....Kel and I started off the day with long overdue Skype call to Ruth, Andy and baby Jude - now over 10 weeks old.
He was on fine form, managing to be sick twice and plenty of drooling during the short conversation!
[a more serene Jude from earlier in the week]
Then we were treated to lunch over at Matt, Fiamma and little Wolfe's house in Upper Clapton.
Fiamma & Wolfe
Wolfe's latest toy obsession is the hoola hoop, so Kel and I were treated to many demonstrations of his new found talents!
All the while, Matt was rustling up a fantstic pork chop with pollenta & sweet potato mash, and Fiamma topped it off with an amazing apricot & raspebery flan. Yum.
Soon after leaving, the realistaion, (for me, not Kelly), and excitement of the Champions League Final was kicking in. Retreating back home, Doug, Liam and I decided such an occasion should have food fit for champions.
We started with mixed salads, a charcuterie board, olives, anchovies and other tapas. And as we rolled out in to the second half, we brought out a marvellous cheese board, garnered from Neal's Yard Dairy.
All washed down with some marvellous pinot noir, it made for a brilliant accompaniment, to a fantastic game of football.
The match itself saw a Barcelona victory over Manchester United, that for me, confirmed their superiority in the modern era of club football, if not the title of greatest club team of all time. A sight to be behold and worthy winners.
....Our bi-annual football match at work, where the 'suits' play the 'creatives' was competed toward the back end of last year. The 'suits', (my side), brought the overall score level by running out 3-1 victors in this fixture. (Watch out for a Messi-like goal by yours truly. And some Robert Green-like goalkeeping from the opposition!)
....A while back, it was conceived that we would try and reproduce our France holidays from yore. I'm not sure where it originated, perhaps Andy, perhaps Ian. Maybe even Dad. Not me. But it was a brilliant plan. To recreate one of those numerous summer holidays where the Palmer and Barker families joined and retreated to a deserted French Gite. We had to compromise a little to achieve this - well, a lot - the country for a start. We settled upon Suffolk and The Cranhouse in Elveden.
The Cranhouse
So not France at all. Not that we noticed. The two famelies were united once more, a mile down a gravelly path in a detached cottage, reminiscent of every French trip we could remember. And this time, an added bonus - each of the 'kids' brought their respective partners. Ian brought his wife Susie on the eve of their first wedding anniversary. Ruth brought Andy, James Theresa and I was with Kelly.
All of us, mid walk.
Twelve family and friends to spend a long weekend together, to reminisce, to play games, swat flies, argue, drink wine, eat cheese. More wine and a bit more cheese. It was set to be perfect. And it was. We all arrived on Saturday afternoon and quickly set about watching videos of old holidays. There was a particular year most anticipated - that of 1991, Chateau Renault, when extreme boredom, (no doubt) and slight lunacy led the kids to perform a music video, of sorts, to a Jive Bunny medley. Oh how we laughed. And oh how we recreated it.......that's right. As punishment for losing the Ian & Susie hosted pub quiz, Dad, Kelly, James, Ruth and Joan put on something, erm, special for us.
Dad even marked the occasion, (back to the holiday now, rather than that performance above!), by handing out some mugs he'd got made which became the only place from which we'd drink our hot beverages, (see slideshow below). On that first night we had a takeaway and played games. It was to be a familiar but welcomed pattern for the rest of our stay. We had intermittent walks. A couple of BBQs. Perfect. Oh, but there was one misdemeanour too - Kelly managed to accidentally slice her hand open on a broken glass in a washing up bowl.
Cut under cover
After turning green and fainting, (not to mentioned me flustering and panicking), Eric & Ian held her together with tape before she slept painfully on it. The result was going to A&E the next day and 5 stitches in the wound. A painful blip that didn't even deter Kelly from having a great time, nor the rest of us.
Our final morning had the lovely coincidence of falling on Ian & Susie's first wedding anniversary, so a champagne breakfast was in order.
It was a holiday to remember and one that reminded us, (if indeed we needed it), why we're such good friends, what great fun those annual France holidays actually were and that we'd really, really like to do it all over again. Please?!
....This was the seventh match between rival departments at work. For the second year running, the spring match was played at Brentford F.C. - a wonderful setting for us to play in and an opportunity to play out that life long fantasy of the pro footballer. For the first time in four games, the suits, (my team), beat the creatives. And convincingly at that. A great day out and one it seems everyone knew about......
Stuart Hall sets the scene.
The game. Kind of.
Ben Paxman, Suits goalkeeper, post match interview.
