The Owl Has Landed

"Thank you, I am happy to be in Arsenal. It was my dream."

- Andrei Arshavin, twice voted Russia's "Owliest Player", and now a Gunner

Finally, we've signed Andrei Arshavin. 

It's been over a month since the transfer window opened. A lot of us expected to wrap Arshavin up in the first couple of weeks, and then move on to the next target, and then the next. A creative midfielder was needed, but of greater importance was an experienced defensive midfielder; and a central defender; and a new goalkeeper. Actually, a creative midfielder probably wasn't that high on most people's wish-list. However, in these dire times, any buy's a good buy. 

But in January, we waited. 

I remember walking around Barcelona at the time, trying to liken Arsenal's impeding shopping spree with my own. I needed a new coat; and a new sweater; possibly even a scarf. And anything else that would keep the cold out. In my mind, I envisaged dumping my existing clothes en masse at the Oxfam shop and then stocking up on a whole new set. 

But just as Arsenal dithered over the transfer fee for Arshavin, I dithered over my shopping spree. Everything is so damn expensive in Spain that even the 50% discounts were above my intended price range. I hesitated at clothes that would've kept me toasty, just because the price meant I'd be eating nothing but bread for a week. 

And I kept an eye out on the Arshavin deal. As the transfer window dwindled down, I started getting really pissed off that Arshavin wasn't signed. Zenit were holding out for an extra £2.5 million, and we weren't budging. It didn't make sense to risk losing Arshavin because of such a small figure (it's less than the gate receipts for a home game). 

Finally, the evening before I flew out, during the last few days of the post-Jan sales, I spied a coat, reduced from 99€ to 20€. And I'm reasonably happy with it. It's warm enough to fend off pneumonia, without ever giving me the comfort of being hot. And it's still a bit odd wearing something that doesn't stink of sweat, but I'll get used to it.

There's a moral in there somewhere. I think it's called opportunity-cost. I spent four weeks wandering around Barcelona and Madrid shopping for clothes and freezing my arse off, just to save 50€. And Arsenal spent four weeks dithering over Arshavin just to save £2.5 million. Both of us could've just paid that little bit more and used the time for other pursuits, but neither of us did. 

All to save a couple of fucking bob. 

Derry

"Fuck the Irish, fuck the English, fuck the Nationalists and the fucking Unionists - fuck the whole sodding lot of you."

- what I wanted to say to the guy running the Free Derry museum, but didn't. 

When I left the museum, I just smiled and nodded. The guy running the Free Derry museum looks to be a real hard bastard, and I wager he'd be able to flatten me without raising a sweat. So when I left the museum, I decided not to chance offending him by swearing at everyone on the whole fucking island. 

But still, after walking through Bogside today, and Shankill yesterday, it's shitting me off. When I was a kid, I remember watching the news and getting confused about Northern Ireland. In my mind, every conflict had a villain and a saint, and I was having trouble figuring out who was the goodie and who was the baddie. 

Turns out I needn't have bothered. Both sides were fucking nuts. 

It's not like they don't have just cause, I suppose. There are enough incidents littered throughout the Troubles for communities to pick up weapons and defend their own. And Bloody Sunday was appalling no matter how you look at it. But it's galling to see the same reasons used by both sides, the same insults and grievances, and in the end, the same bloody outcomes. 

And to think that it all started because some fucking English king wasn't content with ruling only one cold, wet, mouldy island in the middle of the North Sea, but wanted the other one as well. And because the locals proved intractable, he decided to ship over good, solid British folk. Fucking English. Reminds me of this Renton quote from Trainspotting:

"Some people hate the English, but I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. We can't even pick a decent culture to the colonized by. We are ruled by effete arseholes. It's a shite state of affairs and all the fresh air in the world will not make any fucking difference."

I've been thinking that those sentences should be written in gold ink. In the preamble of every constitution of every fucking Commonwealth nation in the world. Half the world shared the English affliction at one stage or another, and it's weighed upon some countries heavier than upon others. Just Ireland's poor luck that they got the motherload of English shite.