I can't go in the bathroom. The floor looks (and feels) like treacle. There's a small piece of wood to lean to when I attempt a bath later this evening. God this is becoming a bind. As the Americans would say, 'just finish already'.
Currently re-hooked on Little Steven's Underground Garage. I especially like the little film clips inbetween the songs and then something brilliant like Last Train To Clarksville kicks in. I can just about let him off playing Elvis Costello and the Sex Pistols. I don't hate Elvis Costello like I do the Sex Pistols, I just can't get into him. It's the voice I think. As for the Pistols, well I accept how important they were, but Black Flag and the Germs were doing it without ever really knowing about what was going on in London, Black Flag especially. If you want to learn about making a statement against the then current life in the late 70s/early 80s watch American Hardcore.
So now Curbishley has gone as well (as well as Keegan who hasn't gone). I think these managers are a little quick to jump ship just because they don't get their way. So what if one of your players got sold. Who do you think you are? Chelsea? Man City? The problem with it is that the managerial merry-go-round continues. No one gets a chance these days so it'll be some Frenchman or other we've never heard of or whoever's been out of work for the last few months (Big Sam?). What's come out of this latest transfer window is that football clubs are becoming so close to actual businesses rather than how football clubs used to be run. In any other business you wouldn't consult your team manager if you wanted to bring someone in, nor would you care if you had to lay someone off for monetary reasons. But what do I know, I hate business.
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