"...September 77, Port Elizabeth weather fine, it was business as usual in police room 619..."Jats sings lying on his couch in his little cottage by the canal, the words coming back to him easily, even though he had not heard them for such a long time they are thankfully ingrained forever "...and the world all looks towards South Africa again now as it is about to host the Football World Cup, a country that to some, very recently, was the last bastion of how things should be done, the pinnacle of white supremacy, the blacks in their rightful place crowded in their filthy ghettos spreading their diseases away from the white men and their precious white women, as it should be, as their God decreed, until the likes of Steve Biko, almost a forgotten man now, and then that damned Mandela came along, oh how things have changed now in his rainbow nation, where now there is hope for all and not the chosen few, but still we hear the little reminiscent echo's, disguised as patriotism or conservatism, not quite saying what has just been said here, yet you can almost hear them thinking it, between their carefully chosen words here and there on the internet, and so, when the first ball is kicked next week I will raise a glass, not just to toast the tournaments start, but to toast South Africa and those men who kept on believing that there is no such thing as part freedom..." as Jats sings again "....You can blow out a candle, but you can't blow out a fire, once the flames begin to catch, the wind will blow it higher..."

"...well I am back then, battered and bruised, but only a little as slowly we seem to be having an impact on clearing the Balsam that was satisfying as we sat by the fire looking out at the lake in the shadow of the mountain..." enjoying now the first game for the Dutch the artizans of world football with their legacy of Cruyf inspiring them on but never quite making it "...and on the way down I simply had to see the first England match somewhere, difficult in the foreign land of the Welsh valleys that still defeats modern technology but then after two days of the soporific affect of clicking back into natures rhythms the desire melted to freak it I am not moving, now that a radio station was found to satisfy my craving, others taking over as my toes toasted and the Brandy soothed my throat, still it is good to be back though and back to reality..."

repost from elsewhere...

Quote:

Did you happen to watch the match between Australia and Germany? How pitifully sad it was! We never stood a chance...The socceroos did get a pep song from John Travolta, so hopefully that will work. It did sound a bit gay though.

"...yes I saw both and John's performance was gayer, just, not the performances of old from the Roo's who seem to be missing a centre forward and the Germans looked in unusually early form, diving, cheating and generally being lucky bastards, still, hopefully we will avoid them in the next rounds until the final..." says Jats really not believing it, settling down to watch Argentina now already admiring Messi, Tevez, Mascherano for their skill and tenacity, a trio of my favourite little men "...really enjoying it now as we move into the second round of games and looking forward to the England game tomorrow night where JATS will put on war paint and remember this summer forever then..."

("...I make a bee line each time spirit..." said the goblin, adding "...now you have to be very gentle with JATS at this point, it's a very stressful period, would cup and all that..." in fact, the goblin wondered if they actually had wide screen television sets in the maternity wards so that the "dads to be" wouldn't fret about the all important match during the birth then)

{{"Ah how sweet." mused the spirit as she nods. "Will do then, and-of course- best wishes shall be bestowed upon JATs in all times. I am sure Jaikin will keep all well watched in his time away." With that the small cat disappeared among the folds of JATs words as the spirit hummed a lullaby. }}

"...not to fear then as it seems my world cup could be over by next Wednesday after witnessing the most inept performance from England, ever, with even Rooney playing like his harsh nickname Shreks donkey friend and then the carnival of football would no longer be a joy just a nagging reminder of our shame..." laughs Jats with his head in his hands, thinking he will join a football forum, perhaps they will understand, as he pushes Jaikin away grumpily.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/8768122.stm

"...just came across an excellent article which sums things up really, for any readers amongst you, agreeing with most of it before the first ball was kicked..." settling down to watch the Dutch now who have a touch of steel about them these days and should be a good watch "...still, you will never take away a young boys dreams..."

repost from elsewhere, battling again

Quote:

I have an idea. If you wish to talk only with yourself, don't bother with a forum. Just open a word document and say what you want to say. Answer as you wish. Tell me, have you made any friends while here? You are wasting precious time. You have been here for 2 months. Do something worthwhile.

