Wales 29 - 31 Fiji (Live)

I love sports. Currently on a lunch break, just about to get back to it, but how can you not be captivated by the live bbc commentary on the Rugby world cup. 20 minutes to go as we type with the scoreline above. How about these two comments in the running blog on the Wales game:

51 mins TRY WALES 29-25 FIJI:Have I suffered a bang on the head here and slipped into a parallel universe? Another Welsh try!! ... I hope someone tape that half-time Welsh team-talk, because evidently it has magic powers, This is turning into one of the most remarkable rugby matches I have ever seen.

68 mins: "We are watching this whilst cruising the nile. I am the only Welsh person on the cruise. Please please come on the boys or i'll have stick all night!" Vicky, via text

Please come on the boys - love it. I have nothing in this game, but marvel to think of the drama unfolding during an otherwise tedious afternoon of meetings, and just because of the UK sportswriters would like to see them pull this out. Excellent.

UPDATE: Wales scored a try to take the lead, but Fiji hit back in the closing minutes to win. By all accounts a marvelous spectacle. Says Andy Bull of the Guardian: "Can I just say wow? Over and over and over again. Surely this was the best World Cup game since the France v New Zealand semi-final of 1999, certainly it was the best match of this tournament so far, and without doubt it was the best game of rugby I've ever seen in the flesh... This was a game that rugby romantics dream about, free flowing and utterly absorbing, settled in the final minute of normal time by a nearly imperceptible try that had to be played and replayed on the big screen before it was given. A quick look down at my pad shows that my notes at that moment read: 'Try! Try! Try! Try!' "

space

Sometimes. onward go the presentations, as we lay there listening to the white noise alarm and saw the text for the suite retreat break as expected, it served as a reasonable excuse - in short, all seems well. there was a break about 45 minutes into the morning at which I seamlessly inserted myself.

In the mean time, two thoughts: (1) "such is the greatness of my fondness of randomness that" a quote from an email I sent at midnight that, those who know me would find apt, and most excellent I think; (2) "Even now I can't work out whether it was happening to me or I was making it happen." Or so said dave gorman about his googlewhacking adventures.

Exploding clouds, soft wind. We must write ourselves a message.

209

"For what shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses the last hole?"

Sing Your Bondage Freely

Brudenell and the firm retreat. But wind and rain seem certain to keep us off the links. No matter, the $300+ cabin is covered, mine designated aptly the "hospitality suite" - my employers know well who is likely to be last awake at any party betimes. Especially on a Friday. That grandest of days. And just look at its horizon: the 5th Master Keith's Birthday and free Sloan concert in which the old antlers will be donned again. the 12th a sunset wedding that, though inevitable, seems unimaginably close after all these years and voyages and emails and pints of Arthur clinked. She shall be a grand one, surely.

Off to the brave the elements with a smile. Berat has confirmed from Turkey the plans with his typical charming prose: "What a good news is that. It is great timing. Absolutley fine here with it. tell me what u wanna do, so we can arrange a lot of excursions n cultural events n dining outs n more n more sea-coast view some history n a bit of clubbing n more.." Ah yes. Fortunate life, is this. Even as we missed that ferry connection of yesternight. Where running 5 minutes behind costs you 2 and a half hours. But to the important thing, we have arrived, and type now awaiting the unfolding of this latest week's end.

Have yourself a merry one.

ARVIRAGUS
What should we speak of
When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS
How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries
And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery that
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'the search,
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy at the censure:--O boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Follow the horizon to adventure...

Honestly, we are just now taking off and on the ocean, and for me ahead to Guinness. An element of Halifax not devoured enough and here I am, moon and ferry and purdy's tower above, hours after paying for c/b/i. Excuse me while I enjoy the wind prior to Guinness. Baby.

As we stumble along

Forgot to mention, on this asia-booking day, the old applicable saw: "It is easier to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission.".

Or so runs the week's theory...

