A post that's not entirely to do with football I swear.

One minute you're utterly disappointed in a bunch of over-paid men in shorts and the next you're hugging strangers and nearly falling down stairs. That final whistle brings a wave of adrenalin that builds as two players start squaring up and suddenly both teams are at each others throats. We want blood. I want a riot.

Yay football hooliganism!

Ack that'll do you'll not continue reading if I write anymore and I do so crave attention. I will say somebody had a big banner made up that said "Shame of Scotland" and this huge arrow pointing at the Rangers fans. I may have giggled. Imagine caring that much to make a banner. Nothing will ever compare to the time that some Rangers fans decided to bring potatoes to throw onto the pitch at the beginning of the match a few years back. You know because of the famine. Hilarious.

Anyways sometime when we weren't winning (as in most of the second half) I had an idea. I might have interpreted Pandora's Box in a rather vulgar way. I might have laughed at the idea of opening her box. I'm not sure whether I told myself a lewd joke or whether there's an image worth using there.

Also: the sky was utterly gorgeous above the stands at one point and I even had my phone loading up to see if I could take a picture. I miss having a proper camera. Although maybe I don't need more pictures of the sky. So there I was waiting for my agonisingly slow phone to let me take a picture when I was suddenly kicked by a guy who'd lost his seat. He scrambled over my shoulder and sat in the seat next to me. I had to pocket my phone. He didn't seem like the sort of guy that'd appreciate me blocking his view just to capture the sky. Not like the game was really that interesting at that point anyway.

Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that

The coffee burns my lip as I gulp it down too fast and hope it reaches my frozen nose. It wasn't as cold today at Parkhead but sitting so high up as we do there's a chill that permeates my bones.

The sun burned orange low in the sky giving the grey skyline a post-apocalyptic glow. I watched a man nearly die today. The crowd roared as the teams came out for the second half but my dad and I stayed silent. Just didn't seem right to cheer when we could see the paramedic start compressions. They must have stabilised him in the ambulance because 10 minutes or so after they shut the doors, it sped off, blue lights flashing. I wanted him to live, selfishly I wished he would live. This morning I had already read a tribute to Heath Ledger in Total Film and Melissa Auf Der Maur's blog where she'd posted about having to put her cat down. It was a bit of a glum start to the day. But he lived and we won and we were home soon enough to coffee that still hasn't reached my nose. Stupid biology fails me again.

I watched A Bout de Souffle last night. I've been meaning to educate myself on New Wave since I had to watch Hiroshima Mon Amour for French last year. It's that dreamy, jumpy beauty that just works even though I'm always left a little baffled until my mind adjusts. And having to block out my brain attempting to translate and compare the French to the subtitles is always a struggle. I actually bought A Bout de Souffle on a whim. I was trying to buy Bande à Part but it is impossible to find and last time I gave up on trying to buy it I bought the Dreamers since they referenced it. It missed the cool that's so appealing in old French cinema and ended up pretentious instead. I was buoyed with hope as I passed Fopp on Thursday and the window proudly proclaimed that all French films were cheap. And lo! it actually had a space for the film. But that's all. I scanned the shelves in vain and even though I was on my way out the door I found myself at the till listening to the happy guy raving about my choice. I'm a compulsive shopper. But he was right, it is fantastic. Jean-Paul Belmondo pretends to be Humphrey Bogart and Jean Seberg's New Yorker French is adorable and I understood her! I always like understanding foreign films. Makes me feel cultured. And the soundtrack! All jazzy and gorgeous. It was damn near perfect.


On the subject of films, there was an interview with Rian Johnson about his new film that I've been excited about even before I got round to watching Brick (because I'm slightly in love with Rachel Weisz) so I thought hey, maybe the website has something other than we've finished filming, yay. And yes, indeed he had updated. Go here to see and if you do be sure to highlight everything for a message that made me smile. Other exciting film things: (apart from the Indy 4 trailer, omg everyone's so old, it's such a bad idea, I'm still gonna see it) Park Chan-Wook, vengeance man, has a new film coming out about "an affair between a woman who thinks she's a cyborg and a kleptomaniac". Fuck yeah. Also the Film Festival started on Thursday. Go see a film you guys!

Whats it got in its pocketses?

