The new Duffy single rules

Simple as that. The best thing she has done so far. Excuse the awful Sara Cox at the beginning and end of this.

 Duffy - Rain On Your Parade

Vidal video

This blog must have fallen asleep during The Obamathon when this occured.

The Obamarathon

When staring history in the face, you shouldn’t look away. This blog decided to take the day off from its day job (the one that it arguably shouldn’t give up any time soon) to watch the US Election Results. Here is the account of the proceedings in the wee small hours. Alcohol was involved, so there may be grammatical errors in abudance.

1115: We’re off! Already daunted by the prospect of a 6 hours and 45 minutes marathon or Obamarathon, if you will. Got eight tinnies in and two monster bags of crisps at the ready. Have opted to watch the BBC coverage with David Dimbleby. Well, I’m watching it with the Mrs, Dimbleby is just hosting the show.

1200: First result. McCain as expected has taken Kentucky, Obama on 3 votes with Vermont. Jeremy Vine is doing the graphics onslaught. Where is Peter Snow?

1210: Christ, I’ll be lucky if I make it to 1.30 at this rate, I’m shattered. I’ve been up since 6.50am yesterday.

1220: On my second tin already, in a panic thinking 8 tins are no way going to be enough. Ricky Gervais in New York on the BBC. What on Earth? We don’t need celebrities, we need moustached pundits we’ve never heard of, like Larry Sabato, who is in Washington DC.

1222: Christopher Hitchens is on, looking sinister. Has said “zeitgeist” 6 seconds into his answer from a question from David Dimbleby.

1225: Crowds running into Grant Park, Chicago like the prologue to an outdoor rock gig, it even has portaloos set up, people are running to the front of the stage, in anticipation of Obama’s arrival in a few hours.

1235: Dimbleby looking grumpy, as it doesn’t cut to Vine in the London studio for the second time tonight.

1245: One thing I’ll be glad about this election ending is not having to hear McCain say “My friends.” anymore, it’s so irritating.

1246: Hitchens has quite rightly described Sarah Palin as “ludicrous” and “contemptible”.

1247: Dimbleby growing increasingly agitated that we only have two results in, which is quite amusing.

1249: The McCain campaign party in Phoenix is playing a cover of The Beatles ‘Eight Days A Week’. What’s that all about? Did the DJ misplace his copy of ‘Barbara Ann’ by The Beach Boys?

1256: Jeremy Vine’s graphics blitzkrieg continues unabated. The man is on some ‘Minority Report’-type shizzle. Points off for not wearing a tie though.

1258: Oh dear, McCain’s taken South Carolina. No surprise, but it’s 16-3 to him so far.

0100: Via the genius of timeshift on our DVD recorder, we have paused proceedings to have a cigarette break. Dimbleby has described Pennsylvania as a “big potato” which is strange. Managed to make my second tin last 40 minutes, so 6 tins over 5 hours should be fine on that front.

0102: GET IN! Obama has taken Pennsylvania and New Hampshire. Mrs K and me do a fist bump like Barack and Michelle. We are obviously terrorists now. 16-28! And, of course, Illnois…it’s 16-52, phew. Looking good.

0105: Delaware and District of Columbia goes to Obama too.

0109: Maryland projected to Obama, as is also Connecticut. McCain has got somewhere, but I’m now losing track. We’re at 34-84.

0110: Bloody Nora, Maine’s gone to Mr O., as has New Jersey, home of Bruce Springsteen. It looks like The Boss’ people have picked the Democrat. 34-103 is the tally.

0117: Getting a breather, toilet break, Vine doing a good job wit the visual bombardment. Cracking open the third lager.

0126: Things have definitely returned to a snails pace after the frenetic results at the top of the hour. Have time-shifted things back to ‘Live’ to avoid the current sludge and so times don’t get confusing.

0135: John Simpson is in Chicago, looking pleased not to be in DR Congo and getting to wear a suit as opposed to a bulletproof vest.

0139: Dimbleby is filling for time now, as a discussion on Palin’s choice of clothing takes place. He has a slight cough, bless him.

0144: The Rev. Jesse Jackson, a man so cool has makes Billy Dee Williams look like Andi Peters, is in Chicago, talking of “joy” if Obama makes it, and is described, correctly, by Ted Koppel as a “pioneer”.

0153: Vine is back on to kill some more time, as new polls are closing in six minutes, and is opening up a big can of FACT on our asses. He’s really studied for this, whizzing about images of areas of states such as Fairfax in Virginia, like nobody’s business, as if it was Uttoxeter in Staffordshire.

