I found this a few weeks ago on a dog walk, stuffed in some bamboo. It came home muddy, minus the slug I scraped off. I had intended to clean it a little and photo, but time passed, as it does, and when I got round to it yesterday, much of the paint that was left on the lower section had flaked off.
There are reasons I do this. It’s just that, at the moment, I can’t articulate them really.
Does it make sense without a rationale? Are things ‘better’ with a statement of intention? Yes, probably and no, probably. It’s something to do with accessibility maybe. Who the hell knows.
Japan: I’ve loved watching their games. Attacking endurance football which makes for an entertaining spectacle. Hope they continue their onward scurry.
Diego: Oh how I hated Maradona back in the day, but 1 tonne of Colombian marching powder down the line I am feeling the little man’s power. As an insightful caller to Talksport said (they have the odd one you know) he might be as mad as a fish (that’s my cliche) but he knows how to get the extra 10% out of the players and fosters team spirit.
Adams: Tony was on Desert Island Discs and said he had not heard the vuvuzelas. When asked by Kirsty how he could have missed them he said he watches with the sound down so better to see the game. Quite right Tony, got a spare seat on your sofa?
Truss: Lynne, from “Get her off the pitch”. She writes little vignettes for the Radio 4 Today programme and I find her most amusing, not least about the commentators (see Adams above).
Claude: Makelele was completely transformed from stuffed shirt studio pundit when pitchside for Ghana’s win over the USA. The whole of Africa was dancing with you Claude.
South Africa: the host nation looks fantastic, acts fantastic, is fantastic. Only the early bath teams can be letting the experience down for those who have travelled.
France: their unravelling was most gratifying, entertaining and not just a bit existentialist.
Messi: was there ever a better player in such understated turtleneckedness?
edited to add:
Tevez: the little pit pony’s strike would have had Fergie weeping into his Scotch
I grew up with sticky labels and then barcodes. They weren’t actual relations, but near. When my father started his own barcode business Codeway (the one remaining limited company of the triptych), his new hobby (did you have an old one Dad?!) was standing in the kitchen of a weekend scanning the supermarket purchases with his scanners. That was in the days when you weren’t guaranteed to have a barcode sticker on everything.
Recently it dawned on me: my father has been trying to fix around half the world’s problems with barcodes for more than half my lifetime. From the NHS Blood Service to British Airways the little black stripes and spaces in between – that’s spaces not white stripes – have been saving lives and flying planes safely for years.
Well done Dad, and could you make a printer to do some pretty ones like this for Christmas please?