs 2 days before the transfer deadline.

Compulsive Viewing

Saturday night I joined Mr. Kitson and Watkins for what I thought would be Sheppy's and dinner at Kitson's residence (not for much longer).

Shortly after I arrived Watkins abducted us (think alien abduction, not janitor/schoolchild) and whisked us away to his house in the country. Châteaux Watkins is a bit like Narnia - there are always BBQs and its never Christmas.



That's not strictly true. Saturday we didn't have a BBQ. We ordered an Indian takeaway from somewhere near Mr. Kitson's home-to-be.

It seems he's already made a big impression in the area. A polite waiter informed us our orders would be ready in 20 minutes. Mr. Kitson gave him a steely glare and 5 minutes later our curries were passed to us in a servantile manner.

Its not in my nature to throw around baseless accusations like "Mafia" at trusted friends, but I did hear the waiter muttering "Its an honour Professor Chaos." as we walked out.



After eating our takeaways and sampling some delights from Mr. Watkins' bakery, we watched 'Extreme OCD Camp'.



I don't usually have time for reality television as it seems to be a cross between exploitation and an unhealthy obsession for fame.

OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) Camp had its share of unhealthy obsession, but instead of Simon Cowelling humans for money, the programme made you understand OCD a little better and root for the people in the show as they fought against the bizarre habits they didn't seem able to control.

What Really Grinds My Gears

Seagulls? The weather? Arsenal's mental handicap that renders them unable to spend money? No. What really grinds my gears is cyclists.



There are so many of the bastards on the streets of Bath right now that the City looks more like this...



My ire was stirred for the first time a few months ago. I was walking peacefully along the pavement and being a gentleman moved to the side to allow a fellow pedestrian room to pass by. I had seen an oncoming cyclist in the corner of my eye, but knew I was safe as he was on the road and I was on the pavement.

Being a cyclist though this simple and safe logic was beyond his comprehension. He decided that there wasn't enough room on the otherwise empty road so he would slam into the side of my body to make some more.

Being a pacifist I calmly laughed mockingly at his claim that I needed to fornicate myself.

I have noticed since that cyclists ride on the pavement with little or no thanks for the fearful manner in which peace-keepers like myself hurl themselves out of their way. Pedestrian footbridge? No fuck you its a "Cycle Bridge". The pavement? No fuck you its a "Cycle Path". What next?! Front door? No fuck you its a "Cycle Space".