0158: DD has forgotten where he is and is respectfully reminded that he’s in DC, maybe he’s got 8 tinnies in the fridge as well. The Mrs has crashed out. It’s just me now.

0200: Michigan, Obama. Minnesota, Obama. Wisconsin, Obama. New York, you guessed it. North Dakota is McCain’s. The Maverick is getting beasted. Wyoming, McCain, Rhode Island, Obama. Kansas, McCain. 61-175. Jug Ears is in pole position as if he was Lewis Hamilton.

0205: However, Georgia has gone to the Blues, had the Democrats been projected to win that state it would have been some result.

0207: Under 100 votes of a difference for Obama now, this could still be tight actually. Which does sound absurd but better to err on the side of caution, even when your third tin of Danish bevvy.

0211: The Beeb outpost in the Big Apple is a celebrity orientated party event it would seem. Jay McInerney is on now describing NYC as “the home of the liberal elite”. Two bloggers are also interviewed. Why the blazes anyone would give a monkey’s what these pomposity merchants have to say is beyond me. Oh.

0212: Oh god, back in DC, it’s worse. Simon Schama is on and Sir David has plugged his BBC series about America. That’s poor. The fourth tinny beckons. There is another be-‘tached pundit on though looking very grumpy about something.

0224: Obama has Ohio, so it’s probably all over for McCain, making it 76-195 and the picture less twitchy. The broadcast is getting a touch tipsy, with sound cutting out, strange pauses and other technical glitches. Another toilet break methinks.

0231: West Virginia is taken by Louisiana, again, as expected. Wait a minute, that doesn’t make sense. West Virginia goes to Straight Talking Man. Louisiana still to be announced. 90-195. The other ‘tached pundit is being overly argumentative. But he is a Republican.

0238: In a quiet period at BBC, have flipped over to ITV and it is a terrible error. Alastair Stewart is on and he is making Peter Finch in ‘Network’ look like Moira Stewart, blathering Alan Partridge-esque non sequiturs.

0239: Stewart is giving me the fear, so back to Auntie. The skinny kid’s got New Mexico while Senator McCain scoops up Texas. 124-200. This is like the Eurovision Song Contest. Hello, this is Ohio calling, etc. Only 70 votes to go!

0253: Martin Luther King’s daughter, Rev. Bernice is being interviewed on ITV (they have a score 90-200, which is odd) and speaks profoundly and realistically about past, present and future America.

0258: It’s now 130-200, must have missed something. Iowa, Montana, Utah and Nevada imminent.

0300: Iowa, Obama. McCain, Utah. Bloody Mormons.

0305: Proper star in the city that never sleeps now, its Eddie Izzard! The man is a legend. He’s refreshingly serious saying, “The third millennium begins today”. And now Erica Jong is on, she doesn’t like aeroplane journeys, etc.

0313: Republicans on the BBC really have a chip on their shoulder, using any perceived slight on themselves as a lack on research, intellect or professionalism on the channel’s part. One guest goes as far as demanding the dismissal of a BBC correspondent. Some Americans really taking umbrage at us Brits moving in on their patch, getting all huffy that they weren’t asked to appear on Fox, NBC, CBS, CNN, et al.

0317: Simon Schama really looks like Sir Ian McKellen.

0329: It’s flagging on BBC, so back to ITV, which is getting some decent guests, Mike Williams, Obama’s foreign policy advisor for one. Alastair Stewart, is on the verge of an utter shut down of self and looks about 90 years old. He’s doing the graphics bit as well; ITV must be skint if they can’t spare some cash for someone else to do all that hullabaloo.

0331: 3 votes in Nebraska go to McCain, 2 more in that state still to be decided in a unique, albeit too complicated for me to understand, let alone explain.

0335: Possibly starting to go mad, as very little is happening.

0337: On Sky News now. Christ on a bike, it’s Irvine Welsh in Miami and he sounds absolutely smashed, you can take the boy out of Leith, but…and so on.

0342: Sky News is quite dreadfully unwatchable. Run back to the safe haven of BBC. South Dakota is McCain and Virginia is Obama. 141-207.

0346: California, Hawaii, Idaho, Oregon and Washington coming up in 11 minutes.

0352: A beautiful black couple from Chicago say they are “ecstatic” at the prospect of an Obama presidency and that “it will change the world”. It’s a similar feeling and a similar opinion here in Glasgow.

0400: YES! California and Washington make it 273! He did it! We have four tinnies left. Let’s have a party.

