Well, as more than a quarter of a century of following them has taught me to expect, Charlton failed to live up to the hype last night. My predicition of a rubbish game was, as I also predicted, wrong. There were goals – usually unheard of in Charlton-Boro games. In fact we didn’t play that badly in patches but, my goodness, the defending was shocking. How on earth is Jonathan Spector a professional footballer? Phil Spector would have done a better job at right back. And as my friend Mick said of Mark Viduka’s goal, “Hreidarsson bought that dummy so comprehensively he’ll have to get a later plane home”. Oh well, there’s always next year.
So, after that minor distraction it’s back to battering the laptop keys into submission in an effort to finish the Elvis book by the end of the month. As I mentioned before, it’s a bit of a struggle at the moment. In previous books ,I’d written quite a lot as I went along but, given the short deadline for this one, I haven’t really been able to do much and have been left trying to write the whole thing in one go. Of course, I’m not going down a pit or anything, but then I’m also not claiming a substantial wage as a footballer when I have little discernible footballing ability, like Jonathan Spector.
Still, my spirits are being kept up by a quite brilliant solo album by Arto Tuncboyaciyan, ringleader of the magnificently named Armenian Navy Band (have a look at a map of the Caucasus to see what a thigh-slappingly good joke that is). Arto played solo at the World Music Awards last week and absolutely blew me away. Buy this album, it’s genius.