The Premier League Fantasy Football Odyssey

A few weeks ago my friend Graham asked me if I fancied partaking in the Premier League Fantasy Football this year. I usually set it up for a few friends, quickly forget all about it and have an average season. However, my interest in it has waned since something happened in football during the 2015/2016 campaign. I turned Graham down on the offer and though nothing more of it, until I got this text message from another friend, Tom Meredith:

Despite not watching football in England's top flight for over a year, I was feeling extremely confident I could put a team together. I had listened to a few football podcasts and had looked at a result or two and anyway, how much had football changed since Villa had been gracing the top flight with their curious brand of football only matched by AOH's final season at Star City? I selected my team as seen below:

 

My team was flawless. I had the Chelsea goalkeeper - their first game of the season was against 'can't-win-away-from-home-but-very-good-home-record' Burnley; I knew Arsene's new deal had installed a new-found defensive solidity; I had been told by Guardian's podcast (or was it the new one?) that Kevin de Bruyne was going to have a big year and I knew that with Alli and Kane I had a fairly solid run of points coming my way. The others weren't bad either - Knockaert and Ritchie were excellent Championship players last season so I knew they'd play most matches this season with some success. 

Feeling overcome with football genius, I roared with happiness and quickly picked up the phone to gloat to Tom:

Feeling fairly satisfied that I would be miles ahead of my friends who would surely not have picked their teams with such foresight that I had shown, I recently looked at the table:

Oh.

All is not lost. How could I predict that Arsenal would be woeful, Spurs have got some Barry Fry-esque hoodoo and Sue Collins would turn into some combination of Alex Ferguson and Brian Clough?

The international break is upon us. Time to take stock and certainly not panic. The transfer window isn't even over and there is still the large majority of the season to go. Do. Not. Panic.

....I've played my wildcard and changed the whole damn team.

'His Bloody Project' (2015) Graeme Macrae Burnet

It's been a long time since I've written on this blog. It should have been added to at least twice (Jane Eyre  and Olive Ketteridge if you were asking) and possibly more, but as the Man Booker Prize short list has been compiled, this seems as good a time as any to start the blog up again.

I will cut to the chase: this novel is superb. Set in a village on Scotland's West Coast, it consists of 'Documents relating to the case of Roderick Macrae.' The first part is Roderick Macrae's testimony written in prison whilst he awaited trial; the second part is a summary of the court case. Mixed in are witness testimonies and medical reports.

This novel has echoes of The Collector by John Fowles and Engleby by Sebastian Faulks as we are treated to a protagonist (at least in the first section) who is guilty of heinous crimes. However, whereas Frederick Clegg in The Collector is downright sinister, and Engleby is unusual to say the least from the opening, Roderick Macrae is someone that the reader empathises with and roots for in the trial.

There is so much that can be read into this novel. There is ample opportunity for a Marxist critique of how the village shares land; one could write a dissertation on the questionable madness of Roderick Macrae; the evident research of the author to explore what life was like in the highlands in the 1800s gives a fascinating insight into Scottish rural history.

I cannot write too much about the way the novel goes in terms of its storyline as it twists, turns and teases the reader. The fact that you do not know who two of the antihero's victims are until late on adds to the intrigue installed by Graeme Macrae Burnet. I finished this two days ago - I still do not know how I feel about Roderick by the end which by my reckoning is not a bad thing.

I wrote on one of the football forums that I frequent that I thought that this was an 8.5/10 novel. However, what am I marking it down on? I don't think that there is much wrong with that novel whatsoever. It was a surprise entry for the Booker Prize, with the novelist being relatively unknown and the publishing house not being one of the big hitters. However, not unlike its setting it is a hidden gem. Not everyone will have heard of it but when they experience it they will remember it for a long time.



As a footnote, after reading this I rushed to Amazon to buy Graeme Macrae Burnet's debut novel, The Disappearance of Adele Bedeau. After seeing the paperbacks only being available for circa. £25, I disappeared faster than the unfortunate Adele.

Filth (1998) Irvine Welsh

Where to begin with this. Well, Irvine Welsh certainly has a distinctive narrative voice: the words and dialect of the novel not so much whisper that it is by the author as shout loudly that he is responsible for it. Secondly, if you take the grimmest parts of 'Trainspotting' and times them by ten, you get roughly to the point that 'Filth' is at.