....And then it was over. For England, the 2010 World Cup has come to an end. Yesterday, we were well and truly and totally deservedly stuffed by our oldest foes. We remained short of ideas and technique, whilst also largely statuesque in defence, as Germany rampaged through us on the break.
Of course, there was the 'goal that never was', but it wouldn't have had any bearing on the final result. The best team won. I will not go in to player descriptions, as it is totally inconsequential now.
We, (and Capello, above), need to go back to the drawing board, whilst I wish Germany the best of luck in the remainder of the cup.
Unfortunately, the proud flag flying atop the Spanish City, at home in Whitley Bay, will have to be taken down. But didn't it look nice there, proudly flapping in the salty sea air? Hmmm.
....So, we're through. And football wise, it was a good bit better. Particularly the first half.
Gerrard was the man we've come to expect in big games, but also, unfortunately Lampard, as he does in big games, went missing. Capello's big decisions, however, paid off - Milner providing the teasing cross for Defoe's goal, whilst at the other end, Upson made a match saving challenge within his own area with minutes to go. Now we can go back to believing we can win the world cup again. But the reality is, we can't.
We have, (potentially), Germany, then Argentina, then Spain before we reach the final. To be fair, if we can beat them, then we deserve it! Today's afternoon kick off meant that I watched the game in the bar at work. As did everyone else.
A great atmosphere, willing the team on.....and it worked. Next!
....After reflecting on the last game and watching several of the stronger nations also struggle, perhaps England's previous performance wasn't that bad. This one, however, was truly awful.
There is not a great deal to say that hasn't already been said, but there was no spirit, no adventure and no hope in their play.
We have one last game to save ourselves and progress through to the next stage. My only comfort is in remembering a similar run of results in the 1990 World Cup, and we went on to the semi finals that year. C'mon boys.
....A classic front page from today's New York Post. Over enthusiastic, or just confused?!
EDIT: It seems in fact that the American's aren't as daft as the headline suggests. See here. And thanks to the 'anonymous' commenter, below for the tip off.
....In light of press reports that referees at this summer's World Cup had each learned 20 English swear words in order to crack down on player abuse, Liam, Doug and I then tried to list those profanities on our kitchen blackboard. We succeeded. And following last night's abject draw with the USA, each of them is a fair description of England's goalkeeper Robert Green.
After a clanger, he has been made the scapegoat for England's unconvincing display, but in truth, in a match where Emile Heskey was our best player, there must be some other problems on the pitch. After a bright start, Steven Gerrard gave us the lead, but plenty more possession led to little more threat and after Green gifted Clint Dempsey their equaliser just before half time, we weren't able to finish off the USA.
I wasn't surprised. I'd be more surprised if England fans are surprised. But, equally, I am not too worried. We are fortunate to be in a weak group and to me it is inconceivable that we do not progress in to the last 16. Beyond that? I am not sure. My original prediction was a Quarter Final loss. Following last night's display, that hasn't changed.
....Tonight I summoned some of the boys to rekindle the memory of 1990 all over again, as we went to the cinema for a one night screening of James Erskine's One Night In Turin. The film is adapted from the book written by Pete Davies at the time of the 1990 World Cup and records not just England's progress, (and ultimate elimination at the hands of West Germany), but also gave a clear picture of the civil unrest in Britain at that time under the Tory government.
Having just turned nine years old, this was the tournament that clarified and confirmed my raw love and passion for the game. For 5 weeks I was besotted, (for one night I was devastated). The England team were my heroes and I followed their every game, their every pass and recreated their every goal.
A TV intro and a song that I will never, ever forget
Whilst every other kid wanted to be Gazza - the comedic, unpredictable but undoubtedly gifted new superstar borne out of that tournament - I wanted to be David Platt. A sturdy midlander, no fuss, just did his job. But then he scored that goal. In the deepest minutes of extra time against Belgium, Platt swiveled on a six pence as the ball came over his shoulder and he connected the sweetest volley past the Belgian goalkeeper. The next day in the yard I must have recreated that 20 times at least. I loved football.
Tonight, this film was, for me and surely every other fan in the cinema, simply an exercise in nostalgia. For whilst the director tried to talk up the intentions of artistic merit and cinematography, there was in fact none. Poorly recreated scenes of players in pseudo 90s football boots, kicking the ball about in what was clearly a studio. Or intermittent shots of a glass shattering as it hit a wall or the floor when real footage of rioting fans were shown. There was no merit in that - all we wanted to see was the footage. The live footage. The archive tapes. Pull them out, heck show us it in full, we'd have sat and watched.