0404: I’m in tears already. Why does this matter so much you might ask? It’s because we all come from somewhere else. We come to a new land and our humanity makes it possible for anything to be achieved. It’s because this story is bigger than all of us. It’s bigger than Barack Obama and vaster than America. It dwarves the world and minimises obstacles, radiates energy and hope, rendering cliché irrelevant and cynicism obsolete. Maybe the sleep deprivation is kicking in, but when we wake up, it will all begin and end all for the better. This matters because arguably we all came from Africa. We are all Barack Obama. That is why this event matters.

0411: Anyway, back to the present. It’s 145-297 nearly 50% of a difference. “It’s early morning in Kenya” says DD and it looks magnificent.

0417: Jesse Jackson is in tears. 145-306. People being churlish saying that it is bittersweet for him “as he will be thinking that it should have been him”. That’s disrespectful. McCain is about to concede.

0418: McCain concedes. People in this Arizona crowd booing as he says he phoned Obama. These people are degenerates. McCain does well to calm them and his speech is actually impeccable and dignified. The shameful crowd, contrastingly, are feeble-minded cretins. 145-333.

0427: First time I’ve seen Todd Palin and he looks like a right shifty bastard. Cindy McCain looks like a nasty automaton bastard. Hopefully, this is the last we have seen of Sarah Palin.

0437: Dubya just telephoned Obama, bet that was an interesting phone call, wonder what the draft dodging, drunk driving dunce divulged?

0449: The Beeb coverage is fairly joyless, considering what has just happened, but that’s impartiality for you. ITV is enjoying the moment with some great coverage of the celebrations at Grand Park and another good guest in the form of David Lammy, Labour MP and friend of ahem… President Obama.

0454: On the 6^th can now, in the fast lane, no worries.

0458: Barack Obama on stage in Chicago. Crowd excited but anticipatory. “HELLO CHICAGO!” Rock Star President. This is breathtaking. Tears welling up again. The crowd politely applaud when McCain is mentioned, take note Arizona. Slight hesitation from Obama every so often. Emotion or something else from him? Who knows? Beautifully touching mention of Michelle as his “best friend” and “love of his life” and poignantly about family members who are no longer with him. Marvellous, inspiring details of people helping his campaign with “5 dollars here and 10 dollars there” and “the young people who rejected the myth of their generation’s apathy”. It’s a quote fest.

0517: Whoa, Jesse Jackson and Oprah Winfrey in the crowd amongst the public.

0519: It’s a spellbinding effort, languid yet powerful, effortless really. Emotional but not sentimental. Cried three times, but that might be the tinnies as well.

0526: Ku Klux Klan? Lee Harvey Oswald? Sirhan Sirhan? Can you hear me? Joseph McCarthy? Westboro Baptist Church? Lynyrd Skynyrd? Can you hear me? Your boys took one hell of a beating!!! Your boys took one hell of a beating!!!

0533: Haven’t a bloody clue what’s going on. 7^th can and lots of analysis. 156-338. Full time.

0537: Very negative post match reaction. BBC, now ITV and Sky giving it the whole “oh, he better get his skates on” type guff. Can we not enjoy it for one day at least? And very little about the Republican’s failure.

0558: Had fallen asleep. That eight can is going to have to wait, it’s bedtime. Not a bad night’s work for the man with the funny name. Good times. God bless us all.

Incidentally...

Is this the worst timing for a Christmas book release ever?

Brand and hail hail Barry O'Bama

When those glorious gazelles and fine purveyors of pop Girls Aloud confessed that they were unable to converse in French and as a consequence would let the funky music do the talking instead, it resonated at Kristalseventeen. Your humble correspondent can barely speak English and a result, has a tendency to let this blog talk on its behalf.

In another music led comparison, on the title track of their 2003 comeback album ‘Strays’, Jane’s Addiction’s Perry Farrell admitted that he gets by on his personality. Another gangly sex insect in the form of Russell Brand seems to do likewise. In the aftermath of the Andrew Sachs prank call chaos, it seems that your personality will only get you so far.

If you haven’t heard the broadcast that has caused all the fuss, the enduring conclusion you may come to is that throughout Brand just isn’t funny. Which makes you think, was he ever that amusing in the first place? The phalanx of vehicles that Channel 4 have created for him to fit his persona have never worked and the most recent effort ‘Ponderland’, a series of opinions via video clips is a format so tired that even Lenny Henry had beat him to it in the shape of the execrable ‘LennyHenry.tv’ on BBC1.