The narrator of the novel is D.S. Bruce Robertson, angling for promotion. He has two major difficulties in his life: a race-aggravated murder that he is finding difficult to get to the bottom of and a tapeworm and eczema-ravaged anus which Welsh does not hold back in describing. In fact, the tapeworm is given his own narrative to accompany and at times push Robertson's words off the page.

The tapeworm is shown on the left. The 'Light' page is from 'The Acid House.'

Bruce Robertson is, undoubtedly, a terrible human being. Nobody escapes his wrath: black people ('coons'), Indian people ('wogs') homosexuals ('queers'), Hibs fans, women ('dyke'/'what she needs is a good seeing to'), Liverpool fans for grieving the recent Hillsborough disaster, prostitutes and colleagues. He schemes and snarls his way through the narrative. Another commentator on the novel, an American, said that it was not the Scottish vernacular and regular use of rhyming slang that made it difficult to read, but the sheer nastiness of Robertson. If that's not enough, we get rather grotesque imagery of Robertson scratching his eczema on his genitals with bacon fat underneath his fingernails. 'Filth' indeed.

Only at one point do we see any compassion in him, when he tries to save a man with a heart problem in the street and fleetingly sees his wife and son after the incident. Is it enough for redemption? I would suggest not.

Despite his faults, he is utterly compelling. His Machiavellian manipulation of his colleagues to work his way to the top make his Shakespearean compatriot look as sinister as a My Little Pony. As the novel progresses, we learn more about his childhood (courtesy of the tapeworm), his drug addiction and his relationship with Carole. There are even disturbing allusions made about his daughter. Compelling, yet a man to be kept at arm's length.

Key quotations

"That's the beauty aboot being polis: it doesnae really matter whether or not everybody hates you, as long as they're civil tae your face and can put up a good front. You can only live in the world you ken. The rest is just wishful thinking or paranoia."

"Why did I join the force? I repeat, - Oh I'd have to say that it was due to police oppression. I'd witnessed it within my own community and decided that it was something I wanted to be part of, I smile."

Other thoughts

- I asked Penny if she wanted to watch the film adaptation of this. "Why would I want to watch an evil man do evil things and [massive ending of the novel spoiler]?" Good point, well made.

-  I thought this novel was excellent. A quick scan of the papers suggest that some reviewers thought that Robertson was unoriginal in terms of a self-loathing Scotsman and his evil scheming ways. Can't please everybody I guess,  but come on! I think they read it with their knickers in a twist. Even if Scottish characters have the tendency to be somewhat 'glass half empty' folk, not many are written in Welsh's style. Completely original.

- I know one of the main criticisms of Welsh is that he's a one-trick pony. Still, after reading this and 'Trainspotting' I'm keen to read at least one or two more. Which others should I go for? Porno? Skag Boys? If anybody is a connoisseur of his novels, please advise. It'll take me a little time to get to reading it mind - I need a bit of a break after this onslaught! 

The Dust That Falls From Dreams (2015) Louis de Bernieres

It is not often that I buy a book in hardback. I find them too bulky and less enjoyable to read. Penny often makes fun of the way that I read books - I look back over what I have read; look at the front cover; look at the back cover; skim the pages of the book and then finally revert back to reading the thing. These actions are made harder through the medium of the hardback novel. That being said, such is my enjoyment of the large majority of de Bernieres' novels, I bought this as soon as it became available and subjected myself to the torment and trials of reading a hardback novel.

De Bernieres' novel focuses on the McCosh family and their immediate neighbours during the First World War and the immediate aftermath. Like Iskander in 'Birds Without Wings' and Doctor Iannis in 'Captain Corelli's Mandolin,' de Bernieres' novel has a strong paternal presence in Hamilton McCosh. Mr. McCosh, his wife and four daughters all have to adapt to life during the First World War and watch helplessly as the conflict impacts on their loved ones throughout and in the months and years afterwards. Nobody seems to be unaffected by the War, whether it is the snobbish Mrs. McCosh or the kindly maid Millicent.