Some of the said footage I'd happily watch
Despite the failure of the recreated scenes, and there not being as much live action footage, (particularly a lack of replay of aforementioned Platt goal), the film triumphs simply because of the moment that it is describing. It is the best England have done in a World Cup since 1966, or in the 20 years since. Despite the loss, the infamous loss on penalties, as a Nation we treat the 1990 campaign as a triumph. And perhaps rightly so - it is where our national sport once again triumphed in the face of adversity, (the team were described as donkeys in the press), it took our minds (temporarily) off the protests and riots on the streets and united us again. It made us proud to be English. It made us re-love football, rebuild stadia, create a Premier League, and become a dominant force.
The 1990 line up.
And who was the man that triumphed most? Who was the man that stayed calm, kept his dignity and got on with his job? Who was the man that stole the hearts and admiration of a nation? Wor Bobby. Wor Bobby Robson. And I write that with a lump in my throat. One of the greatest men in football was perhaps one of the greatest men. And if this film does nothing else, it serves as an endearing and lasting reminder of the brilliance that was Bobby Robson.
Bobby becoming Sir.
A lasting image for me - not shown in the Italia 90 video that I had to remember England's campaign by - was Robson comforting a crying Gascoigne following the semi-final loss. For the first time, the inaudible words of confidence were subtitled across the screen. Ever selfless, Robson thought not of himself, the pain, the loss, the terrible abuse he'd suffered from the media throughout, but of Gazza, the Clown Prince. "Don't worry, you've been the best. You've been magnificent. You've your whole life ahead of you".
Bobby consoles Gazza
A true gent. A hero in a fitting story and a man now sadly missed. You can donate to his charity here, and anytime anyone wants to have a chat about Italia 90, you'll find me in the yard, with a tennis ball, trying to stick it between two bins and calling myself Platty. Oh to be nine years old again.
To be nine again indeed. Here I am during our last World Cup campaign, a proudly drunk England fan, but wearing my replica 1990 shirt with (sleepy) pride.
And this year, it is another year. One in four, a World Cup year. And with political uncertainty upon us again, (and with Cameron just named new PM in a Tory government), perhaps the England team can do us proud, unite us again, let us forget our troubles and.......and......well, lose on penalties of course!
....The subject of this post sounds like it could be the start of a regular entry, where Paul meets someone, (remotely), famous. We'll have to see if that comes to fruition. In the meantime, he has met a man that only Brummies, geordies and football fans will know. Brian Little.
Little managed Aston Villa, (my team), a good few years ago, with relative success.
A little too much fun was had, meaning the morning after, making our way up to see Lynn and Rich in Tufnell Park, was a bit of a struggle! After brekkie at Flavours, (very good), Kel and I played models for Lynn's fantastic collection of hand made braids, belts and bangles. (I've snagged each for myself!)
As it was also the day of Lynn's birthday celebration, she darted off to meet the rest of the gang for food, whilst Kelly and I hung back and watched the footy in comfort.
(Aston Villa lost 2-1 to Man United)
We then both rejoined everybody in the Junction Tavern, swiftly racked up two roast dinners and settled in for the rest of the afternoon!
....Today Kelly and I met Richie, Anne & Clem at the Geffrye Museum for lunch. If you haven't visited before, then you should, but on this occasion, it was purely a dining visit.
As ever, Clem was on fine form - eating, banging, walking and laughing with the only other news being that Richie's beard is getting yet bigger and redder!
Clem, sporting a knit of impeccable taste bought by Nick for christmas.
....Usually, 'what goes on tour, stay's on tour', but this Stag weekend was too good not to post. Andrew, soon to be married to Alice, had his stag party in a fantastic cottage in Bamburgh. 13 friends crammed in for food, football, drink, poker, BBQs, the beach and, erm, wrestling.
The best man, Will, had organised a surprise for Andrew on the Saturday. As he sat blindfolded at the table, the rest of us retreated upstairs to don our World Wrestling outfits. We then individually walked back in to the lounge, to our characters 'entrance music'. This may seem strange, but when you know that the Stag has been obsessed with wrestling for the last 20 years, it makes perfect sense.
And to see Andrew dressed as his hero Hulk Hogan made it all worth while. It was a truly brilliant weekend. One that I, nor the locals in the pub, will ever forget!
Here is an amalgamation of the other videos take on the stag party - with some inspired dancing and sleeping.....