Brand is undoubtedly talented, his verbal dexterity and instantaneously sharp analysis on ‘Big Brother’s Big Mouth’, the show that brought him to the forefront of media attention admittedly was at times utterly hilarious and genuinely entertaining. So there actually is something decent going on under that bouffant hairdo. He must realise that he is at his most cutting and yes, funny, when commenting on current events. He surely is also intelligent enough appreciate the irony that he and Jonathan Ross have been involved in a furore with enough material for an entirely new stand up show and that it is most unfortunate for this truly rock ‘n’ roll comedian that he is unable to comment on it without causing more upset than he and Mr Ross have already made.


Republican Presidential candidate John McCain’s personality however, has never really been in doubt. Touting himself as a straight talking maverick underdog, it is even more dismaying to see the 72 year old add another string to his shop damaged bow by taking on the mantle of a flopsweat drenched amateur stand up comedian. His feeble gags in the direction of Barack Obama’s mid-week thirty minute campaign advertisement were neither consise, statesmanlike or more relevantly, presidential.

All that he achieved in uttering these barbs was to rubber stamp the already widely held belief that the septuagenarian Senator of Arizona is not fit to take over from the current simian in charge of the White House and is better suited to an early retirement as the man who collects and exchanges the shoes at a bowling alley, where the clientele is made up exclusively of children’s party clowns.

There is no doubt in this blog’s mind that in two days time the Leader of the Free World will be a black man and it is relishing the gradual seismic shift within the whole of the world’s political landscape that such an event will effect. These will be truly thrilling times and this writer will be partying in a manner benefiting Scotland winning the World Cup on November 4th and into the 5th should the what must surely be inevitable occur.

Begone Joe The Plumber imposters, death to moose hunting creationist pro-lifer hockey moms, go to hell so-called war hero nine house owning Grand Old Party relics and shame on the Westboro Baptist Church for good measure.

Welcome to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Mr Obama.

2012 then is it?

 "Goat any Monster Munch?" "No, Boydy" "Right, f__ yeez then, um no' playin''"


The feel good factor that resided within the Scotland camp has well and truly left the building with Oily George's erratic tenure as the gaffer now has a lived in nameless dread.

To be fair to Surly Burley, Chris Iwelumo's Ronny Rosenthal-esque sitter was not his fault. Perhaps putting Kris Boyd on instead was the answer. We will never know. 

South Africa 2010 will take place without a Caledonian presence and maybe we all knew that after the Macedonia game.  

Boyd's petulance in his self-imposed hiatus does no-one any favours. As the blog made quite clear in the past, once you leave, you are never allowed back. The blue shirt you put on says Scotland and not George Burley. He should never be permitted to play for us again.

Will Boyd refuse to play under Walter Smith at Rangers, where he is also a habitual bench warmer? The answer to that query is the same response to "Will we break our twelve year absence from international tournaments and take our place among the football elite in the next World Cup?"

This is a shambles of Gordon Smith's own making and if Burley gets a picture of a Spitfire then it surely also is a case of "And Smith Must Go".

This will give you THE FEAR

It is not recommended to watch this whilst hungover.

Join the dots

The sloth-like nature of this blog wreaks havoc and a stronger burst of radio silence than planned has emerged. Let's move on.

As well a famine in trophies at St James' Park, logic has long been missing in the Toon and the replacement of Kevin Keegan (absence from football management: 3 years) with Joe Kinnear (absence from football management: 4 years) as Newcastle United custodian illustrates both trends are set to continue.

Only the Magpies could appoint a temporary manager that has a two-match touchline ban on a month long contract. Such is the adulation for the departed Mighty Mouse that perhaps guest spots in the vein of 'Have I Got News For You' are the only way forward for NUFC. November will be presided over by Lou Macari, December will be hosted by Trevor Francis and to sate all rabid Geordies, the corpse of Hughie Gallacher will be exhumed to pick the first eleven throughout January.


In the post-match fever of the Merseyside derby defeat, some Everton FC supporters have posted on Teletext and elsewhere, that David Moyes should be fired. These are fans that must be curiously pining for squeaky bum times of scraping into 17th place in the 90s under the sterling management of Walter Smith. They would do well to recall, that frequent European trips via top six finishes of the past few years were only granted under the guardianship of the Moyesyside and no one else.


€14,920 was the fine that FIFA meekly slid under the door of the Croatian FA in presumed punishment against the abhorrent abuse directed at Emile Heskey by Croatian supporters during the recent Croatia v England game.

The fine issued by the English Premier League to Manchester United for picking up seven bookings against Chelsea was £25,000.

