OCCUPIED COUNTRY

One Too Many Mornings

We kept happening upon sculptures like the one on the left as we trolled through the alleys, backstreets, squares and innards of Venice. Severed heads lay in the middle of main thoroughfares. Strange obelisks appeared where you least expected to find them. Huge balls of wool, amorphous blobs scattered like playdough and all surrounded by architecture to die for.

We ambled down to the waterfront near San Marco and took a left away from the madness. After a while I decided to sit and admire the view across the lagoon. Dearest set off for a solo snoop round the shops walk. After fifteen minutes or so I was aware of something huge floating across the waterscape. It was a massive - and I mean fuckin' massive - pristine, "yacht"; although the word "yacht" did not do it justice. It was a mini city. Five stories above the water line and God knows how many below.

We later found out it was Abramovich's. I guess only someone with the dizzy fortune he has could afford to run a city-on-the-sea like that.

As I sat there pondering the colossal wealth of this shady individual, I began to consider the effect of his billions on English footie. Soon I had moved on from Abramovich and onto the real destroyer of the game I love. Murdoch. Actually that should be Fuckin'Murdoch. An odious, loathsome, amoral twat who would disembowel his own relatives if he thought it would make him even richer and more powerful.

This prick - I continued my train of thought - is responsible for all those stupid kick off times and day of match changes. This prick is responsible for idiotic fixtures such as Portsmouth v Newcastle on a Wednesday night with a 7:45pm start. This prick bought and sold the FA way back when. Sky and the Premiership almost seem like the same entity. Watch Sky Sports News and you would never know a viable and successful football league ever existed in this country before Fuckin'Murdock spotted his cash cow and milked it for all it was worth. We hear of "the most prolific goalscorer in the Premiership", "most clean sheets in the Premiership". Suddenly all previous statistics and data seems to have been airbrushed out of history. Stalin would be proud.

Anyway I arrive home and - shock of shocks - the FA are worried about falling attendencies and claims that the Premiership is a boring load of shite because nobody can, without Abramovich-like investment, compete with the top three, and the rest are that shit scared of the financial implications of relegation that their first priority is not to lose. Factor in the exorbitant prices paid for tickets and it's not hard to see where the problems are.

Next thing, I log onto City's website to discover that our game against Everton in a few weeks has been moved and we now can enjoy the experience of an 11:15AM kick off ON A SUNDAY MORNING!. WTF?

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Oh no - what is going on with the world? Am I destined to spend the rest of my life watching the Great Religious War of the 21st century played out on my TV every night like I used to watch the Great Ideological War of the late 20th century in my youth. Everywhere I look it's fuckin' Sharia this and Holy that. Everywhere I look I see more and more belief in fuckin' fairy stories. I was shocked rigid a few weeks ago after spotting a local church having an extension built. It can now probably house 60 devout bigots smug in their heaven-here-I-come certanties, but a church that can hold 2,000??? In Britain??? In 2005???

Perhaps it's time for the rational among us to start becoming religious leaders of our own? I mean, you don't have to believe or owt like that, and it could be a nice little earner given the growth of the permanently bewildered over the past years.

Then again, perhaps not.