Seven. It’s a prime number. Is that important? It’s odd. Is that? In some cultures it’s lucky. It has a nice, round, feel. It is the number of years since you left.
It feels like a point to turn around, in that roundness. In some ways I can pick any point, hold it stationary, have all else revolve around it. Pick that point as I (or you) then; we have never moved, everything else spinning in chaotic dance around us. And I have never left your side; for in that dance you cannot be gone away. Yet, somehow, you are.
Once a year Heather and I head to Chester, for theatre, history and to see the monkeys (also known as nephews). This year was no different, and so we found ourselves hanging around Euston waiting for a train. Heather wouldn’t let me go in the bookshop so it’s probably for the best the train soon arrived and we were on our way.
Nearly five year ago I cried off going to a picnic to watch my home town club at Wembley. I may be a forever Toon fan but I follow and support Gateshead from afar. There’s an app on my phone which alerts me to football kick-offs, scores, etc. One whistle blows for Newcastle and the other for Gateshead FC. Sadly it looks very likely that there may be one less whistle next season, as Gateshead will be no more.
In some sort of miraculous season they fell just short of promotion play-offs, despite having an owner who seems to be nothing more than a cover for a certain Joseph Cala, a man who couldn’t pass a fit and proper test to own a goldfish never mind a football club (officially he is “chief financial advisor”—more like chief asset stripper). Having been thrown out of their ground by the council for not paying the rent, having already failed to pay the players, and having allegedly put the club up for sale for a pound only to ignore a serious bid from a potential owner with a good track record (a club “for sale” in only the most lying terms is something I’m familiar with from NUFC) they’ve just sacked the remaining members of staff (including removing manager, Ben Clark, by email), to leave them with, er…nothing really 1.
So a club with no manager, which doesn’t matter because they have no players, which doesn’t matter because they have no ground. That isn’t a club 😥
A Heather and I decided to have a little trip out to the British Museum as it was far too long since we were last there. We saw many things, from a great dumdum head, to a scary assistant to the judge of hell, to the king of the world.
It’s becoming something of a tradition to have a quick trip north just before Christmas and this year was no exception as Heather and I managed to squeeze a couple of days in Newcastle into a crowded December.