I woke up this morning with a new sense of determination rushing through my veins.

Then, United beat us this afternoon, and it has all evaporated, as surely as if it were ether droplets spilt on the surface of the sun.

Still, it will be the only thing the jammy Mancs get to celebrate all season, so good luck to 'em. Their winning goal was a bloody good goal. Sometimes you just have to put your hand up and say,

Rio Ferdinand is a stinking drugs cheat and he should never have been allowed to kick a football in anger again!

but that would just be bitter, and I'm not a bitter man.

Grrrr.

So, Telfords went well on Friday. Apart from the smart arse in the toilets who was grinning a punch me in the face grin whilst patronising me for not being a proper DJ. I didn't have time to argue with him. There was a very short record on and I need a wee. I imagine his argument had something to do with my reluctance to beat match cock awful and predictable 120 bpm dance music together in a seamless and soulless 16bars in, 16 bars out loop.

I don't want to be a DJ, anyway.

I am a jukebox with hiccups.

It would appear that I'm not persona non grata in Telfords following the Christmas do after all. Phew! Looks like some of the others [hello Rob Robinson!] were my match in the boisterous and pissed out their heads department too.

Bless them.

Still have a hole in my soul, though.

I went for a revitalizing walk down the Shropshire Union Canal this morning. Jo had taken Ava up to see her friend Caroline and I was left to my own devices. I walked for what felt like miles, mired in the mist and cold, and looking like a bit of a prick.

When Jo saw me when I got back she took one look at me and asked me if I'd been to a bad taste party. Apparently wearing two items of striped clothing at the same time, when those stripes are of different, and clashing, colour combinations, is a no no.

I was going for a walk.

Did get some funny looks, though. I'll mix and match next time.

I took photos of some of the impressive, industrial architecture just off the canal. I imagine that much of it dates back to late Victorian times. There's the little bridge of sighs over to the prison, just below [ish] Northgate Street; the Steam Mill, now surrounded by hoards of luxury flats with their noses stuck in the air; the Water Tower in Boughton, in the shadow of which my dad grew up, and the lead tower, which was one of the highest of its kind in the world.

I think.

It's amazing what men can do when they put their mind to it.

It's a shame Djibril Cisse couldn't get his knee over a ball. I hope he's embarrassed.

By far the most impressive landmark I walked past, though, was the Bridge Inn in Vicar's Cross. That's where I did my first gig as a singer. They had a noise meter that made a light flash and the PA cut out.

I set it off three times in the first song.

In retrospect, I think that that was an omen.

I hope you're all well.

Here's to a better week for all of us ;0) Back to the top of the page...