4:30 AM 1 April 2012 Nunhead Heights.
My youngest kid plays football at Athenlay in Nunhead on a Saturday – which is a very English way of saying he plays football on Saturdays. I mean, ‘on a Saturday’? On which Saturday is he playing, exactly?
So a kid kicks and misses. Not my kid. My kid scored a goal yesterday. I am savoring that moment, anticipating a lifetime of disappointment and heartache. The other kid’s shot hits the post and doesn’t go in.
“Ah, unlucky!” is the chant. No one is bad at football in England – at least not on your team. Everyone is “unlucky” – like the goal post fell from a sky crane at the moment the ball was kicked.
And if a kid on your team scores a goal it is “Well done!”.
What does it say about a place where kids are taught to take credit when things go well and blame the stars when they don’t? Unlucky. Good for me, though, because I’m very unlucky.
Can someone tell me why millions of pounds of our television tax money is being spent on relentless advertising to tell the few old people who don’t have digital tv that in April they won’t be able to watch tv unless they get a new tv or a digital box? The only advertising they need is a blank tv screen – then they’ll do something. PS: I am waiting for my screen to go blank.
The bathroom in my flat at the Priory has two taps [USA: faucets]. One is for hot water and the other is for cold water. You cannot get warm water, only scalding or freezing.
My kitchen sink is a bit better. It has one tap but the hot water comes out of a hole in the middle of the spigot – is that what it is called? – and the cold water comes out of smaller holes around the side. Your hands get burned and cooled at the same time.
Reminds me of the old joke about being average: “If you stick one foot in bucket of boiling water and the other foot in a bucket of cold water, on average, you are going to be uncomfortable.” My taps also remind me that I need a new kitchen and bathroom.
The Priory was built by the Council in 1975 on the rubble of Nazi V1 “Doodlebug” hit on 1st July 1944. The V1 were called flying bombs and 17 English people died right here on Cheltenham Road.
There should be a plaque on the estate to remind the current residents – most of whom are immigrants from other countries who never have a nice word to say about England or the English – there should be a plaque to remind those ungrateful of the price that English people paid in blood and tax money so the current residents could have below market rate homes in Nunhead.
Can you tell that I am tired and feeling prickly when I wrote this? And if it misses, well, unlucky!
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