So the good people of WordPress have given me a gong. It looks like this. It is nice to have eight years marked. But to be honest I thought it was longer. Oh well, that makes me feel younger.
Apologies for rambling, I have just watched an extraordinary game of football between England and Belgium. Is that an excuse? You may need to be a football person (note the fashionable gender neutrality, whose trend-ability I’ve just impinged by referencing, oh well) to understand how it might be, i.e. how such a football match can scramble the mind somewhat. But since we’re talking about football (you saw what I did there?) for me it was the moment, as an Englishman, when I thought we might have ‘won’ the World Cup. Why? Because we did something very un-English. We lost our innocence. We did. (There is a little way to go as we meet the dangerously unpredictable Colombia on Tuesday night, but through guile and a bit of luck we have opened up a clear path to something that hasn’t happened in my lifetime, and I’m quite old these days, or at least 1966 was the year before I was born anyway).
Apologies for the stream of consciousness. But at least, unlike a literary hero of mine, James Joyce, I punctuate it. And it’s not as long as those chapters in Ulysses (a book that took me exactly one year to read; worth it though).
Meanwhile, here is a fish of 29lb being lifted up above the waters of the River Gaula on beat E2 in Kval, in Norway’s Trondelag. It was caught about a week ago. The guide (on the right) is Simon Kitcher. He is a good egg, and, as it happens, an Englishman. A geography teacher, in fact, back in Albion, who spends his long holiday out in Norway each year. I wonder if he also will be supporting Gareth and the boys about two thousand miles to the east in Moscow on Tuesday night.