Like the other two of the author's epic novels, there is an array of narrators and mediums through whom the story is told. Letters and poems add a flexibility to the novel which makes his works more interesting and enjoyable. Unlike the other two novels, he does not give such weight to the historical goings on, which I found to be a relief as at times the previous two novels were so weighed down by chapters about Attaturk and the Second World War. One reviewer said that historical novels should only need to fleetingly mention goings on, whilst de Bernieres wrote himself in 'Captain Corelli' that 'history ought to be made up of the stories of ordinary people only.' In this novel he seems to have found a happy medium where his mentions of history are only written about where necessary.

The 'ordinariness' of the people involved in the novel could be one cause for criticism: the family, whilst often relying on McCosh speculating in stocks and shares whilst at the same time hoping that his inventions are successful in order to pay debts, are undoubtedly a successful family. The house seems to be large and they have a maid and a cook. An annoyance of mine with writers is when they stereotype the way in which people speak. The Londoners in the novel miss off the final consonant of their words, the Irish people say 'fecking Jaysus' and the poshos speak perfectly, of course. I think that most of the reading public should have enough nous about them to work out how people speak themselves.

The positives of this novel far outweigh the negatives. Through the characters of Hamilton McCosh and Daniel, de Bernieres once again has two kindly men who don't flaunt their qualities; whilst in Mary and Mrs. McCosh we have two female characters who struggle through their religious beliefs and grief to eventually make wise decisions. The excellent cameo of Daniel's mother towards the end of the novel yet again sees de Bernieres use his novel as a portal for marital advice which compares a good marriage to a good wine. A fine comparison.

Key quotations

'Marriage is like a wine,' she said, 'Sometimes it can only be drunk very young, and then it goes bad and gets worse and worse. Sometimes when it is young it's horrible, affreux! And then the years pass and it becomes wonderful, and perhaps you don't even notice and then you realise that at last the wine has become beautiful and you are happy. Sometimes a wine must be left alone and sometimes it must be blended and tasted and changed a little. And sometimes someone must come along and turn every bottle over, many times.'

Other thoughts

- One curiosity of the novel is de Bernieres odd insistence in saying that Character X did Y 'as was the custom in those days.' Why did he need to do that? We know he is writing about 'those days' and it just reads rather oddly. For such a skilled writer I find it utterly unnecessary.

- This is a huge return to form for de Bernieres after the disappointment of 'The Partisan's daughter' which was absolute dross. His debut trilogy is superb though and does not get the credit it deserves. Have you read 'The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts'? Make it a priority if not.

The Axeman's Jazz (2014) Ray Celestin

A while back, the Guardian wrote an article about a phenomenon called 'reader's block.' He wrote:
"We start (War and Peace, Proust, Goethe, Anne Enright's Booker-winning The Gathering), but we don't finish: we leave them on page 42 in the loo, a constant reminder of our lack of resolve. That, incidentally, is why there is a global shortage of bookmarks. Our trip to the bookshop has been a fool's errand: we remain anxious, but we are poorer."
This has been something that I have been cursed with for the last two months and it's been horrible. Penny has been reading her Robin Hobb like reading is going out of fashion, and I've been reading drips and drops of  'The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle' by Murakami and 'Men at Arms' by Ernest Hemingway. I could write a fairly comprehensive blog on the first 120 pages of Murakami's novel and the first 40 pages of Hemingway's, but it would amount to nothing worthy of reading or remembering. I will therefore write a short summary on both:
Murakami - weird, possibly pretentious, slightly engaging.
Hemingway - good, I will return to, possibly slightly melodramatic.

Right, now that's out of the way with, onto 'The Axeman's Jazz' by Celestin. This book caught my eye in Waterstones and I bought it without really being able to justify why as I didn't think it was a book that I would be able to totally embrace. However, something about it obviously was appealing enough and onto the shelf it went. It is set in New Orleans and focuses on a real serial killer who went on a killing spree in 1919. The novel explores who police, the Mafia and the jazz musicians of the city during that time and how the murders affected each group. Louis Armstrong also makes an appearance in the novel to really give you a flavour of what the city was like during that era.

