Misc. post about stuff

Karma police, arrest this man
He talks in maths
He buzzes like a fridge
He's like a detuned radio

- Radiohead, Karma Police, (it's a snide reference to Peter Hill-Wood, okay?).

I've only ever seen two Arsenal matches in my life, but I'm very impressed with Song. He's got a languid grace about him. He's positionally very good, and slips into defence very well when Toure goes off on his forward runs. In both matches, I didn't see him caught out once. Admittedly, he was playing against weak opposition, but he was still very impressive.

I think he's the future partner for Fabregas.

However, that's not to say we don't need someone now. Appiah, who's been linked to us on a free, would be good cover for a year while Song and Denilson get the experience needed for the first team. I'm not as convinced about Denilson, but then, I've only ever watched two Arsenal games. What the hell would I know about it?

Peter Hill-Wood said:

"If somebody came and made a really huge bid then you cannot recommend shareholders turn it down because we don't like it. We want the club to stay in its current ownership and, of course, you have some concern that someone will try to buy the club. The directors don't want to sell but we are a public company. It depends on the price."

I never get tired of saying it - Danny Fizsman needs to muzzle this guy, or at least make the position of chairman a non-speaking role.

And our Theo Walcott said after the Andorra match:

"I know how to scare any defender."

Please don't be too scary, Theo. You're such a nice boy. I'm going to name my first-born after you, if and when one comes along.

I'm leaving for Stratford today. Going to see where William Shakespeare was born. And the clouds have broken, the sun's shining, and the world is lovely and green. And it'll be this way for a day until the next low-weather trough drifts in from the west. Apparantly, England experiences what Florida experiences, only in a weaker form and a week delayed.

I hate the Gulf Stream.

On a Sunday

The breath of the morning
I keep forgetting
The smell of the warm summer air

I live in a town
Where you can't smell a thing
You watch your feet
For cracks in the pavement

- Radiohead, Subterranean Homesick Alien, my favourite lines from my favourite song from my favourite band

Before they were Radiohead, they were called "On a Friday". Before superstardom, they were just a bunch of skinny schoolkids who wanted to play music. And every Friday night, they'd unload their gear in a pokey little room above a pub in Oxford, and play to a tiny little group of people.

I spent the best part of a Saturday night walking around Oxford looking for that pub. It was the strangest experience. I didn't even know the name of the place, so I just asked people on the street. It lead me from one side of Oxford (where I'm staying) to the other side (to The Zodiac). That place had been turned into a cinema, but a woman on Cowley Rd directed me back across town to a pub called The Jericho. She had no idea where the pub was, but a guy in the city centre directed me to Little Claredon Street. That was wrong, but a drugged-out barkeeper directed me down Walton Rd, where I finally found The Jericho Tavern.

I walked in halfway through a mixed night, and saw a couple of bands - Censored, from Nottingham, and The Brent Wood, from London. Not bad, but not Radiohead. But to be fair, back then, not even Radiohead were Radiohead.

As I walked back to the hostel, I reflected on the strangeness of it all. No one knew where I was going, apart from the last guy I asked. Each person had a different idea of where things were. But somehow, it worked. I drifted from person to person, and it was far more effective than if I was armed with a map and directions. If you're open about it, turns out that people really do want to help you. Kind of renews my faith in humankind somewhat.

I'm not sure how it happened, but Oxford's turned from a walk amongst medieval college squares into a circuit of all of Radiohead's former haunts. The lady in the tourism office thinks I'm some kind of cultural Philistine. Here I am in one of the great centres of learning in the world, and I'm chasing the ghosts of an indie rock band with way too much pretension for its own good.

What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.