Nothing Emboldens Sin So Much As Mercy

Some week. Riotously busy after a subdued opening to the month, as the days unfold in such a manner as to see me relieved that the credit card bookings for flights to Paris and London over this weekend or Thanksgiving were not followed through to conclusion. Lady Fortune keeping overenthusiasm in check but with adequate reward, since the impossibilities of the present only embolden a final week of holidays at November's end. To that effect, late Monday night the gauntlet was thrown down and a return to the Thames inevitable. Then mid-week, confirmation of plans to stay at legendary Binion's in Vegas, followed by the desert drive to Scottsdale and the Gongshow wedding, and back via the Grandest of Canyons. And today, at the office at an ungodly early hour for a Friday, deciding to let the credit card take one more speculative expedition across the world wide web to secure easyjet tickets to fair Constantinople. The prices were offered on sale for the ridiculous fare of 45 pounds all-in (I declined the 5 pound rider to offset the carbon emissions) so how could I refuse? Now to confirm with the other proposed passenger and the Turkish native that this spending is not in vain. Surely.

First Senator
You cannot make gross sins look clear:
To revenge is no valour, but to bear.

ALCIBIADES
My lords, then, under favour, pardon me,
If I speak like a captain.
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,
And not endure all threats? sleep upon't,
And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
Without repugnancy? If there be
Such valour in the bearing, what make we
Abroad? why then, women are more valiant
That stay at home, if bearing carry it,
And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,
As you are great, be pitifully good:
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
To be in anger is impiety;
But who is man that is not angry?
Weigh but the crime with this.

Second Senator
You breathe in vain.

ALCIBIADES
In vain! his service done
At Lacedaemon and Byzantium
Were a sufficient briber for his life.

First Senator
What's that?

ALCIBIADES
I say, my lords, he has done fair service,
And slain in fight many of your enemies:
How full of valour did he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!

Second Senator
He has made too much plenty with 'em;
He's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often
Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner:
If there were no foes, that were enough
To overcome him: in that beastly fury
He has been known to commit outrages,
And cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us,
His days are foul and his drink dangerous.

First Senator
He dies.

To service done in Byzantium, then. How could one not be heroic, in such a place as that? And with the mandatory pilgrimage to Millenium Bridge and time enough for Chancery Lane revels, we have the makings of another epic voyage. A wonderful way to end that most cursed of November months and herald in December. My oh my has 2007 receded quickly into ancient memory. Cheers to it, and to my claiming the benefit of each and every online purchase made this memorable week. For not many days in one's life do you buy a ticket to Asia. Today is my first. The second will likely be in inevitable 2009. Raise a glass to that tonight. Raise your glass to that.

Your Wallet Found

So the email of 9:12AM from my assistant read, which I discovered upon opening my eyes and shaking my head clear of the Mercury cobwebs and images of breasts explosive and unnatural from the evening prior. I had realized said wallet was lost in the wee hours on the walk home, had scrawled a wildish note to self in concern on the fridge, and begun thinking on the terrible rehabilitation process of paper and plastic I would be forced to endure.

Enter Mr. Ed Hepburn, stage right. The smile broadened on my face to see my assistant's email as I lay in bed, whose response set out the name of my saviour. It was a joy to close my eyes in contentment again and recall past moments of similar bewilderment at the beguiling efforts of strangers on my behalf concerning items of value. I was provided his number and called him - waxing effusive plaudits to his great spirit and even telling an abrievated version of the Clifton story as a sort of recompense for the efforts of our man and his wife. Note I dared not ask her name in fear it would not be Audrey or Kath. The two dug through the Costanza-esq piles of poetry and information to find my business card (the actual one, as opposed to the one I was given from "Ken Erman, Jack Daniel's Ambassador - Canada" that has come in handy on occasion) and in our brief rendezvous outside the Delta Barrington he arrived with the wallet and contents in a plastic bag. As I type it is still absolutely soaking wet. Though I like to think it took a brief dip in the Atlantic, the safer hypothesis is either the sink or a toilet, considering its discovery in the bar washroom. Oh my.

Ed hands the wallet over noting his wife's remark that it is one thing to come home with a girl's phone number, but something else to bring in a guy's wallet. But the quote for the day goes to one of the associates in the office, who I see on my way back from the pickup and lunch with the wallet still in the plastic bag and relay the story. As I come to the end and mutter "Ed Hepburn is a legend", A. exclaims back: "Ed Hepburn! Big Ed? I went to school with that guy. That's Halifax for you. As my uncle says, a city big enough for a symphony; too small for adultery."