I read the prologue out to Penny as I thought she would enjoy the suspense caused by it and the grotty way in which the city is presented in it. A local newspaper receives a letter from the Axeman:

When I initially read it, I thought "Oh come on. Be serious. How cheesy can this get?"  thinking that the author needed to up his game. However, if I had read the words from the author noting that the letter is a real artifact from the newspaper and allegedly written by the killer, I couldn't have criticised him. Turns out the killer was just that - not a wordsmith.

Celestin gives the reader three different investigators of the murders: Michael Talbot, a Detective Lieutenant under pressure; Luca D'Andrea, his former partner and 'bad cop' who has recently been released from prison for corruption charges; and Ida Davis, a Pinkerton Detective agency secretary hoping to prove her detective skills, held back in the profession because of her gender.

The novel is thoroughly engaging and is an exciting page-turner. If you can suspend your disbelief that Louis Armstrong is involved detecting a real life serial killer, all the better. Celestin gives the reader a fantastic outlook into what life in New Orleans was like in an era just before the Roaring Twenties and manages to give you an insight into how each community had its traditions and struggles, without descending into melodrama.

There have been criticisms that Celestin has created something more like a tour guide than a detective novel but I do not believe this to be the case: it is simply a celebration of a city with a fascinating cultural history. There is a scene where the mayor is making a speech boasting of the city's resistance to any natural disaster, where a cynical journalist is arguing each of his points which makes fascinating reading.

I enjoyed this book and have a lot to be grateful to it for - it cured my 'block' and has got me looking forward to forthcoming novels by the likes of Louis de Bernieres and Jonathan Franzen. I can't wait to get the next book.

Key quotation

Hell, March 13, 1919

Esteemed Mortal:

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.

If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don‘t think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:

I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.

The Axeman

Other thoughts

- It's not a surprise that this novel is written by an author who has experience writing for television. It is equally unsurprising that the novel has been chosen to be televised. It could be similar in mood to 'Boardwalk Empire.'

- Rarely has a novel had such an excellent soundtrack. 

A blog about a dog

Warning: nothing to do with books.
Six years ago, my family went to Birmingham Dogs Home to look round and found ourselves a little puppy who was absolutely beautiful. We had wanted a bitch believing them to have a calmer temperament and friendly nature. Our previous dog, Sooty, had died of old age, incontinence and misery a few months beforehand and we thought it was time to get a new one.

This dog caught our eye. We had to get the blessing of the whole family in order to keep take her home so we invited Dad along to come and see her. He took one look at her and spent the rest of the meeting in a foul mood because "she'll be trouble."

Being the nice man I am, I went to visit this puppy in the time it took for the Dogs Home to visit my parents' house to check its suitability. I left each time with bites and scratches but didn't tell my Dad in case he didn't let us bring her home. Fortunately I got some pretty good shots of her:

I took her training, but she was always big and bolshy and was rather highly strung. I remember taking her to the park one day and walking along. The next minute I was on the floor in a puddle of mud with no idea what had happened. It felt like I had been run over by a train, but it was Polly, taking my legs out leaving me on the floor.

She had other traits which were less desirable. She had a fear of greyhounds which made her growl and bark at them. If you tied her outside a shop she would bite you upon your return to tell you off for your sins. She definitely thought that she was the boss and would do everything in her power to establish this.

Like all dogs, she had her quirky ways. She believed that she had to chase the pigeons away for you if you entered the garden. If you caught her unaware of your presence, the pigeons could patrol the gardens as much as they liked, but she felt compelled to help you out. Her ongoing battle with Henry, the next door neighbours' cat was an enjoyable dual with no winners. If you went on a walk with her, she would find it unbearable if the pack was split up and become panicked if one of you went in a different direction.

Not the best hunter in the world, she would never give up. Rabbits and squirrels were her favourite, though she occasionally tried hunting things such as disabled people and my friends when they visited.

A fiercely loyal dog who loved nothing more than being around family and friends. Even when she was too heavy and too full of elbows she wanted to sit on your lap and give you love.

We lost Polly this week. Penny and I had to look after her a few days ago. This is the last photo I took of her, at the field near where we live - her favourite place.

She wasn't what some would consider the most well-behaved dog or the easiest dog in the world to have. She was, to put it bluntly, a massive pain in the arse at times. However, she was our dog and a brilliant friend to have. I will miss her.

