The Road, Green and Gold, Pimlico

After about 12 years of living in North London I have moved to Pimlico. It's nice.

Manchester United have secured a £500 million pound bond from various deluded investors. Seriously how people could have any faith in the Glazer's after their woeful tenure as our indebted owners is beyond me. Glad so see plenty of green and gold scarves at O.T on Saturday though, complementing the anti-Glazer chants and genuine venom now brewing amongst all parts of our fanbase, not just the clued-up hardcore who saw the proverbial shit hitting the fan back in 2005. I'm as guilty as anyone for continuing to purchase United tickets despite my reservations. I won't be renewing this June. If we had all walked away five years ago they wouldn't have lasted a season. Fair play to all the FCUM fans who have been proved right but I'm hoping to see more unity amongst our supporters now that we have a viable and highly dangerous target in our sights. And no Sir Alex I couldn't give a fuck what happens on the pitch whilst our club is systematically destroyed by these poisonous Yanks, so stop trying to placate both parties and do what's best for United, not you.

Mind you Wednesday is going to be (pardon the pun) 'massive' in more ways than one. Yes we are indeed playing for local pride against the 'Massives' who will be counting on their evil petro-dollars, delusional chairmen and mercurial players to carry them through to a (meaningless) final at Wembley and the possibility of their first 'cup' for 34 years. I'm not going to pretend that I'd rather beat them than Arsenal on Sunday though, this is serious shit and we simply cannot afford to loose. Despite their 2-1 victory in the 1st leg last week we totally fucking destroyed them off the pitch...two red flares smoked like medieval battle torches in our end during the darkened rendition of 'Blue Moon' and by all accounts we completely took the piss outside after the game. Can't see the blue shite doing the same thing on Wednesday somehow.

Ok, new review this week, first for a while. Saw the UK premiere of The Road last October at the BFI Film Festival and left feeling relieved that director John Hillcoat had not diminished the incredible power of Cormac McCarthy's novel. I wrote this 'reaction' as part of a job application over the weekend. Enjoy.

On a side note check out the newspaper coverage of Paris Connections, the film I am working on at the moment, which is a joint production with....wait for it....Tesco. Yes indeed. We are witnessing the future of film investment live. Possibly.

Until next time.

A long break, christmas, and a lament for football.

Happy New Year. 2010 the start of a new decade, new beginnings and perhaps the final nail in the coffin of New Labour. Worried. Excited. Couldn't really give a fuck. These are immediate reactions to a global obsession with the invisible boundaries imposed by new years and new decades, where people insist on casting a beady eye into the long forgotten past whilst contemplating a supposedly uncertain future.

Personally the "2000's" involved morphing from snotty little kid obsessed with naughty things into an immature man obsessed with other more interesting things like politics and shit yea!?! (I was 13 in 2000.) Go Obama! Not.

If I'm honest the last ten years was mostly about trying hard (for social acceptance) to get intoxicated as indiscreetly as possible (drinking, smoking, pilling, sniffing) ect. You name it I tried it as a motley teenager straining to gain credence with my peers. Along the way there was school, uni, sex, football, drum n bass, a growing appreciation of quality literature and a burgeoning love of film. Twinned with these fleeting flights of passion was a growing dissatisfaction with loads of things like the countryside, gillets, Top Gear, manchester city and scousers. I came to love the cities of Manchester, Leeds, Barcelona, Madrid, Rio, Buenos Aries, Sydney, Milan, Miami and New York, whilst sadly growing tired of London, albeit not of life.

The 'noughties' as many idiots have titled it was also a decade of varied fashions and musical tastes, in that I began it wearing Moshino jeans and DC trainers whilst rocking out to Slipknot and trying to steal cigarettes (deeply confused) and ended it wearing an expensive Barbour Mac and a pair of Nike Hi-tops, listening to Kraftwerk and sniffing plant feeder. (Fucked up.)

Shrinking the microscope of memory down a notch to 2009 many have proclaimed it the worst year on record. On a personal note it began well and ended badly. Traveling around South America, trekking in the Amazon, lying on 100 different beaches and living a life of general sluttishness was fucking top. Working as an unpaid intern, going off football, taking up smoking again, head splitting hangovers, worrying about serious stuff and never having money to spend on good clothes and summer festivals was totally shite. My main problem with 2009 though was the fact that it was also a year of lists. As a society we have become obsessed with 'listing', as if books, films, celebrities, sexual acquaintances and songs and experiences can be quantified in some sort of tangible manner. If I have to read another article celebrating the Top 100 films of 'noughties' or listen to a twat from The Guardian reeling of inane predictions for the 'teenies' I will be really, quite frankly, even more bored than I am now.

Yes indeed such is the extent of my present boredom (I've been given a half day because of snow) that I have once again taken up the pen and embarked on a journey of total pointlessness, by recording thoughts, feelings and lists of things I don't like in the guise of a poem, as a means of literary explanation. Yes my first blog for weeks.

Lots of things have happened since we last met which are of no interest to anyone: trip with United to Wolfsburg (strange), Christmas (tasty), New Year (messy), and some other stuff involving a much hyped and ultimately okish film showcasing revolutionary 3D technology and a student from Nigeria blowing his cock off trying to bring down an American passenger plane. An odd festive period to say the least.

But now I'm back, it's 2010, London is covered by snow, Britain has ground to a halt and I am bringing joy to the masses with amazing, regular weekly updates in the blogosphere. Next week: Leeds United (fuck), moving house (shit) and The Millennium Trilogy by Stig Larsson. And I promise promise promise I will try to do reviews. Not that any of you give a fuck! Muchos love adios.