Burst!

A time for some nostalgia, but not a lot: I was thinking of the fond memories of working at COR and struggled to see the wood for the trees. Clarity finally shone through, as once a week there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and not just the Met line re-surfacing at Finchley Road homeward bound. 5-a-side footy was great fun and showed how a bunch of no-hoper's can learn upstanding ethics, such as team work and camaraderie. In fact the highs and lows of playing the beautiful game was something I missed and hoped to find something similar over here. Thankfully the opportunity arose.

Wellington has a 5-a-side indoor soccer league (football by any other name assumes an oval ball, big thighs and soap on a rope). After settling in the job I rallied the troops and got 9 people interested in signing up. The fact that most of the players hadn't kicked a soccer ball since early childhood, have never offered four letter punditry whilst screaming at an lcd screen and the back of someone else's head down their local, have never been intellectually neutered by wasting their dull-as-dishwater lives with Sky pre-match build-up or lobotomised by Soccer AM. My expectations were naturally low. The season comprises 2 qualifiers, 8 league games and a play-off for the cup or wooden spoon. The first match we lost 14-1 and we were a right shambles. The second match we played our trump, and current NZ international goalie. He scored 10 goals on his tod while we all stood stationary marveling at his skills - it was a hollow victory really but you take what you can get. The league organisers thought our first game was the blip and stuck us in a higher league than we'd hoped.

Our international ringer was called away on duty to South America - he was on the bench against Venezuela last week. The flaw in our plan was exposed and we lost the first league match 12-2. The next game wasn't much better and we got stuffed 10-3. I was just about to throw in the managerial towel and assumed that the team was destined for the misery of a typical England Euro qualification campaign or a Happy Hammers premiership relegation battle. 3-0 down at half time on our last match, all hope was gone. But, just like Rocky and Hulk Hogan before us. When the chips were down. When all the other team's mates turned up expecting to see another right royal rogering of the enfeebled opposition. The clenched fist shook in defiance, the pupils narrowed through crazed stares into the halogen strip lighting of the sports hall, and the spittle of fury dribbled down the bruised cheek of pride. Yes. The team suddenly clicked. Ferguson would have had tears in his eyes watching the fluid passing movements and Arsene Wenger would have no gallic shrug to explain the reversal in fortune. 6 goals without reply (a 6-3 win!!). The team now have the taste of blood in their mouths and victory will be ours again.

Burst! is the name of our team. For those keen on a blankety blank cheque book and pen:
.....of speed, .......hopes, .....a blood vessel - answers on a postcard please.



Lisa and I went to WOMAD last month and had a great time grooving to all manner of bands from around the globe. Some great highlights including Femi Kuti and Salif Kaieta as excellent headline acts. It was also great to see the Gotan Project and the divine Lila Downs again. A 3 day festival in awesome surrounds but as is typical with any festival - it bleedin p'd down for half of it. Didn't spoil the fun though. We stayed in billet style sleeping arrangements in an arena, squeezed in with hundreds of other punters on foam mattresses and the loudest slamming toilet door coupled with drunk revelers with bursting bladders. An experience, but not conducive to sleep or calming frayed nerves and short fuses.

A few more pictures can be found at the usual place.