"...I suppose that in writing one is first going over the post within oneself, so any accusation of correspondence as being some double-monologue could have some truth to it then, or else everyone would just be posting the very first thing that came into their heads now..." ventured the goblin knowing that each post had to first make sense to the one who is posting it, so the goblin imagined that most posters both talked and read it over until it felt ready for posting now, correspondence became a double-monologue then, concluding "...well, I befriend everyone but I do not test their friendship ever, simply I promise to listen now, that's all I can do for anyone anyway, and am I not well fed by it, very rewarding in fact..."

Butterflies danced by silently while the chorus of crickets filled the air and leapt from his oncoming boots in the hundreds as they swished through the bracken heading towards the centre of the meadow. He stood atop an isolated large flat stone looking out toward the sea, several miles in the distance, instinctively scanning for approaching rogue dark clouds before noticing the snake a few feet from his boots basking in the mid day sun, which turned and looked him in the eye before slithering away into the grass. Sitting down, he too felt the warmth of the stone and as he pulled out an apple from his rucksack he studied several bees hopping systematically from the pretty pink flowers that had colonised the clump of brambles to his right, enjoying the foreign feast that produces some of the finest honey in the land. Jats chuckled to himself as he remembered the conversation with the farmer of the adjoining lands earlier, where he had told of attending a conservation planning meeting where the speaker 'some woman with a bit of paper from London', as he had described her, who, when asked how the brambles would be controlled had replied 'we don't plan to plant any brambles' . Jats then stood up, reached for his lance and destroyed the flowers "...ah good to be back..."

a repost from elsewhere, prompted by a Facebook thread...

"...why yes the mob, such a fickle creature, swinging this way and that, and so hard to see when you are caught up in it, children and grown ups alike, take this weekend when my lot rushed in asking if they could go on Facebook before they had even taken their coats off, as to my dismay it had been allowed, and also by the parents of half their classmates it seems, with their children now addicted to Farmville, being drawn back to plant crops, buying chickens and cows, all busy outdoing each other, caught up in the hysteria, with 'friendship requests' appearing every five minutes from who knows, in those shark infested waters..." Jats sips his tea, shaking his head in dismay "...by Sunday I had had enough, after several long chats it was banned, and distraction plans put in place, armed with telescopic litter pickers, dayglo jackets donned, they were pushing a wheelbarrow of bug boxes, tools and bags along the canal, and became part of a small group of volunteers who proceeded to clean up a wild-flower meadow and woodland fringe, seeing then a glimpse of the true nature of man as they shrieked with delight/disgust at finding bags of faeces, animal and human, amongst all the other rubbish, and was finished off with a lesson in coppicing trees shouting 'timber'  as each one fell to their cut. As we marched back, looking more forward to Sunday lunch, it was then that I answered their earlier questions, of 'why are we doing this Dad? We are not getting paid' as they played swords with the litter pickers that they had been allowed to keep, were warm and proud, despite the cold, with their logs that they had cut stored in our rucksacks, and a flue chimney for my log burner worth £80 tucked under my arm, given to me by one of the ladies who I discovered had been about to throw it out and just gave to us and plus, much to the boys delight, a guided tour of her narrow boat. Yes it was then that I answered their questions, smiling and saying 'I think we did quite well out of it don't you' and Facebook was completely forgotten about..."

Jats escapes a little, a momentary pause knowing he will be late now, the weather turning in his favour, and so stares at the blank page, only his imagination feeding him then "...ignore it, it will go away, no, no not I, for if I escape the ban I can go on and on, as others feed me elsewhere, and then there's that imagination and past imaginings to draw upon, still, it's only fair that you feed them back then..." Jats chuckles at the view counts "...selfish in your silence, so, like a bee floating above a field full of flowers, I will just pick and choose from the endless supply, let some float on by, leave them to their miseries, revisit perhaps in a couple of years, see how you are getting on then, but, I will keep one, regardless, just for amusement or a damsel in distress..." he bows now with a flourish on the way out of the door.