Flat Out

One fortunately does not celebrate Christmas.

I got a twinge the last time I was at the computer and by the time I got down the stairs I could barely walk - back trouble.

I am one of those who has had congenital back trouble ever since my early 20.s - and it decided to floor me for the Christmas period, which is possibly a good thing.

It did mean I could not go and get some results from the hospital, and id did mean that when it snowed here in Timisoara to give us a white Christmas I didn't need to go and walk in the damn stuff - so clouds and silver lining what?

I also think it might have contributed to a reduction in the swelling of the hernia (did I mention the hernia - number three on my body is trying to tell me something chart?)

Not that other things are not swollen - grapefruit size scrotal sack making feel like an over endowed ram.

But enough, I must try to keep this thing tasteful.

Too much information ...

I must warn you not to read on if you have a delicate stomach or sensitive nature.

Part of the problem of this tumour thing is the fact that it sticks out like a sore thumb - and that there seem to be associated side effects.

One of the most intriguing is the look - there has been a degree of swelling under the skin and the result is very reminiscent of the nose of a Bull Elephant seal.

The distortion is not discomforting, most of the time (although other swelling does lead to a need for careful walking) .

It does force a degree of readjustment.

The sheer physicality of it and the ability of the body to stretch and swell is becoming a fascination - and one looks down at oneself in the bath with a distance - one inspects and examines as if it were not the self, but an independent body one were looking at.

Not quite all there ...

or too much of a good thing?

There is an extension on my implement of masculinity which has sent several doctors scurrying. Scalpels and anesthesia are now brandished with aplomb.

I tend to move at a more restrained pace. Something to do with the extension.

A triple whammy of heart, hernia and tumor have certainly coloured the festive season with regards to your humble servant - although I have to admit to a sharpening of my wit.

The difficulty is in breaking the news to others - I couldn't give a damn (Quite frankly, my dear) and see in it an inevitable - of family genetics, if not of mortality itself.

I hope to keep posting - although it is very difficult to get to the computer - and I am off to the UK for the cruelest cut of all (I am most likely going to earn my qualifications for working in the Imperial Chinese Bureaucracy - or supervising the Harem of some over cautious Pasha) so sporadic, barren posts only in the near future.

Fantasy Football

... Romania!

Iancu (BBLB) on the tv - administrative difficulties shouldn't affect the football team ... erm, like not paying them?

Can you imagine anyone not being paid and being expected to go out and give their all? Well, some charity workers for a good cause, but Iancu is not a good cause!

And idiot Petrescu ... "we gave them a lesson in how to play football" - I thought the idea was to score goals - and what was the score, oh yes, a 1-1 draw. Strange lesson.

But what is really frightening is the way the sports press are allowing these people to get away wit it ... still no reporting of the financial mismanagement, the failure to pay wages, the interference in the team by a man who is supposed to be suspended.

Fat Man Singing

... and the show is not over 'til!

Let me tell you the plot of a soap opera, not too far from reality ...

There is a certain Big Bellied, Little Brained Football-Club "owner" (Romanian) who seems to think the rest of the world is as stupid as he! I suspect Bass but could be an aging tenor.

He is apparently out of money - he is known to owe large amounts to various 'friends' so his personal probity is somewhat suspect.

He tried to recover his loses by selling the club he 'owns' (after loosing 6 points for the season by his idiotic actions) - but doesn't seem to have been successful.

Whilst he was quiet and not involved, the team flourished - 10 national games without a loss. Team spirit goes up, the fans sing a chorus of praise.

The Big Belly's deals fall through and he tries to take over control. Dark strings in the background of celebrations.

First thing he thinks of is the selling of low level players he's purchased after bad advice from the ever accompanying toadies and brown tonguers (got to be tenors with a whine and bass singing falsetto).

To do this he wants them to play in the first team. He sends a list of to be included to the heroic team manager/coach (lyric tenor of a baritone) who refuses to change the team.

Mysteriously, against the odds, the next game is lost ... and there is the suspicion certain players have sold out to the Big Belly! Even more suspicious is the public vilification Big Belly launches against the coach.

The chorus mutters but is too intoxicated to really respond - disaster looms if it doesn't act, but will it see through Big Belly in time?

Team spirit is starting to be rocked - fear of the none payment of wages, the removal of an effective, winning coach, inefficient and poor support staff starts to run an undercurrent of sharps and discordant noise in the newly forged harmonies.

Disaster - a threat from Big Belly, just before an important match - teams spirit is further eroded ... but with an heroic effort the team manage to salvage a draw ...

Big Belly strikes again - wages are not paid ... footballers, who had been giving their all are not given wages, the coach is not paid ... and the press stay quiet! Distracted by Big Belly and his talk of the future, they fail to see through the lies and deceptions ...

What will the final act bring ?

The Russians came ....

Great time at the Ballet last night - a gala with proper dancers. Amazing how quickly things go when you are having fun.

Mind you, I still am not over fond of 19th Century Ballet.

The child behind had a most appropriate reaction to the small male who came on wearing what looked like a pleated, tartan school-girl's uniform - give it a chocolate.

All that was required to make the evening perfect was to shoot the penguin who gave a speech at the start.

Romanians do like talking.

Palin goes Tybalt

Skynews this morning gave the lovely headline:

Palin claims Obama consorts with terrorists.

Which instantly got the Shakespeare antenna twitching.

Tybalt, when he was searching for an insult, used the word consort ... ah, I said, maybe the woman (or her speech writer) has a classic education after all!

But no, it was only the editors at the British based news service who seem to have had an education.

Doesn't take away the Tybaltian nature of the insult though - and, as we all know, Tybalt was a rat.