It is perhaps indicative of the frequently bizarre behaviour from the corrupt, milksop weaklings led by Sep Blatter, that such a shoddy example was made of Croatia. Every time we are taken aback by FIFA's inefficiency in dealing with racism, we should perhaps, instead, be more amazed by why we continue to be surprised by their flagrant leniency.

UEFA, the Mike Winters to FIFA’s Bernie, continue to baffle in finding schemes to present themselves as being madder than a bottle of chips. The interminably long UEFA Cup has now been re-branded UEFA Europa League and will now, it seems, take longer than ‘Mahabharat’ to conclude.

This, of course, could only be the brainchild of Michel Platini. A man with such an increasingly Nixonian attitude to his presidency has led to him barking out paranoiac statements, such as those directed to Arsene Wenger, suggests someone whose breakfast of choice is Muesli drowned in lashings of Rumplemintz.


Toe curling, cringe making, whatever you want to call it, insert foot in mouth here and listen to this audio murder of an interview.  This blog hasn't felt so uncomfortable since Shteve McClaren's faux-Dutch faux pas.

Marvin mash-ups and drink diatribes

This blog has been slacker than than a Caribbean Dancehall track. No excuses.

Was indulging in a spot of ultra-drinking with Mrs Kristal last night. We were in an establishment called The Waverley Tea Rooms and it is as grandiose as it sounds. Or is it?

This public house has ideas above its station. The fecund stench of pretentiousness permeates throughout, but has slovenly service and unclean, wobbly tables.

The wobbly table really is the enemy of the pub drinker and is inexcusable for any watering hole.

Any drinker who is not ordering the Louis Roederer Cristal 2002, which was your humble correspondent on this evening, is treated with a disdain reserved only for a gin-soaked Hitler impersonator at a bar mitzvah.

'Grace Kelly' by Mika was playing. The song's incessant refrain "why don't you like me?" really does beg the answer “Because you are a ____." (insert incredibly rude word here.)

We left soon after.

The megabevvy re-started properly in a place that didn’t treat their patrons like Tal Ben Haim on a Manchester City tour of United Arab Emirates. Although that is a poor comparison, for we wouldn’t even have been let inside the Tea Rooms in that example.

Now, on to music as there has been far too much football on this blog of late.

The concept of mash-ups, the splicing of two contrasting songs into one seamless track, can be rather hit and miss. Should a mash-up be poor it gives the impression that it is a novelty genre. When it works, it can be a dynamite combination.

‘I Heard It In ‘79’ by team9 is a thrilling fusion of ‘I Heard It Through The Grapevine’ by Marvin Gaye and Smashing Pumpkins ‘1979’. It occasionally threatens to collapse, but for the most part, is resilient and vibrant. The particular revelatory element of the track is hearing how heartbreakingly vulnerable Gaye’s vocal was on the Motown classic, which was disguised by the slightly overpowering instrumentation of the original.

Making the listener realise just how good the source material is can be the true brilliance of top quality mash-up. This is most apparent on ‘Eleanor’s In My Head’ (again by team9, who on the basis of these two experiments is bordering on genius status.) a blending of The Beatles’ ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and ‘In My Head’ by Queens Of The Stone Age.

Kristalseventeen was never a big fan of the second track from ‘Revolver’, but set up against Josh Homme’s raging guitar riff and an absolutely banging drum track, it reveals the ingenuity of the Fab Four’s composition.

Regardless of the likelihood that it is referring to make-up, did those four boys who shook the world ever write a lyric as dark and macabre as "Wearing the face that she keeps in the jar by the door"? Answers on a postcard please.

Should these two masterpieces get you in the mood for more, DJ Lobsterdust has undoubtedly got the magic touch. ‘Jenny’s Superstitious’ (‘Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine’ by The Killers and Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’) is completely and utterly spine tingling and gives you the illusion that the former 12 year old genius was actually in the studio with Brandon Flowers and his fellow Las Vegans. It’s that good.

Fingers crossed, the output here will be more regular for indolence is the last refuge of the scoundrel.

Only a clever man messes with Keano. Jack Warner is not a clever man.

Really. Never mind what Keano is actually saying in this video, the facial hair alone is terrifying. Should you require the background to this highly entertaining skirmish, the lowdown can be found here.

Jack Warner, as well as being very silly, is also a crook. This is worth watching too.

Early retirement

Lee McCulloch has announced his retirement from international football. Immediate reaction: "'bye then."

While it is laudable of the ex-Motherwell man to denounce himself as "the most hated man in Scotland", it is somewhat risible that he finds himself worthy of such ire in the first place.