And there it sits. Trouble averted once again, and once again before I truly concerned myself with consequences negative. This hangover is wide and deep, but still a rum and coke is called for after this, I reckon. Now that I have access to cash to pay for it. From this baby blue sky unto the darkness. I leave you with not Shakespeare this TFI but the opening of Chapter 23 of that favored book, The Three Musketeers:

D'Artagnan ran home immediately, and although it was three o'clock in the
morning and he had some of the worst quarters of Paris to traverse, he met with
no misadventure. Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers have a protecting
deity.

Indeed. I so aspire to be both.

north atlantic

Fold it up and put it in your pocket. The forgetfulness of memory is what I hate, not the embarrassment, not of a reputation, not of a real care. Forsook the evidence.

It (lovely beast life and ay) continues...

Courage we are Thursday

I love foreign accents for their musical tones; I love emails from foreigners who know speak few words of English for the beautiful surprises of our language that they reveal. You can imagine my delight at receiving the following news today circa noon:

My mission is accomplish. I negociated my winter holidays and I can leave between 19 november to 16 december for one week of course with two or three days more. You can choose the best time for us and after we can decide where and how.

Ah yes. Fortunate not to have committed any excitable bookings last Friday amidst that ocean of spiraling incomprehensibility. But now the task of selecting the week of least firm resistance this far out shall be interesting. All of a sudden Istanbul appears atrociously close.

One of those beautiful Thursdays in Halifax: full sun setting and all that breaks between the pale blue sky and the full blue sea. Impossible to adhere to any vows or pledges, on such a night as this. You see yourself being taunted by fate and instinct and for revenge you simply roll with it with all the more enthusiasm. And the fans of such assured impossibility everywhere need look only at the miraculous Scottish victory in Paris last night as confirmation of fickle Lady Fortune's penchant for the wonderous and the beautiful.

Post-lunacy analysis: "Where does James McFadden rank in the pantheon of Scottish heroes?" asks Jon Cummins. "Surely he'll be the subject of Braveheart
2?" "I'm cracking open a celebratory four-pack of Tennants Super and off to sing
badly in the nearest gutter," adds Simon Poots. "Can you e-mail my boss and tell
him I've been kidnapped by Arsene Wenger?" Sure thing, Simon. And finally Dennis
O'Neill writes: "Sacre bleu! Formidaaaaable! Sacre couer!! Je ne le crois pas!
Ce n'est pas possible! (Loosely translated as YEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!)" I
broadly agree with your sentiment, Dennis, because it's what the M Factor is all
about. Jings, crivvens, help ma boab indeed. Maybe France should stick to
rugb... no, hold on. Actually, I can't write any more, my brain's totally
addled. This is ridiculous. Of course they'll still not qualify, but who cares?
Nighty night!

Jings indeed. But we hope against hope that they will have just enough to qualify. You know it.

201

See you in paris on the 19th.

Fuck. What a fun random night of Guinness. The juice of the barley. How long could the sale last, whether cork or in killarrney makes me cry now.

Hunt the hare and turn her fuckin' down.

Ah the boys of liverpool... AhhhhHh.
My favorite.

Beauty.

lights, trains

Yeah, too much, I know. We got to talk of traveling, I ran away again in the thought that when I returned all would be well instead of lost. And yet. I'd rather be me than that tired face. And some maybe idiocy at et all Lower Deck.

It is rum and coke day after all and we await it.

He sighs and thinks, these are the days. He looks and sees her yawn as she watches the infinite song, and he hopes she knows these are the nights. But since he isn't sure... He thinks he will make up for her gladness, at least there is an old man (you later) that brought non-threatening entertainment and a smile. To her. Whether you were here, immaterial. 'Cause the Guinness is done and ... The rest is the rest is the rest... Peacock feathers. Enfield town. Something else.

Don't.

C'mon Gerrard.

whiskey in the guinness

It continues... The spot on the wall has been chosen. The thing is, the traveling bug has not been quenched and the killers are still to go on and flyzoom's sale is there and the ability to use the internet as a journal from your hand continues to be ridiculous.

