The End.

The year has finished. I have penned my thoughts. Now what...

After a few days of 2010 I have decided not to continue as a diarist. Sad I know, especially after dedicating myself so committedly over the past 12 months to my '09 effort. However, this doesn't mean that I haven't learnt a great deal, or that I will stop writing. Instead, I think this choice will drive me to write more. To further indulge in certain topics, controversies, feelings, and emotions...

I doubt anyone will ever see what was written about them, good or bad. Or what I have done, perhaps shockingly(?!) I don't know. Primarily, my diary was set as a challenge to myself. I thought I would fail to complete it, but it became important, integral. A secret place to confide in. I have a newfound respect for people who annually dedicate time on these daily write-ups...

But for now my book will sit as a point of reference. '09 was a fun and interesting year for me. Thanks to everyone who made it pretty cool...

Show me your money...

So... The Yuletide holiday's bring people together(?!), everyone gets merry, and generally we all over-indulge heavily right... (This year, chill out on the sherry Nan, please!) O, plus debauchery of some sort usually takes place too! God love Christmas!

Back to debauchery...

The meaning: 1 a : extreme indulgence in sensuality b plural : orgies 2 archaic : seduction from virtue or duty.

I met up with some mates the other day. We took some time out of the pre-Xmas craziness to enjoy some un-festive pints, and discuss what has been going on in our lives... (As none of us ever stay in touch throughout the year - leaving me at times wondering if any of us actually like one-another...)

Well, anyway, everyone has a 'lad' mate, and ours did not disappoint... I mean I knew he had gone to Spain this summer, like Ibiza or somewhere, but the story he had created for himself was quite genius!

We all know the agenda when visiting these Spanish 'Party-Isles' - sun, getting shit-faced, and most importantly sex, check. After infilling with details from some of the more 'mediocre' nights, my mate decided, that on his next conquest he would refrain from any gawdy-looking British birds (the sort with the crispy-fried bikini lines) and instead, take on the might of a Spanish whore-house...

He said, that week he had been eyeing the place up (prices were competitive at between €80—€100) Suitably gassed up, he went stumbling towards the noted district and ventured in... It was grimey, dark, and seedy... Two old blokes sitting in the corner getting dances!

The conversation:

"Oow much?" my mate asked.

"€80..." replied the whore-secretary...

"Deeal" came the reply.

He was taken to a little side-room, lowly lit, crimson walls... (so all the clichés are true...) He had half and hour to have his way...

He had lined up a Hispanic-Latino, and claims he 'strapped up' - but became a tad sheepish when asked this question?! When she turned round, apparently she was startled by the size of his rager (I am skeptical of his cock-sureness, as he is only a small guy...) He reckoned she rarely got any young and feisty lads, just the usual old spunkers... Eurgh!

Once there though, he said any thought of coming-quick left his mind. To quote, "I drilled the shit out of her, she was loving it!" - her head smacking against the headboard, screaming! But, in spite of his determination to see-out his 30-minute filling, he failed! 12 minutes! Poor...

Hats off to the boy though! I mean sitting in a local pub, at Christmas, surrounded but fellow punters, but also some families trying to have a nice Crimbo (I hate this expression) meal, and we're louting about roaring at each detail from his adventure, tearing some bird to pieces... So lads, Magaluf in the summer...

Cigarettes & Sofas

Whoa, this image is nuts. I really can't explain how the hell I did this... I think it must be something to do with shutter speed?! It literally looks like a painting! Well, pretty glad I ran out of Ash's flat to grab my camera... Luckers.

Bruv... Chek ma bare rude kicks!

We have all been there... You walk past the garish Soccer World sign, the shit type of sports shop that you only ever find in bad Malls, which incidentally always sell rogue Rubin Kazan footy shirts from 1992, and store footballs in big football bins! Basically, they are terrible, yet you always seem to find yourself going in... brilliant!

I am there, in front of the wall of trainers, Chavs either side of me eyeing up the Air Max. Sore thumb doesn't even cut it! Anyway, I look down the wall of Reeboks mentally selecting the ones I would and wouldn't wear... I turn around, there they are, a classic pair of black Fila trainers! Boom. I am literally thinking "too good to be true".

The sneaks in question have everything. A comfy inner-sole, a thick enduring heel. They are the type of shoe you find stacked up in boxes with one demo-shoe on top. All this for the small sum of £10. Crazy. They even had my size too. So, I suppose what I am getting at is that although Soccer World's look, and genuinely are bloody terrible, you can unearth a retro bargain!

On a side note, you always get some heavily made-up Chav-bird cashier. You know, the type of girl that wears gold doll necklaces, and have terrible chat. Always a laugh. On a serious note though, I do think Chavs have the right idea. Their aesthetic, all about comfort and warmth. They are no mugs. Joggers, hoodies, beanie hats, shock absorbing trainers. These are guys that like to take care of oneself!

Sir Patrick Moore would think...