I'll tell you what I've got. Anything I damn well want. I have finally found a pair of jeans with proper pockets, fit for phones, keys, spare change and a miniature flying monkey or two. No more pointless girl pockets for me thank you very much. My mother despairs. Tells me I should get a handbag like a real girl. These magical jeans not only have real pockets, they also only cost £20 and make my ass look pretty good. The inevitable down side? Alas the sizing went 8 regular to 14 regular so I had to hunt in the tall section and tall is something I am not. Gone are the days I could happily fit into a size 8 with no problems. I think that lasted about 6 months before my hips came back. Then there was the dreary period where the only jeans available were either skinny or mens. I could starve myself to death and never fit into skinny jeans (but hurrah for being able to bear children, right?) and mens jeans are fine if you want to look like you have a penis. Thus I have a great pair of jeans with several inches of extra leg.

Saw Emma and Beowulf yesterday. I've missed her like crazy but we made up for lost time with pretend lesbian shenanigans on tuesday. Always fun. Beowulf was pretty good. I thought it might be all ridiculous but it was entertaining, and when the animation was at its best you could almost believe Angelina Jolie really was naked on screen.

Also despite my whole post about Scottish football and not hating the English I'm saying this anyway: Har har England lost. Was actually a pretty good game to watch. Croatia were very good and Peter Crouch is always hilarious to see. He's more leg than man!

When Ian Wright was talking about it about the game was over and he was all "I'm bitterly disappointed" My dad chucked rather evilly and said: "That's what makes England losing all the better for me." I think it was the only reason the game was on in our house. Oh dad, you so crazy with your personal vendettas against former football players!

Mon pays

I've never been particularly patriotic. I remember learning about the Scottish Wars of Independence in primary six and feeling something resembling pride. I wasn't so thrilled watching Braveheart, all I saw was Mel Gibson. But I remember the trip to Stirling and being annoyed that there was a union jack flying in Stirling Castle. The whole class was fired up in a Scottish rage against those damn English although this probably didn't mean anything since just the year before we were fired up in a British rage against the Germans after doing the Second World War. We would shake our fists at the one Mercedes in the teacher's car park. I was outraged when my little sister did not study the Wars of Independence. Instead her class did some Enterprise rubbish. To this day she knows little about William Wallace and doesn't know the story of good ol' Rob and the spider in the cave.

I have never sung the national anthem bar the once in primary seven when we all sang it among other songs. I have nothing against the English and feel having a national song about how we killed those evil English bastards is ridiculous. Even the lyrics make no sense "It's in the past now and in the past it must remain" so lets all sing about it every time we play football? And besides we signed it all away in 1707 so why sing about it? I wouldn't even sing it if we were playing England. I used to go to Scotland games regularly but some of the people who go, god. It's shameful. I've been going to Celtic games every week for 8 years and never experienced people as bad as these Scotland fans. Drunken racists who've punched, kicked and groped me over the years. We stopped going a while ago but since we were playing Italy and we had a chance of getting a ticket my dad bought them. Thankfully, the people around us yesterday were reasonable. There was a guy who called the female football team a bunch of lesbians and the guy who walked straight into my bruised knee at the end (which made working today a fuckin nightmare) but it was fine. I had fun with my dad mocking the group sitting behind us. (Do you ken? Naw I dinnae ken, do you ken? Aye I ken.) I knew how important the game was. We were playing Italy. If we won not only would we proceed for once but we would have won against Italy of all countries. Yet, I just couldn't get excited. And it was hard to feel anything when we let in a goal within the first minute.

I cared when it was drawing close to the final whistle and it was a draw. I cared when McFadden missed what would have been a perfect goal. I cared when we lost so unfairly. But I went home and I got over it.

Saying this I did vote for the party whose primary aim is independence. Do I want independence then after arguing that I don't like our national anthem, mock the way we speak and don't hate the English even a little bit? I don't really mind. I voted them because it would shake things up, I liked their other policies and wouldn't it be hilarious if we became independent while Gordon Brown was still prime minister and suddenly he loses his British nationality? Hell yeah it would.

On a completely different topic, guess what's on TV again? Come with us now, on a journey through time and space, to the world of the Mighty Boosh!

