The Slacker Diaries Part 22

Whilst I fully accept that this blog is a Gardening Blog, in my defence I feel I should point out that I have been doing a bit of gardening and taking photos; I just can't be bothered to upload them... Life of Riley, or what?

Backdated entries for October to follow, if Robbie Savage goes out this week.  Noooo...

Friday Five: Boogie Nights N Nightclubs

I love footie.  I love Derby County.  Actually I grew up in a family where the men all supported Aston Villa, but after leaving home for uni and another country, then more country-hopping until finally moving back to England and the English schools system (the best on the planet), I settled into sunny Derbyshire because the school I had in my cross hairs for mes enfants was (and is) the best in the East Midlands... actually one of the top schools in the UK.  And with sunny Derbyshire comes Derby County.

I remember watching Dean Sturridge, Marco Gabbiadini and always, always Igor, belt their way to the top.  I was there when Robbie Van Der Laan took flight and headed the ball into the back of the net for promotion.  I was there when Igor et al held Manure to the sword via the spiderlike legs of Paolo Wanchope.

Oh man, I got to see Eric with his turned-up collar play footie almost as arrogantly as Derby.  I saw Barca play a friendly at Pride Park, with the utterly divine Figo, that night we were all there; spending a fortune on baby-sitters and taxis, and smuggling stiff G&Ts into the ground inside half-litre plastic bottles of Buxton spring water, then cabbing it over to Nottingham to spend the night dancing and laughing and celebrating.  Happy days.

And what am I doing tonight?  Listening to Carol Klein's Gardener's World Special as I drift about the www. catching up with "old friends" via their blogs.  Don't you just love the world wide web and the necessary growing up?  But I still love Derby County more.

She's Back Blogging

Thank you God.

Because quite frankly one can become rather fed up with Sarah Raven fronting the Gardening section, when RHS-trained gardeners all know that it's Helen for whom we purchase the Telegraph. Now Helen, release another post in which you describe all the venues at which you are intending to peddle your books, because I can then sneak into the queues looking almost normal, and buy multiple copies. But don't let your agent get you on Saturday Kitchen, as I'm back at work on Saturday mornings now, and I can't be bothered to work out how to record.

This summer is going to be great.

And I've just discovered the greatness that is Lady Gaga. I was in the fast lane multi-tasking; that is, overtaking, reaching into the glove box for my friend Carl, and dropping merci beaucoup up to Manchester for a night out in China Town with the girls, when she slid a disc into the player and out burst Bad Romance at ear-splitting decibels. Utterly, utterly fabulous. I love the tribal tones, and if Derby County adopt it as their home game entry song, we are surely going for promotion!

Ra Ra-Ah-Ah-Ah / Roma Roma-Ma / Gaga Oh-La-La / Want Your Bad Romance.