Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« We wuz robbedUn ballo in Yorkshire »

Morecambe 1 Newport County 0

  Mon 7th June 2021

The idea was to see Morecambe in their promotion play-off final against Newport County. I would meet the girls in London. Where and when exactly, I didn't know. But we've all got phones nowadays. My eldest had my ticket on hers.

On the bus to the station, I realised I'd left my normal phone, a reliable old Nokia with Snake on it, at my house. However, I had brought my other phone. It's the cheapest possible "smartphone" I could find when I was failing to teach Kazakh children anything. My head of department told me that everyone communicates by WhatsApp so I'd need one.

I rarely use it, so bought a SIM card for it at the station, but it wouldn't register, so on a sludgey train internet connection, I was forcing emails out to my eldest, each short text taking a disconnection and reconnection to send, trying to arrange a rendezvous.

In the meantime, friendly Newport County fans were as deprecating of their team as I was about Morecambe. We shared our drink and shook hands.

The day before, I had suggested to the girls that we meet in the Wetherspoons at St Pancras. In there, a barmaid came up to me, and said "Lubin?" "Well, looby. Why?" "Have you got three daughters going to Wembley this afternoon?" "Yes" "They'll meet you at Wembley Central."

"Thank you, thank you, that's very lovely of you!" I disconnected and reconnected again. "Barmaid's just told me where you are. Fab initiative Eldest! I'm just having some machos. I'll see you there!"

I followed it up. "Yes, I'm having some machos. They're called Rupert and Richard. I'll see you once I've finished with them."

Delighted at my eldest's initiative, I headed to Wembley Park instead. At a different station to where she said they'd be, I was frustrated and sad that I couldn't see them. At the portals of Wembley stadium, homely accents all around me, I turned away at three o'clock and walked back down the concrete avenue back to the Underground station. There was a crappy sports bar place showing the match, but the bouncer wouldn't let me in because "you have to register on the app." I pitched for sympathy, showing him my phone, aiming to stimulate a pleasure at indulging the incompetence of 50somethings, but he was unmoved.

On the train home I met Sexy Ex Boss and her husband on the train, which postponed my disconsolate feelings until I got home. They had a spare ticket to Bristol, which was a relief. I don't like risking my expired train pass on the trains of the company from which I was dismissed. I told them my tale of incompetence and disappointment. They got me my second free pint of the day.

In my flat, I found my phone, all innocent and grey, which had sat the drama out on the settee. It was showing a text from Mel saying that she supposed that I was celebrating somewhere.



Comment from: monkey man [Visitor]

I am so sorry that you have found that there is a thing worse than watching Morecambe play.

Tue 8th June 2021 @ 22:23 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

Yes, I was especially disappointed with Rupert.

Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

Oh crikey. It’s easy to get Central and Park in a muddle - they go together too well.
Bloody apps.

Wed 9th June 2021 @ 13:40 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

You are too kind Scarlet. The fault is entirely in my pickled brain.

Wed 9th June 2021 @ 21:55 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Cracking tale! though probably not in reality since it was a bit of a muddle… but hey Machos… i’m taking that idea to my local gay bar and seeing if they put it on the menu…

and out of curiosity… does that email we corresponded by a while back still work for you… i have a private message i would like to relay ;)

Mon 14th June 2021 @ 13:11 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Hiya kono, yes that address works – looking forward to hearing from you.

Tue 15th June 2021 @ 10:30 Reply to this comment
Comment from: monkey man [Visitor]

I had a dream last night where I was sitting on a terrace between two rickety rows of French houses clutching the toddler and talking to a Spanish ex when suddenly you emerged from a hotel a few doors down, bickering with the receptionist. I am afraid that after a while I lost my patience and shouted, “Look, if you want modernism you can fuck off to Bucharest.”

Mon 14th June 2021 @ 20:31 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

“Oh give it a Bucharest, looby.”

Tue 15th June 2021 @ 10:06 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

you’ve got mail ;)

Thu 17th June 2021 @ 13:19 Reply to this comment

Form is loading...

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

M / 57 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Eryl Shields Ink
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll defunct, but retained for its quality
George Szirtes ditto
Guitars and Life
Infomaniac [NSFW]
The Joy of Bex
Laudator Temporis Acti
London's Singing Organ-Grinder
The Most Difficult Thing Ever
Strange Flowers
Trailer Park Refugee
Wonky Words

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
Golden Pages for Musicologists
Lauren Redhead
The Rambler
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained

  XML Feeds

Community CMS

©2021 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog template by Asevo | Build your own website!