Neverwhere (1996) Neil Gaiman

I do not like fantasy. I wrote it early on in the blog and I have never enjoyed wishy-washy stories about dragons, elves, pixies, ogres, hobbits, fairies, giants, demons, witches and wizards. However, I definitely do like Neil Gaiman. Prior to purchasing this, I read half of 'American Gods' and decided I needed to read more of his work as I found him to be witty, imaginative and an excellent storyteller. Until I read the Author's Note of this edition of 'Neverwhere', I had thought that the television series had been based on the book but it is, in fact, the other way round. However, Gaiman diplomatically says that the televised version of his story hadn't been 'necessarily bad' it had missed out large parts that he thought were essential and so he wrote the novel.

The novel focuses on Richard Mayhew, an unfortunate city worker in London who has a demanding and not-at-all understanding fiancée, who one night stumbles across a wounded girl on a London street and decides to help her. The next morning, he awakes to find that nobody recognises him, taxis don't notice him and his world has been turned upside down. He enters a new world, 'London Below' (as opposed to 'London Above') and begins a quest with Door, the wounded girl who he helped before.

London Below is a dingy, dirty and dangerous place which slightly mirrors and satirises life in the 'real' London. There is a floating market, where you can buy 'anything,' including "Rubbish!...Junk!...Garbage! Trash! Offal! Debris! Nothing whole or undamaged! Crap, tripe and useless piles of shit! You know you want it." Sounds like an average trip to Primark to me. Gaiman also amusingly gives literal meanings to place names: there is an angel at Islington, there are a skulk of friars at Blackfriars (thanks Google for the collective noun there) and Knightsbridge has a terrifying bridge, encompassed by night.

Gaiman's prose is often humorous and quite blokey for a fantasy writer: "Can I help you?' asked the footman. Richard had been told to fuck off and die with more warmth and good humour." This is very occasionally juxtaposed with some uninteresting exchanges between the characters: "Now would be a very bad time to discover that one was claustrophobic, wouldn't it' 'Yes,' said Door. 'Then I won't.' said Richard. Despite that snooze-inducing exchange, this does not detract from a superb storyline.

It has taken me around two years to get round to reading 'Neverwhere.' I knew little about it other than Gaiman talking on a podcast about 'American Gods' discussing how he needed to add little bits of information about London for his American readership who may not understand the various parts of the city. Once you get reading the novel, you quickly get round to knowing and loving the characters of Richard, Door, the Marquis de Carabas and Hunter, whilst having a grim amusement and fascination of Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar.  Whilst I 'don't like' fantasy, I think if you don't enjoy Neil Gaiman's writing ('American Gods,' 'Stardust' and this are all essential reading), you essentially are discounting novels of huge amounts of fun and imagination. These books contain them in abundance.

Key quotes

• "Metaphors failed him. He had gone beyond the world of metaphor and simile into a place of things that are, and it was changing him."
• "Richard wrote a diary entry in his head. Dear Diary, he began. On Friday I had a job a fiancée, a home, and a life that made sense. (Well, as much as any life makes sense). Then I found an injured girl bleeding on the pavement, and I tried to be a Good Samaritan. Now I've got no fiancée, no home, no job, and I'm walking around a couple of hundred feet under the streets of London with the projected life expectancy of a suicidal fruitfly."
• "The only advice I can give you is what you're telling yourself. Only, maybe you're too scared to listen."

Other thoughts

• I enjoyed Gaiman's description of how the BBC presented 'the Beast' as looking "more like a rather sad looking cow."
• Enjoying Potter, the recent BBC adaptation of Mr. Norrell and Jonathan Strange are rather troublesome in my long-held view that I don't like fantasy. I think what I might mean is I don't like 'Lord of the Rings' or fantasy that focuses on non-human beings. I can deal with 'realistic' fantasy if that makes sense. 
• The other day I spent a few minutes looking around Waterstones fruitlessly attempting to locate the animated version of this story as I was interested to see how the characters were presented. Penny found it in a second. Having flicked through it though, the characters were not at all how I imagined them to be. I don't imagine Door to look anything like that Marvel comic-like character below; I thought of her more as a grubby girl out of a Dickensian poorhouse.