Grand ol' team to play for

I was tired and my throat was still gunky. Classics had just been more information on Greeks and their little slave boys and rules on who was allowed to get aroused and who wasn't. My archaeology teacher had made the mistake of proposing a debate and putting me on defence of crazy theories. I don't think I've ever spoken so much in a tutorial before. I had a lift at the writer's group since they liked my story about blind lesbians but the long cold night ahead was daunting. Why did Uefa decide hey now everyone's used to football on wednesdays, a day that everybody is happy with, let's move it to tuesday when everyone has busy days? Grr.

After a few shots leading nowhere half-time was drawing near. Aiden McGeady, teeny little scottish guy who got bullied last season by a big fat ginger Irish player had a shot but I didn't stand up, I thought it had missed. It wasn't until the man next to me grabbed hold of my elbow and lifted me up that I saw the net swoosh and I realised we were winning. So thank you very much man next to me, next time could you not keep trying to hold my arm even when I pull away several times? Yeah? Good. Just glad it wasn't my dead arm, oh how I would have raged.

And so we won and actually have a chance again to progress further, which means more games and more mini-holidays :D

It was freezing though. I knew I should have worn a jumper but my classes are always far too warm. Total mistake, I was shivering for ages when I got home. This is how colds happen, Catherine, you should know this by now!

I was in fopp the other day where I parted with money for cds! Not done that in a while. I was browsing through the so-called 'alternative' section which is just rock music made in the last 2 decades really. I bought a Regina Spektor and a Modest Mouse album but this is how I made my choices:

Dum dee dum ooo stuff's a fiver. Fiver's cheap. I have a fiver! It's a sign! Holy crap she's hot:

Purchased.

I'll have a quick look round first, ooh they've got The Shins, aw too expensive, put it back. Ooh, The Decemberists oh no there's none here just the sign, grumble grumble. I own this cd! And this one! That one's crap, why do people like them? Aw well, I'll just go pay...ooo Modest Mouse and it's pretty and blue and a fiver too. Let's see what songs are on it: Jesus Christ was an only childThat's a great title!...Purchased.

I am a master of killing time. I'm a time assassin.

And the anchorperson on TV goes blah dee blah dee blah

I'm in the writing swing. I cannot stop writing and it's mostly crap but ideas are jumping off my fingers and getting washed up in the middle of my actual work. I wrote a short story in amongst my notes on the rise of Anti-semitism in the Middle Ages, three pages into my History essay I have two attempts to write a piece I've wanted to write for months but I still can't get it out without sounding either like a disgruntled emo or hopelessly depressing and then I wrote two more pieces in my head on the bus this morning and promptly forgot the majority of them because I can't write on the bus without feeling weird. I forgot how much I enjoy it.

I used to keep a diary. I wrote absolutely everything in there, things I've never told anyone even when I've wanted to. Re-reading them was a comfort, didn't matter what it was I'd scrawled on the page, because it was me there in smudgy black. I had to give it up when a certain sister read it and landed me in a heap of trouble with the parents. I'll simply say my dad did not talk to me for a year because of it. So no more diary, no more venting of all the things that go on in this topsy-turvy brain of mine and I went a little mad. I couldn't write anything other than childish drivel, I was too scared of trying anything new.

Writing again means I've regained the last part of me after I fell apart almost two years ago. I've wanted to be a writer ever since I was old enough to read but I don't know if I could ever be happy enough with something I'd written to publish it. More than that I don't think I've experienced enough to write anything substantial. All I know are missed chances and why you should never date guys with the same name in a short space of time. It just ain't right.

I've got a craving for peanut butter. I wanna watch Firefly all night with someone who loves me and a big ol' pile of toast spread thick with peanut butter. Closest I've got is Firefly with a big cushion and maybe a lollipop if my stash hasn't gone gooey. Might just do that soon, haven't seen Captain Tightpants in a long while.

Craps, I've got uni early tomorrow. Bedtime!

Oh I'll end with a conversation I overhead in classics today:

Guy who kicked me all lecture: "I watched the Celtic v Hearts game last night. There's two teams I couldn't care less about."
Guy who kept tapping his pen: "So why'd you watch?"
Kicking Guy: "I hate Hearts. I hate them so much that if they were playing Saddam Hussein I'd want him to win."

That's real loathing there folks.