When last we met, things were looking pretty precarious on the football front. Thankfully, at the start of the month a combination of flares, ball hiding and a dog being carried through a crowd akin to an Egyptian deity brightened things up a little.
Then, at the end of the month, more relief – but it would be wrong to dwell on such events, when there’s much more serious things going on in the world – yet despite the celebrations, the three goals back from two down miracles all over the shop (including Marine) I was still accused of various things online (for having the temerity to tweet about footy for once, for having a sense of humour, of apparently supporting 25 teams – more of which later!)
We start with snakes – not those in Parliament, just at a kids’ party – and go on to looking at sport, nay life, being the perfect analogy of these two (also at the party – an analogy for current situations, the tortoise and the hare!)
Politics rose to the forefront of people’s thoughts this month, with yet more controversy meaning that I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more riots in the summer should things not improve drastically. To try to distract myself from the debacle, I had a listen to the new album by Kendrick Lamar (I felt old) then reverted to Cream Classics (I felt young again) then watched the surreal Romeo & Duet one Saturday night and just felt irrelevant to today’s contemporary culture. Also, the much anticipated The King, aka Il Re, set in a picturesque prison, and the very entertaining Liam documentary about his return to Knebworth, which evoked memories of him signing a bollard sign for me and concurring that he was ‘f***ing cool’ which had some dark moments with him opening up about not remembering much. Thankfully, there was some solace to be found: the ever impressive Inside No 9 series 7, perhaps not quite hitting the bizarre and surprising heights of previous episodes at the start of the series but still, special stuff… then the last one – Wise Owl – came and all those horror moments of childhood came rushing to the fore. the animations in this last episode were incredible and it was refreshing to hear their creator explaining the process on the ever-fascinating Inside Inside No 9 podcast, available now on BBC Sounds. I’m so glad that new series have just been announced.
Talking of number nines, I have to share an account of an incredible night that culminated in a diving header by our centre forward as so many great nights previously had done: the soundtrack to which, was the greatest chant to re-enter the matchday hymn book since time began:
It was the background music to one of my best football related experiences in 37 years. That night proved the game isn’t all about trophies, seen lifted on a screen, nor glorious failures in second place and not even fluked penalty shootouts.
I swallowed (not wallowed) the nostalgia, recollecting yesteryear in case things were about to change drastically. They even played the Rocky tune before kick off, as if to underline the underdog theme, which stirred up memories of Stallone’s visit back in 2007. But, like the Italian Stallion himself, I needn’t have worried about anything after all:
I’m still getting the blue from the pyrotechnics out of various possessions and items of clothing, and Elijah’s still re-watching the behind-the-scenes footage regularly, but it’s still difficult to fully describe exactly how it felt welcoming the – what some might say workshy set of b******s – but even if they are, as the kids of Grange Hill once said about their art teacher whose niece I had a brief romance with many moons ago, they’re still ours and that night they were representing – preserving – much more than their own reputations… and then the aftermath.
Oh, that aftermath.
I didn’t celebrate the survival as I might once have, running on the pitch, but did revel in watching the elation; I fully enjoyed it and am not at all embarrassed about it. The catharsis was palpable, the surreality of the whole situation, and those that don’t understand don’t matter – some will never experience anything like it and now, more than ever given the weird ‘homecoming’ others were given, one really does equal at least twenty and I’d argue that supporting 25 teams* is a far more positive lesson for my son, developing a love of football as a sport not just one club and far better than being tribalistic, causing trouble, getting into Twitter spats and letting your life be affected too much by something you have absolutely no control over or anything to do with, even for those travelling without thinking, believing they can do something about it all when even our interventions probably had no real effect.
I digress… but let’s remember that no matter what an oddbod might have once allegedly said, it’s just a game, after all.
(*For the record, and in order, I’d say: Everton, Napoli, Barcelona, Marine, Boca Juniors, Wolfsburg, PSG, Marseille, Ajax, Preston North End, Lancaster City, Inter Miami, Argentina, Italy, France and Algeria – 16, maybe? UNLUCKY!)
