Polish Mussels, Musings on Madness, Football Hooligans, and Seeking a Student Siren.
A Guide to Life, Love, and Molluscs (Maybe).
I had a brainwave! Well, would you Adam and Eve it?
It's true! Only an hour ago I was sitting outside a cafe, adjacent to a mosque where a funeral service was taking place, when just down the road, I noticed a DPD delivery van parked up. That was it, a lightbulb moment sent my creative imagination into overdrive, and from that moment on the decision was made. I want my dead body packaged up in a cardboard box (environmentally friendly, of course) and delivered to wherever it has to be by a DPD courier. Genius, and the best damn idea I've ever had in my life thus far! You do not know how impressed I was with myself for this moment of inspiration.
No stupidly over-the-top prices for a funeral director and all that nonsense. Just a plain and simple despatch. You see, call me unique if you will, but I don't really care what happens to me when I'm dead, by virtue of the somewhat uncanny reality that I will, in fact, be dead and way past caring anyway. So, trust me when I say, I will not be getting up to complain. There will be no Jesus like resurrection any time soon after. No reimagination, whereby my carcass gets taken to a taxidermist, and I am stuffed and placed butt naked in a cornfield in a crucifixion pose to scare the pigeons away from munching on the freshly sown seeds. Although, having said that, I'm confident in saying the sight of my bollock naked body standing upright in a field would probably scare any life form off for a considerable number of miles, as numerous previous girlfriends would testify to!
Speaking of which. It's about time I sought another female partner. I've been too busy writing for the past year, and haven't been looking for that very reason. Now, I have a particular liking for University students, simply because they are career-minded, and, unlike others nowadays, aren't popping out babies as if there is an urgency before they somehow disappear out of fashion altogether and their own lives depend upon it. Ria, as given an entire chapter to in my Amazon-published book, was a psychology student who I had the most fantastic, stimulating and enlightening time with while she was studying at the University of the West of England.
As I would expect from all female undergraduates, she didn't have babies, marriage, and happy family scenarios on the horizon. No, her life ahead was carefully planned to build a career first of all. Then, when she was older, more settled in her job, and with everything in place she would consider settling down. We shared fun, laughter, deep and meaningful conversations into the night, great food, adventures, life experiences and more. Brilliant! However, she graduated, as one would, and quite rightly moved on with her life, career, and quite possibly several months of therapy after tolerating my sense of humour while we were together.
To be honest, I miss that, and I'm up for it again. So, if you know of any students up for the challenge, I'm ready, willing, available and very approachable. All one has to do is come and make the introduction at the city centre, Caffe Nero. Simple as that.
Now, from the sublime to the ridiculous, and the further lunacy of the world outside my four walls. You know, what I call the 'asylum?'
There was once, a quite famous zoologist, ethologist, as well as a popular author in human sociobiology named Desmond Morris, who stated that he went to watch a fight once, and a football match broke out - or words to that effect, who couldn't have been any more spot-on!
So, what on Earth was yesterday's clash in Cardiff, where Bristol City were playing, all about, as this headline from The Daily Mirror explains?
"Shocking moment mob rampage through Cardiff city centre before 'stay away' warning.
Masked football fans rampaged through the streets of Cardiff city centre today, as footage showed the large group rushing over to a Wetherspoon pub and throwing missiles."
I just don't get it! British football, a glorious spectacle of athleticism, camaraderie, and… oh, the sheer, unadulterated joy of a good old-fashioned riot! You see, while other sports may boast of graceful ballet on ice or the poetry of a perfectly executed slam dunk, football, offers something far more exhilarating: the primal thrill of unleashing your inner caveman upon a bewildered rival supporter.
Imagine, if you will, the pent-up aggression of a nation perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, channelled into a single, glorious outlet: the football terraces. Here, the shackles of civilisation are cast aside, and the true British spirit – a potent cocktail of jingoism, beer, and a deep-seated resentment of authority – can finally flourish. From the thunderous chants of defiance to the meticulously choreographed ballet of flying fists and broken bottles, the football ground becomes a stage for the most dramatic, most violent chaotic performance this side of the Roman Colosseum.
Unlike cricket, rugby, tennis, darts, and more, it's always football that brings out the very worst in human nature - and for what exactly, kicking a bag of air around a piece of greenery for ninety minutes (give or take)? I really don't get it!
The beautiful game. A symphony of skill, a… mass brawl outside the stadium? Indeed, the "beautiful game" in Britain often resembles a particularly rowdy pub lock-in, minus the darts and plus the potential for grievous bodily harm.
You see, I'm convinced the psychology of the British football hooligan is a fascinating tapestry woven from threads of misplaced patriotism, repressed aggression, and a desperate need to feel significant. These individuals, often sporting the finest in "casual wear" (tracksuits, anyone?), believe that viciously assaulting rival fans somehow elevates their social standing. It's a bit like joining a book club, except instead of discussing Dostoevsky, they're debating the merits of a particularly well-aimed bottle of urine.
Evolutionary Advantage? More Like Evolutionary Detriment!
One can only imagine the evolutionary advantage our ancestors gained by excelling in the art of headbutting strangers. Perhaps it helped them secure more mates? Or maybe it deterred rival tribes from encroaching on their prime mud-wrestling grounds? Whatever the reason, the modern-day hooligan seems convinced that engaging in acts of wanton violence is somehow a display of virility.
Of course, the true psychological masterpiece lies in the elaborate rituals these hooligans engage in. The pre-match "intelligence gathering" (usually involving copious amounts of alcohol), the meticulously planned "ambushes," the coded language of terrace chants ("He's got no arms!" – a subtle dig at a rival fan who, ironically, probably has two perfectly functional arms). It's a fascinating spectacle, really, a bizarre blend of tribal warfare and a particularly violent game of charades that I will never, if ever comprehend.
Now, here's a more entertaining and intriguing little snippet that came my way, involving fresh mussels, glue and sensors. Yes, you did read that correctly. By all accounts, the Polish, no less, has it nailed. Or, more precisely...glued! - so to speak.
"In a move that can only be described as a desperate attempt to escape the clutches of the dreaded 'cost-cutting' mantra, the Dębiec Water Treatment Plant in Poznań, Poland, has resorted to a truly bizarre solution to their water quality woes. They've enlisted…mussels.
Yes, those humble molluscs, long relegated to the culinary backwaters of seaside chippies, are now tasked with the critical role of environmental sentinels.
Apparently, these Polish innovators believe that by attaching a few sensors to a handful of bivalves, they can somehow circumvent the need for…actual scientists, the need for…real research, the need for…significant capital investment.
The audacity! In a world obsessed with efficiency, where every penny is meticulously accounted for, these…foreigners have the gall to rely on the whims of nature! Where are the board meetings? Where are the shareholder reports? Where are the exorbitant consultancy fees that would inevitably accompany such a…groundbreaking initiative in a more…responsible organization?
This "innovation" is a direct attack on the very principles that underpin modern water management: the relentless pursuit of profit, the unwavering devotion to shareholder value, and the unwavering belief that every problem can be solved with a sufficiently large…budget.
The very notion is preposterous! Can you imagine the chaos? Mussels developing a taste for the very pollutants they're supposed to detect? What happens when they go on holiday? Who covers their shifts? And let's not even talk about the potential for…mussel strikes.
We, in Britain, understand these principles. We know that water is not just a resource, it's an asset. An asset to be managed, monetised, and, most importantly, maximised to rinse us 'mug' consumers of every last penny while giving us the worst possible service.
Frankly, the whole affair is a disgrace. Funnily enough, just like football!
