Sunday, February 5, 2023

The sounds of the city

Good sleepy morning from a very warm Edinburgh.

Last night was one of those where I lay down, immediately couldn’t sleep, so moved to the sofa in the sitting room so as not to disturb the soon to be marathon running Mrs Blogs. I couldn’t sleep there either so I was treated to the sound of late night Scotland.

1.45am – Enormous lorry, I suspect the size of the Emirates Stadium, idles outside the window.

2.24am – A man named Ed is shouting at his friend who is saying ‘Shut up, Ed, ya fuckin’ coooooock’. Ed does not shut up and continues to shout all the way down the road.

2.46am – “TAAAAAAAAXXIIIIIIIII”, shrieks a woman. ‘TAAAAAAAAAAXXIIIIIIIII”. I can hear no cars. I think she’s shrieking to make one appear.

3.17am – A group of lads are singing that Chumbawumba song about getting knocked down and getting up again. I fervently wish that the truck from 1.45am knocks them down because there’s fucking no chance of them getting up.

3.18am – I retract my wish due to the fact their splattery, flattened deaths would mean sirens and ambulii.

3.56am – Someone across the road gets out of their car and slams the door. About 14 times.

4.23am – I have Jedward’s song for the Republic of Ireland Euro 2012 football team going around in my head. Just one line, about putting a green cape on. This is because I heard this one line on the radio the other day before I switched it off.

4.37am – Am considering removing my frontal lobe with a spoon. It is getting bright. A seagull decides this is the perfect time for him to go “EEEEEEEEH, EEEEEEEEEH” right outside the window.

4.42am – I curse nature for ever making birds. The Phil Collins seagull is still at it.

Sometime after this I fall asleep and dream that Cesc Fabregas is teaching me how to pilot a tiny remote control helicopter. The remote control has at least 50 buttons and none of them make the helicopter fly.

7.30am – Mrs Blogs awakes and then so do I.

So, a not altogether restful night but at least I don’t have to run 26 miles. If I did I think I’d hack of my own feet just to get out of it.

I’ve had a look at NewsNow this morning and the top story (considering the fact I’ve blocked about 70 sites from their Arsenal feed for being rubbish) is from the Man City official site. Under the guise of their ‘Oh, we’re just reporting what’s in the media stuff’, the headline is “Blues poised to buy Reliant Robin?”. Why the goddam question mark? You should know, you dicks.

There are some quotes from Arsene Wenger about Robin in the Express (auto-play video – beware), and he says:

I am confident that you will see Robin van Persie in the Barclays Premier League next season and I am very confident you will see him in red and white.

I told you, he’s signing for Stoke. There’s no source as to where the quotes come from so take them any way you want. He goes onto talk about Robin’s change into a main striker and some other stuff where he says he was always confident we’d qualify for the Champions League. That terrified cuddle of Pat Rice during the West Brom game suggests otherwise but we won’t dwell on that.

Meanwhile, Aaron Ramsey declares himself relatively pleased with his first full season but says he wants to improve. Which is good. I think he’ll surprise a few people next season and the stick he got at times was massively disproportionate, but it is entirely up to him to convince people he’s got what it takes.

Something for stats fans, 7amkickoff does a By the numbers on the attacking side of Arsenal’s game.

In transfer guff, The Mirror suggests we’re going to make a move for Blackburn’s Steve N’Zonzi. They also say Yann M’Vila and Javi Martinez are on Arsene’s ‘wish list’, which sounds good to me but makes you wonder why we’d bid for N’Zonzi if we’re wishing for the other two. It’s like wishing for a delicious steak then ordering a bowl of gone off cornflakes.

Anyway, there’s not a lot else going on this morning. Good luck to Mrs Blogs, and everyone else running the marathon today. Happy trails and me and the Mugsmasher will be cheering you on with booze-a-hol a plenty.

Till tomorrow.

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