Anyway, more important things to watch this past few weeks included: The Flight Attendant (intrigued how a second series will play out) the new lot of Stranger Things (slow, unconvincing start I thought but I’m growing into it and now loving the new style) and the much anticipated Obi Wan – episode 3 being absolutely incredible in terms of tension and excitement and overall replication of the style of the original trilogy, whilst episode four had me on the edge of my seat and was arguably better than anything the prequels and sequels have offered.
Much of what I have seen this month brought on symptoms of the titular infliction of increased heart rate, dizziness, fainting, confusion and hallucinations brought about by exposure to great sights. Said syndrome’s most common in Florence where people apparently regularly fall ill after experiencing the beauty and sublime of the artwork in the city, and it all reminded my nicely of my dissertation, now over twenty years old. It covered Ricky Fitts’ engagement with the plastic bag in the wind, and whilst a bouncing Goodison from pitchside, Kaley Cuoco, Dungeons & Dragons and Darth Vader aren’t quite as aesthetically pleasing as the Birth of Venus or the Mona Lisa (the latter of which was smeared with cake last month for some reason) they still brought on similar symptoms.
It wasn’t just viewing material, either. The beautiful, haunting new album by Michael Head (including that song about your phone running out of battery on a walk in Wales) had had a similar effect on my ears when first I listened to it, especially the lovely new versions of old classics such as Comedy, one of all my all time favourite songs.
Or maybe it was all just the long Covid, after all.
Much of the aforementioned was watched and listened to over half term, which started with a tranquil trip away – hotel, ice showers, spas and saunas, connecting with nature, great food, that sort of thing – and ended with a bizarre but brilliant street party for the Diamond Jubilee: now despite not being much of a royalist, I once spent the summer of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee working at Buckingham Palace. It was an incredibly memorable couple of months, which people still marvel at when I explain the details, and the myriad weirdoes I met there (working and visiting) meant I’ll never forget it either.
I do wonder what might happen to many of them, when this inevitably happens…
The people who stuck out the most were those who had a bizarre fascination with the family and a strong belief that they somehow should be part of it, either being born there or deserving part of the wealth and therefore being angry at having been apparently castigated. This obsession has always stuck with me but didn’t stop me allowing my own kids to start showing an interest in regal routines so I didn’t stop B sending a get well soon letter to Her Maj.
Indeed, we’d totally forgotten all about it until an envelope from Windsor Castle arrived on the carpet a few months later…
The post arrived in the week before our street party, and a great time was had by all. All very positive, until the sad news about Paula Rego’s passing.
On the anniversary of the death of another hero from my previous life, Anthony Bourdain – read my response here – I was saddened to hear that the genius painter had also died. I spent a lot of time studying her paintings during A Levels and Art Foundation and recognise that these are probably the more likely source of the syndrome I serendipitously named this blog post after. I loved the drama, the depth, the back story, the subtext and dual meaning which aren’t immediately apparent.
An obituary article in the I newspaper simply repeated a quote of hers:
“I always need a story. Without a story, I can’t get going.”
It also described her technical skill, creating images based on incredible narratives from Portuguese folk stories to Disney fairy tales. Meanwhile, she herself said that painting is like ‘being possessed with desire’; ‘What you want to do is make people look’ and she certainly did. I spent hours looking at this image in particular:
Her paintings, in her other obituaries, have been described as ‘visceral and unsettling’ which makes them almost the opposite to the ‘playful yet sincere’ comments made about some of my own artwork but we did have a link, after all.
I’d like to end on a real positive and my finally starting Stanley Tucci’s book, Taste. It’s started beautifully, replete with recipes for Negronis and his family’s ragu amongst other classics . As he explained his journey from America to Italy, his conversion from actor to bon viveur, they symbolised nicely the current signs of change.
Still, on a similar theme, I’ll leave the final word to our Paula: an inspiration to so many artists (and not just female!)
