Oct. 13th, 2015

danieldwilliam: (machievelli)
Three things make a post and a welcome break from some dull balance sheet analytics.

The Rugby.

MLW, the Captain and I to Newcastle Saturday last to see Scotland play Samoa in the last game of the group stages of the Rugby World Cup.

Rugby is the family sport and we've been following the world cup pretty closely. I haven't seen all of the matches but I know who's played who and what the result was. Those of you kind enough to pay any attention to me on Facebook will have experienced my bafflement at the orang utan and my dismay at the quality and the partiality of the ITV commentary team.

But that is by the by - most of family go to Newcastle's St James' Park to watch the game. Scotland, the favourites, need to win to ensure they qualify for the quarter-finals. Samoa need to win to have any chance of third place and automatic qualification for the next world cup in Japan in 2019.

We travelled by train. A train so filled with Scotland supporters that it felt like the bar at Teucthars. So many Scotland tops, past and preseent it felt like a montage of Murrayfield Past, Present and Yet to Come. Not a seat unbooked on the train. We left at 11.00, arrived at 12.25, in time for a short walk to China Town for an all you can eat buffet at Lau's (a well made recommendation of f3f4 of this parish - both digitally and IRL).

This is not the first rugby match in Newcastle I've been to. I am a Falcons' fan of many decades standing. (FAAALC-ons. Who's Gus?) but it was my first trip inside St James - which is a magnificent stadium. The main stand is tall, highly raked and has a fabulous clear roof, making it both snug and a cauldron of atmosphere. With a capacity of about 50,000 and I'd estimate 30,000 travelling support it felt more like home match than many games at Murrayfield i've been too.

The game was tense. Samoa were clearly trying to pack a whole World Cups worth of skills and tries in to the first half. They scored. We scored. They scored again. So did we. Not since the cavalry revolution of the 5th Century AD has offence proven so dominant over defence. MLW, who had a several pints of beer, was swearing at the Scotland defence, the Samoan backs, the match officials, people in the crowd, me like a Valkyrie who had stubbed her toe, once again, on the corner of the door. In one of the highest scoring matches of the World Cup Scotland and Samoa traded scores with Scotland just doing enough to keep in touch during the first half.

During the second half Scotland had gathered their wits and sussed out a way of playing the Samoan team who had arrived rather than the earlier Samoan team who had lost to South Africa and Japan. This didn't stop them kicking to the corner a few times. This is a practise of which I disapprove, ranking it with incest and English country dancing. The score crept upwards with Scotland gradually gaining a slight advantage, Towards the end of the game I thought they'd won it when Laidlaw scored a try to take Scotland 10 points ahead with five minutes to go. Then I thougt they'd lost it when Samoa immediately hit back with a try of their own. A draw would be uncomfortable.

Scotland hold on for the win.

We then headed to the fanzone to hang out, get some food, watch a bit of the Australia vs Wales game and ride on the dodgems. We stayed a little too long and had to run for our train home catching it with only a minute to spare.

Home by 7.30 we watched the rest of Strictly and then to bed after an emotionally tense day at the World Cup.

The New Flat of My Father

*singing* Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau

My dad has bought a flat. It is on the same park as my flat and about an eight minute walk door to door. Ground floor, main door He becomes the owner on Friday but as a courtesy the vendor has let him have the keys early. So on Sunday MLW, the Captain and I went round to help him do some thinking and planning. The flat is very recently refurbished so needs almost nothing doing to it but the furniture needs planning out.

Gloriously, the flat has a small private courtyard on the south side of the buillding. I've been recruited to do some garden design. I'm thinking fruit trees and birds and comfy sofas. I shall look forward to sitting out there on sunny afternoons in the years to come.

It's nice to have the old boy in the same suburb. I think, with three of his grandchildren in Australia, and one not living with her dad he might as well be as close as possible to one of them. The Captain will be able to walk down to see his grandad on his own within a year or so.

I help him move in a load of furniture this weekend and he'll move in properly over the coming weeks before giving up the rental flat soon.

Iron Sky.

I watched Iron Sky - the movie about Nazis on the Moon. It had it's moments but perhaps the kindest thing that could be said about it is that it is better fantasy movie about cartoon Nazis than Inglorious Bastards by Quentin Tarantino.

I'm glad to have seen it but mostly so I can now divide my life in to a period in which I may be tempted to watch Iron Sky (now, blessedly the past,) and a period in which I will not be tempted to watch Iron Sky (the future).
danieldwilliam: (machievelli)
The last episode of Doctor Who featured a Bootstrap Paradox. It was a pretty good two-parter and I enjoyed it.


But I can never forget that there lurks, deep in space and time and unimaginable evil. Well, a prosaic script-writer who's gotten a little over excited.

Fuelled by Moff-hate I've got a bootstrap paradox for you.

In the near future humanity invents a time machine. A secret society of disgruntled fans, calling themselves The Daughters of Romana, discover the location of the time machine and steal it with hilarious consequences.

Lost in time they eventually find themselves in the early sixties where they meet Sydney Newman. He's in a pub near Television Centre mulling over how to fulfil the BBC's aims of bringing entertainment and education to the masses. The Daughters of Romana bumble in the pub, full of their own excitement and legacy rightous indignation. The spill Newman's pint. Buying him another they fall into conversation and tell of their adventures. Fascinated but disbelieving Newman buys them all pint after pint in a determined effort to keep the unbelievable stories of their rambling through space-time from the dawn of their Moff-hate to the current day coming.

Now drunk and enraged by the fresh memory of what Moffat has done they take their time machine to the 2003 British Comedy Awards. Coupling, perhaps the best thing Moffat has done receives an award. Moffat has been quaffing the celebratory champers. He's already a little tipsy before the award. By the end of the awards ceremony he's fully cut and singing. The Daughters of Romana confront a drunk Moffat. Demanding an apology for a crime he has not yet committed they confuse Moffat who become beligerant. The beligerant Moffat hits every hot button of our Time Travelling Whovian Ultras. Moffat knows and he's not even sorry. Fear turns to Hate. Hate Turns to Anger. Anger leads to a Five Star Kicking. Punctuating each outrage with a kick or a punch or slap they give vent to their fury with a full list of EVERYTHING he has done.

Moffat, already drunk and now badly beaten slips into unconsciousness. Horrified by what they have done the Daughters of Romana load take their time machine into an ambulance and set of to The Borders Royal Infirmary A&E UNIT with a semi-conscious Moffat.

Moffat comes too in the recovery room with nothing but a vague, drug fuelled but utterly incomprehensible memory of a box with a siren and a very very very important list of timey-wimey wibbley- wobbley, Daleks in every episode, impossible girl astronauts, sonic Sunglasses, Galashiels Burning, nymphomaniac space archaeologists.

That's a bootstrap paradox.

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