“We’re All Goin’ On A Summer Holiday”

“No more workin’ for a week or two

Fun and laughter on a summer holiday

No more worries for me or you

For a week or two”

(From the imagination of the most brilliant band of all time:  Cliff Richard and the Shadows)

Much like mes amies, les Francais, I, your Beloved, and Revered, Leader, decided to reward myself with the month of August off on vacation.  This was to be spent in joyous celebration of my pending 50th birthday (perhaps your Beloved, and Revered, Leader will be granted a stamp commemorating this momentous event too) and also just because it sounded like one fine fuckin’ idea.

So knackered out from a lifetime of working for The Man, since even I, your Beloved, and Revered, Leader, answer to someone, I packed up for a summer vacation of travelling incognito rather than as a part of a royal progress through the kingdom.  In other words I travelled on my own dime, on my own time. First off was a trip to visit the dowager Mrs. Beloved, and Revered, Leader, aka “mum”, in Palm Springs where as Number One Son I was tasked with laying garden paths and creating a rose garden.  It was all very hot and sweaty and at the end it all looked good.

postage stamp

Then it was off to the UK to visit the vast number of friends from Comprehensive School that turn fifty either in September or October.  Evidently the winter of 1962 was exceedingly cold and as a result of either the extreme weather, or inferior socialist condoms, (don’t laugh but the word “accident” has been heard uttered several time relative to my conception) there are a great many of us.

Part of the trip was to make a pilgrimage to White Hart Lane and pay homage to the Beloved, and Revered, Leader’s favourite football team Tottenham Hotspur.  There is not time or space to mention all of the suffering that your Beloved, and Revered, Leader has undergone at the hands of Spurs over the years nor can I mention what I would really have liked to do to the board of directors at various times during each and every season since I was seven involving a line, a wall and a firing squad.


However what was most disturbing was the footwear of the Spurs players:  soccer cleats in Lurid Pink, Cerise, Tangerine and Mello Yello.  It seems that for the past ten years, black cleats are too old school.  They are just too boring.  In my day … no, that just sounds like I am a cranky 50-year-old has-been waiting for someone to ask about the soccer career of your Beloved, and Revered, Leader.

But I will say that I wore black cleats and I wore black indoor football shoes (and still do, as your Beloved, and Revered, Leader rocks the “Old Skool” Sambas).  Any player who thought to play with the players I played with would need to have world-class skills to match any vivid colour football boots they chose to wear.


Your Beloved, and Revered, Leader has no issue if players as talented as Christiano Ronaldo or Lionel Messi choose to wear football boots in colours that are usually only seen on salmon lures.  But the right to spice up your life needs to be earned.

Perhaps it should be like a medieval guild and apprentices only get black boots, white logos and black laces, journeyman players get coloured logos, a craftsman can add coloured laces and only a master craftsman can wear something so lurid that even a stripper says “fuck off, that’s just too flashy”.  I wore Lotto boots that were black with orange and blue logos and orange laces and that would be appropriate for the caliber of player that I was at the level I was playing.


But most of all, it pisses off your Beloved, and Revered, Leader simply because the pretty colours do not match the rest of the football kit and this offends me and really triggers my OCD.  It is like wearing black socks and brown sandals – but I, your Beloved, and Revered, Leader, have turned 50 now so this is alright (at least according to my father’s fashion tastes).  But the young players in the EPL do not have this excuse on which to fall back.

And the real question that your Beloved, and Revered, Leader would want to ask is, truth be told, do the football boots clash with the club kit, or is it the club kit that is clashing with the overly decorative, visually alarming, high paying shoes from a sponsoring entity such as Nike or Adidas or Puma or Lotto or Diadora.  Perhaps your Beloved, and Revered, Leader has been wrong in his thinking and the tail is wagging the dog!

happy stalin

Bollocks!  I am your Beloved, and Revered, Leader!  I am infallible (and now I am 50 too).


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