Terribly sorry Lee, but you were never that much in our thoughts. You're just another of the afflicted footballers who perceive their early retirement to be considered a seismic event.

Henrik Larsson, Alan Shearer and arguably, Paul Scholes are the only players who self-extrication from the international scene has induced real upset and at a later date, clamour for a comeback to the fold. 

Thank you for the goal at Hampden against the Ukraine and all that, but you won't be missed.

On other matters Scotland, the criticism directed at our captain Stephen McManus is valid, but it poses the question, who replaces him as skipper? There are few other realistic candidates in this blog's book. It is churlish to suggest Big Mick is only keeping the armband warm for Barry Ferguson. What is to say that Ferguson will automatically get back into the side, or even immediately back into the Rangers first eleven?

All will come out in the wash for sure. In closing, should Lee McCulloch be desirous in regaining some self-respect and respect from Scotland supporters, then he would do well not do a David Weir and come back just because of a change of manager. If ever there was a whitewashing involved in a return from retiring internationally, then Weir's way was the one that really took the biscuit.

Once you go, you're gone.

Surely not

Is it perhaps possible that those fine upstanding custodians of European football, UEFA, could be, whisper it, lying to us?

After all, this is a worthy institution led by the strike force of Juventus and France legend Michel Platini and…eh, David Taylor. Mr Taylor, as I’m sure you will recall, was the former SFA chief who masterminded the years ahead of it’s time deployment of Berti Vogts as Scotland manager. Who would dare question the vision of this assistant?

Let us not make this a parochial assassination of Taylor alone. Platini simply must have been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter. This cannot be the same man who, in his pomp at Juventus and the French national team, brought awe and wonder to the game. All we see now is an unkempt and erratic controversy merchant, whose vacant and humourless rhetoric makes Sepp Blatter of FIFA look like a stand-up comedian. Oh, hang on…

We should make nice instead. This blog can’t be certain, but when it gazes upon Platini and Taylor together (David magnificently taking winners and/or losers medals out of a big bag and then handing them to Michel, who then hands them over to a player or manager, oh the synchronicity), it is unable to be reminded of another tragic comedy double. Who said “unctuous lickspittle”? Actually, perhaps this is a diatribe against Mr Taylor. Only God can judge us. Or perhaps a High Court Judge.

We are digressing somewhat. No change there. Our theory is that UEFA are fabricating teams in a desperate attempt to get the usual also-rans from “the greatest league in the world” (Everton, Manchester City, Tottenham Hotspur) further than the usual embarrassing first round exit. Here is a sample, with the fake names in bold, of the ‘made-up teams’ involved from yesterday’s draw (incidentally, some of these names are an absolute nightmare when running a spell check):

Politehnica Timisoara v Partizan Belgrade
Banik Ostrava v Spartak Moscow
Man City v Omonia Nicosia
AC Bellinzona v Galatasaray
Racing Santander v FC Honka
APOEL Nicosia v Schalke 04
Litex Lovech v Aston Villa
FK Austria Magna v Lech Poznan
Slavia Prague v Vaslui
Slaven Koprivnica v CSKA Moscow
Cherno More v VfB Stuttgart
Feyenoord v Kalmar FF
Hamburg v Unirea Urziceni
NEC v Dinamo Bucuresti
Young Boys v Club Brugge
AS Nancy v Motherwell

(The reason that Young Boys and AS Nancy are included in this list is not because they are considered fictitious, but to highlight the inevitable Bay City Rollers and latent homophobic puns that are bound to pepper the sport pages of the Daily Record and The Sun any day now. Oops, tool late. Today's Record has the headline "Why Well Fancy Changes v Nancy Boys", whereas their website is rather more coy.)

Aston Villa’s home tie against mid-80s action movie star Litex Lovech sounds like a home win but it’s almost certain that Dinamo Bucuresti won’t be relishing that tough away tie to a large conference and concert centre in Birmingham.

Hamburg boss Martin Jol, however, must be confident of second round progress with a reasonably straightforward opener against venereal disease/fabulous Scrabble scoring, Unirea Urziceni.

“Fhor shure, we should win againsth deesh guysh as the pressh are shaying, but any team that can get you thirty-shix points in Schrabble musht be treated with reshpect, you know what I’m shayin’?” opined the large Dutchman.

For all their damn lies, maybe this is all for the best. After all, the glamour tie of the first round has to be in the shape of FK Austria Magna v Lech Poznan, in the only made-up team vs. made-up team of the UEFA Cup so far. The prospect of a Central European Republic-based acrylic paint doing battle against a downtrodden Polish pawnbroker must put to bed the notion that this competition is but a poor man’s version of the Champions League, once and for all.