"I see six sensitive lovers, can I see seven hippies? ... THREE hippies. Uh, okay. Well she's walking .. To the car .. With her sugar smile.."

And the riddler's question mark continues to taunt - how will you? - while the Guinness flows on and on and on and.

A 1000 smiles she gives to me, free. I know the comma may not go, but it should. More. I do so love this day, today.

Because the present needs to be captured...

... even if in a word. what is the word for now? what is the word for the descent on lower deck and the stories of the travels and the infinite sadness/glory of the ocean.

"The Goose is Out."

Figure it out. See you soon.

Like Cutler's Poetry Upon a Knife

Enter PORTIA and NERISSA

PORTIA
That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

NERISSA
When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

PORTIA
So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king
Unto the king be by, and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

NERISSA
It is your music, madam, of the house.

PORTIA
Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSA
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIA
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended, and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awaked.

364 days since the call to the Bar - tomorrow shall mark one year. How the time has flown on since the British Open 2004 and the last meal in Glasgow etcetera. Rushing off anon this noon to be measured by the tailor for Phoenix. Thus we strike another Friday from the present calendar and send it remorselessly into the past, anxious always for the future - the matches and encounters and events yet to come. The plans reformulated. The sails unfurled.

It should be a momentous fall, that favorite of seasons for its beautiful melancholy and melancholic beauty. Where the nights get shorter, the colours mightier, the fog thicker, the music and chatter louder. The student new year ringing in a new randomness of character and situation. You are welcome to Elsinore.

Today is the 7th annual 1st Friday afternoon Happy Hour Extravaganza Really Big Draw. With free multi-purpose drinks inhouse, we'll see if we end up there or no. And whether the night to come is a dark one. We always do see, in the end.

Engaging in a Racket is called Racketeering

Ouch. Thought I had managed a remarkable performance through the Stag weekend out West, even waking up in time to catch Villa's destruction of the Blues and walk up a Banff mountain on Sunday. But was destroyed by the Mmmmmmmmmmonday circuit upon the return to Halifax, no doubt the rest of the trip culminated in putting me down. A good fest, but my oh my. Strange waking up with a business card from a "Sexy Girl Proprietor" in your wallet and not having the first clue as to how it got there.

A few miscellaneous things this Tuesday:

(1) A penguin bumps into another penguin and says, "Oh, for a minute I thought you were wearing a tuxedo." "How do you know I'm not?" asks the other penguin. Once more, [Garrison Keillor's] unique brand of humor shines through. "I love the joke for the silence that comes after the punch line," he said. Me too.

(2) In May 2008, Michel Fournier will jump from a weather balloon from an altitude of 130,000 feet in North Battleford, Saskatchewan in an attempt to become the first human being to break the sound barrier. I just might go.

(3) On 25 November 1998, Les Stewart reached his goal of typing all numbers from one to one million - in words (not numbers) on his manual machine... Seven manual typewriters, 1000 ink ribbons, 19,890 pages, 16 years and seven months later, he finished with the lines "nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine. one million." Here's to dreams. Nicely done, Les.

(4) Again I woke up this morning with words, and by the time I arrived at a keyboard that had flown. I remember only the brief introduction to the collection of short stories that flickered across the brain:

What follows is mostly self-indulgent and I make no apologies for that. It is filled with enough unheroic and untaken actions that deserve far greater requests for forgiveness; I have learned over the years not to ask for even that. They say Yeats's writing was all the better for Maude's shunning of his advances, and Beckett said it all and beautiful when he had Krapp state hypnotically on tape: "Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance for happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now."

These are some stories about that fire.

(5) Last night I learned that you can make a fairly impressive t-shirt out of a five dollar bill. And I have googled and will perfect the napkin-to-rose gambit for future opportunities.

(6) More people should know about Nina Simone.

(7) The sun sets on another day, and I find myself wondering about another jaunt to the banks of the Thames and Seine thanks to old Zoom and its five airplanes and $99 each-way fares. In two weeks at that, September 18th to 24th. What's another thousand dollars, anyway? Time will show.