Arty, huh? It wasn't arty on purpose. It was arty on account of me having a shit digital camera that goes doolally in the dark. I should have pretended it was a combination of clever framing, intended over exposure, and a refined artistic eye, but I haven't got the energy for da bullshit this morning...

The Liverpool vs. Anderlecht game last night was a joy. The crowd were up for it, and the team played with determination and style. Luis Garcia's headed goal is yet another addition to his collection of spectacular, mercurial strikes. That's why we love him and don't care so much when he gives the ball away. Which he does. A lot.

Other performers of note were Alonso and Morientes. Both worked their proverbial socks off for the cause, exploding the myth that they're workshy, money grabbing bastids.

Kewell looked good when he came on too. Well, his hair is appalling, even for a Premiership footballer. I can't imagine what all of those macho Australians must think of him with his girly hair. No wonder he plays his football over here.

Fair dinkum.

Minus points to the Anfield crowd, though, who cheered when the Chelsea result came in. Didn't any of them realise that that meant we hadn't qualified, and would now have to go through 'tricky' ties against Real Betis and Chelsea - getting at least a point - to qualify?

We're meant to be the most football savvy supporters in the country. Maybe it's just our maths that isn't so good.

There was a weird experience on the way to the ground. Jez parked on the street we always park on [can't for the life of me remember which street that is], and as we were walking up the pavement towards the ground, a phalanx of policemen in riot gear strode into view asking us to "cross over, quickly!". Much as I felt the urge to stand up for my civil right to be on that side of the road, I demured when I saw their big, fuck off batons and, I'm glad I did!

The police were escorting a group of at least 100 men away from the ground. These men had no tribal ID on them... no scarves or footie tops of any particular denomination; so it wasn't just Anderlecht fans being funnelled in a different direction to the ground... it looked like a large, organised firm come into the city for some pre-match aggro.

The bizzies must have got wind of it.

Neil Crud was at the game with his little brother, Jordan. The bizzies hadn't, obviously, got wind of the fact that one of North Wales' most notorious peddlers of obscene filth and subversive tuneage was at the game with his own firm. ;0)

I got a lovely letter off a 74 year old reader to the Daily Post today. I'll have to tell you about it later, though.

Nature is calling! Back to the top of the page...