How nice

The good people of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (crazy name, crazy town) have the decency to incorporate an additional sign of how to pronounce their name built into their train station stop sign. A special touch because sometimes you just don’t the bother of having to make the effort.

It's hard a thing to admit, but when one reaches a certain age (your humble correspondent having just turned 33) you pine for NEW music that sounds uncannily like OLD music. For there are genuinely few innovative pieces of music coming out these days, as there are only 12 notes that can be played and all that. However, this blog is always happy to be proved wrong in this regard and positively encourages NEWNESS to rear its fangled head.

The point is, that the latest NEW but OLD music of excitement and note arrives via Buffalo Killers. Shaggy, scruffy ruffians to a man dishing out raucous slabs of inflamed blues-infused rock. 'Get Together Now Today' has a sweet, languid groove attached to a cannily catchy tune and is a good introduction to these Cincinnati furries. This track comes straight on when you visit their website.

A more upfront side to the Ohio outfit comes with ‘Take Me Back Home’, which sounds like a pissed-up Free to these ears. This is good stuff that should be played very loudly, which can be done here. This is an mp3 link, so if there is anyone reading who can sue this blog disapproves, it shall be promptly removed. If you like it, support the artist and purchase it via the usual channels, like normal people used to do.

Is Frank Lampard a robot? I think we should be told

The thought of someone like Chelsea's Frank Lampard being at the apex of the English Premier League player's earnings is a curious and not entirely pleasant one. The feeling of disappointment that the climax of this somnabulistic transfer saga did not involve him being reunited with his beloved Jose Mourinho is profoundly felt.

Not simply because it conjurs the unusual, if not impossible image of Mourinho and Lampard meeting at the airport in a loving, yet manly embrace in the manner of a cliched romantic comedy. The real reason is that we are stuck with him. For another five years. Porridge. 

There has always been something of the automaton about Lampard. The strange hairless chest. The weird hair. The puzzlingly unemotional 100 goals celebration, which had the blandest message to the fans I have ever seen. The vest that he was wearing was slightly camp, yet utterly heterosexual, like a British dad glugging Fosters with his wife and kids on summer holidays in Playa de las Americas. Which brings us to the next oddity of 'Lamps'.

The man is a walking contradiction. His name for a start. He is a Frank Jnr, which makes him sound like a Mafia don's son, but as his father is former West Hammer Frank Lampard Snr, he quite patently is not. He is an Essex boy, but went to a private school.  The way his involvement in a lurid sex tape with Rio Ferdinand and Kieron Dyer has been almost entirely airbrushed from anything written about him. Perhaps, Fun-Time Frankie has a dark secret. He is not one of us. 

To be fair, there is one aspect of 'Lampard v.5y' that runs parallel. He best personifies the madness and over valuation of football players in England in managing to use his mesmering robot powers to coerce Messrs Abramovich and Kenyon into giving a thirty year old a £39.2m five year contract. How fitting then, that he is a supporter of the Conversative Party. But while proclaiming his allegiance to the Tories, and this is where the contradictory and shadow nature of the one man cabal that is Frank Lampard re-emerges, he has still to vote in an election.

New video

I've been taking slackness to a whole new level. I am relying on contributions now. This is a new video, from a very good friend of mine, who must take all available credit:

http://www.grapheine.com/bombaytv/index.php?module=see&lang=uk&code=10901bfc2a3690b20980747f51cd8b70

Been a bit slack

The best couple of days, a bit busy and that. And now it's the weekend, again. Here as usual, is some good music to be checked out by a local band called Figure 5. I saw the boys at Indian Summer last year and thought they were phenomenal. They deserve to be massive. They are in they what I like to call the 'Yob Rock' canon, but a million times superior to like of cloggers such as The Fratellis. This is the sound of rampant beery scallywags on the way to Argentina to watch Scotland in the World Cup 1978. Listen to them whilst drinking from one of those old Tennent's tinnies that had a dolly bird on the label.

http://www.myspace.com/figure5

Caught a bit of the Olympics opening ceremony last night, it was like watching a broadcast from an alien planet, such was the intricacy and ingenuity of the organisation and choreography. Seb Coe must be absolutely shitting himself, because what I saw yesterday will not be topped in That London come 2012.

And finally, this is not as rude as it sounds from the web address:

http://www.instantrimshot.com/

Chin chin

Let us not mock them. For they truly are cretins.

