My Dad won something

1-0 to the CAV Table Tennis club,
1-0 to the CAV Table Tennis club,
1-0 to the CAV Table Tennis club,
1-0 to the CAV Table Tennis club!

- my Dad, to the strains of "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys (which is also sung, without irony, by the fiercest, heaviest blokes at the Arsenal - which is funny with it being a gay anthem and all, y'know)

My Dad won a table tennis tournament the other day.

His club beat another club in a friendly competition. He was first seed, and beat his opponent. He sent me a few photos via email, and he looks proud as punch. If he keep this up, he'll be promoted to the A Grade team next year.

Made me a bit homesick. And it's only been 17 days. And it's mum's birthday next week. I'm buggered if I know how I'll cope after a few months.

I suppose it doesn't qualify as Arsenal news, but it's probably the closest to success we're going to get for a while, so I'm going to enjoy it. And anyway, as I said in my charter (it's in my first post), it's my fucking blog and I'll blog what the fuck I feel like.

Going to Oxford tomorrow. Not sure if any of the colleges are open (school started a couple of days ago), but it's a 4-star rated hostel. I'm sick of sleeping with 7 other guys who snore, stink, fart and undress in front of you.

Oh, Arsenal news. There's this article from the Online Gooner which says we need Dein and Usmanov at the Arse. Now, I'm not a fan of the board (in fact, I think Peter Hill-Wood is in need of a competency injection) and I hate how Danny Fizsman is dumping all the pressure on Wenger (yeah, like Wenger's going to ask you to borrow 30 million in this current credit climate, Danny boy), but a rich investor isn't the answer.

We've got the squad, the resources and the manager to remain solvent and 4th. Yes, we won't win anything without investment (which we don't have). But I'd rather we remain the Arsenal and be independent rather than being a billionaire's plaything. Of course, others may feel otherwise, but I don't hold with the win at all costs theory. It's just a personal opinion.

As Peter Garrett once sang, it's better to die on your feet than live on your knees. Of course, he was duly elected as a Labor MP and started towing the party line immediately, which goes to show that even the scariest looking rocker with a social conscience can be seduced by ugly, ugly people in Parliament. It's depressing watching this neutered version of him now, compared with the angry voice of Midnight Oil.

Hell, I've got to brave this rain and get to Tintern Abbey today. Why the fuck does Wales always have to rain?