As I stare out my window (with my ears), into the shoegaze-y sky (keep with me here...), I become distracted and infected by a certain constellation - a musical one, known as Washed Out. Or more specifically/scientifically, it shall be named The Ernest Greene constellation, whose lo-fi chillwave (yes, it is being touted as that!) has proved thoroughly engaging.

My reason for drawing spatial euphemism’s in this post is necessary. The vast topic of space and the universe has a sort of synonymous link to this genuine, homemade, 80s-sounding dreaminess. Floaty synth repetition in track "Belong" bought me to two things, being lost in the thought of space in the early hours, coupled with being whisked away to a desert, standing in front of a mirage thinking why the fuck is my vision all blurred?!

This is why I like it. Greene's tracks provide an escapism, confusion, and have a general incomprehensibility about them. It is probably best to just sit back and let "Feel It All Around" and "Good Luck" take you.

Drift away...

Washed Out

Really...

Florian’s jewellery aims to ‘set its wearer free from the bonds of banality, to explore new dimensions of fantasy, imagination and physicality.’ Ok, well I am a young, fashion-conscious, modern man, yet I am really struggling here... Ropes? As a fashion accessory? Jewellery... Seriously? 

Born in 1967 in Austria, designer Florian Lastaetter graduated in Advanced Metal Design from the University of the Applied Arts in Vienna and also achieved a Degree in Philosophy at the University of Munich. His work represents a combination of his cerebral and material interests, evident in this collection, and has won him great international acclaim. 

This range of rope-wear is truly engaging, mainly because what are you going to be thinking when you see a guy wearing one of these glamourised dog-leads? They possess the qualities of a piece of abstract sculpture, which admittedly is cool! But, that said, I just can't see such fashion catching on, especially not for £150+ a pop?! 

Although, that said, the subtle colour contrasts used make the pieces desirable and appealing, whilst the malleability and creative, playful nature of the ropes add an element of fun, a mischievous sexualness. 

Florian. Beautifully outrageous, but not for me! 

A disgusting sport.

In a court of law, if evidence is found that could change the outcome of a verdict it is generally listened to, adjudged, and then a suitable conclusion is made accordingly. Right, so with this basic grasp of judicial practice in mind, why are such processes, vital to decision making, not replicated more so in everyday life? In this instance, it would appear that football is the culprit of a crime...

I am not a obsessive football fan, nor am I any percent Irish, but I was disgusted and appalled at how the Republic of Ireland were left helpless last night, to crash out from their opportunity (a rare one at that for Ireland) to participate in the World Cup finals next June.

The story. 1-0 down from the first leg, Ireland at least needed a goal to stay in the tie away from home at the Stade de France, Paris. This was always going to be difficult. However, Robbie Keane got said needed goal after about half and hour. Ireland looked dominant within themselves on the pitch, and agonizingly pushed for a second goal during normal time, whilst France (with there abundance of megastars i.e. Benzema on the bench) offered up nothing creative.

So, with 90 minutes up, the tie headed for extra-time, with a somewhat expected conclusion to be drawn from the penalty spot 30 minutes later. Not if Thierry Henry had anything to say about it. I mean this is a player who has been about the game influentially for a good decade, always in my mind, as a prolific and honest striker. His skill alone has tormented defenders and goalkeepers alike, and has meant that he has played for important teams in both England and Spain. You could say he is an ideal ambassador for the game...

Well, this reputation, for me, has been left in tatters (which I no Mr. Henry will not give any sort of a dam about). He worked within his gamesmanship means to help blatantly cheat France to the World Cup by handling the ball, keeping it in play, from which he cut back to Gallas to head into an empty net! Outrage! I hear you cry...

Yes, it truly was outrageous. You could say Ireland should've done more, but they were robbed. With no consultation of the linesman, the referee asserted the legitimacy of the goal, which ultimately condemned Ireland to a highly undeserved loss. Two post match comments read like this:

Dunne (Irish defender) said: "Henry admitted afterwards he handled it, but it doesn't make me feel any better. We were cheated."

Henry: "I will be honest it was a handball, but I'm not the referee."

From a personal point of view I am thinking this:

1) If Thierry Henry has made this admission straight after the game, then why did he do it in the first place?

2) Seriously, why are there not replays offered if there is a suspicion that something has been allowed to take place illegally?

3) Why were Shay Given and Damien Duff penalised when protesting their point that they had blatantly been cheated?

4) What sort of an example does this set to anyone who looks up to Henry as a honest professional player?

5) And ultimately, why is the result allowed to stand?

Unsurprisingly, the Irish manager, Trapattoni, maintained that it was sickening to not qualify for the World Cup in such a bizarre and unjust manner: "We are angry. It is a bitter evening for me".

But, for me, I think that the wider disappointment of the manor in which the winning goal was scored infects fairness. "I am upset for fair play. We talk many times about fair play, I go to schools and talk to young children about the importance of fair play, and this happens" said Trapattoni. Truly baffling and simply unfair!

Enjoy.