Genius at work. Why have Uncle Watty and Cheeky Chappy Ally not been given a golden handshake and a picture of a Spitfire for this highly amusing descent into amateurishness? It is because, unlike Paul Le Guen, they are old school, Scottish and part of the fabric of Scottish football? Of course not. Long may this latest inglorious chapter in the utter disaster that is Rangers Football Club continue. If the 'Teddy Bears' were a horse, you'd shoot the poor bastard.

"Call the police there's a madman around"

This isn't a Pet Shop Boys-related post, but Crivvens, Jesus jumping Christ on a sandcastle, there truly was some uber-madness in the streets in the West End (Girls) of Glasgow on Saturday.

This really is more like a police request for further information relating to an incident. Can anyone help?

Was indulging in a spot of the old ultra-drinking with some fellow ruffians on that night. We parked the jalopy, with our cargo in the boot off University Challenge Avenue and went to Tennent's for refreshments prior to our engagement at a party.

En route, there was a man defacating in the street. Not a regular occurence I'm told around these parts. He pointed his finger to his mouth and made a shushing sound. We headed to the pub perplexed, but didn't think more of it.

It was only later, enjoying a cigarette at the corner of Byres and Highburgh, that we saw the same man, well beast really, strutting up the road, filled with intent (no longer full of waste matter, we would imagine) with no shoes, no socks, no underpants or trousers on. We watched aghast.

While this was all very amusing, nay perplexing, it later begged the question, how did this man get into his house? Unless he was holding his house keys tight in his hand, he would have had to ask someone to let him. How exactly do you explain your way out of that situation? Also, who answered the door? There would be very different response be it wife/girlfriend/husband/boyfriend, brother/sister, mother/father, friend/flatmate, I would wager.

If anyone knows anything more about this, or even better, if you were the beast himself, please do not hesitate to contact this confused correspondent. This is a feacal fiasco and no mistake. We demand satisfaction.

Al rite der Derth Vader la'

Enjoy your weekend and here is a band with a great name for you to check out:

http://www.myspace.com/ringodeathstarr

Domino (not pizza or Keira Knightley or even that bloody awful one with Brigitte Nielsen)

Me and the Mrs were out on the lash last night for a spot of Quiz Night fun. We went to The Rock, but it wasn't on as the fella that does it is on holiday. What's that all about?

A taxi to what used to be called Air Organic, which is now BigSlope (where do they get the names from?) The quiz was on, but not until the "back of nine" the barman wearing a Devo t-shirt said.

I thought Devo rocked when I was a toddler. My dad used to play them a lot in the late 70s.

I've never been fond of that phrase "the back of..." when referring to the time. I never know if it means 9:06 or 9:47. The Mrs informed me it's nearer 10:00. Silly O'clock, more like. Anyway.

It was a bit pricey in there, so we went into The Grove which is just down the road. No domino action as you might expect in an old yin's boozer, but instead grunting 60-somethings berating at the horse racing that was on the idiot box.

So bollocks to that, I thought and had a swifty in Ben Nevis (no, not that one), it's a pub called Ben Nevis.

Just made in time for the quiz. Our team, which was just me and the wife, was called 'Tea And Biscuits' and we got 37 points. The winner, whose name escapes me, got 48, so not a bad effort.

There is something majestic about a pub quiz. It's thoroughly British and should be applauded.

007 Nation Army

Jack White doing the new James Bond theme was exciting news for this correspondent yesterday. Until the addition of Alicia Keys in the mix. A duet with these two just isn't cutting the mustard in my book. White is the most innovative guitarist of his generation, but Keys is simply another anodyne soul (that description is loose to be honest) songstress. Blandness personified. However, it can't be any worse than 'Die Another Day' by Madonna, which was the worst Bond theme ever, and it might just be a cracker. In addition to this, it gives us the opportunity to say Roger Moore was the best James Bond. Oh yes he was.

http://newsvote.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7532438.stm

Graveyard

Been enjoying this new band from Sweden, serving up a smorgasbord of classic rock. Some smooth grooves here. 'Thin Line' is very good, but there is a track on their myspace (below) called 'As Years Pass By' that really reminds me of Cream. That's a good thing by the way.

http://www.myspace.com/graveyardsongs

New video

Check it out:

http://www.grapheine.com/bombaytv/v2/play.php?id=117832

Okay dokey pig in a pokey

Right, this is what's been happening so far. There are going to be the posting of video links, music links, articles and other mad stuff here, rantings etc. Please feel free to join in.

Hello

This is my blog. I haven't a clue how it's going to go, but, here goes...