RustyGate

Liverpool’s defence sucks, dude. I mean, jislaik dude, I could drive a double-decker bus between our center halves and they still wouldn’t notice, dude.

I mean, really dude, our defence is so bad, we gave Arshavin the ball so much against Arsenal, dude must have felt like he was at tennis practice and that machine was lobbing balls over the net at him, dude.

Dude, we can’t expect to win any titles with our defenders (and defensive mids) giving the ball away so easily, dude. It’s all well and good having a lively and enthusiastic attack, but without a vigorous and robust defence you’re nothing, dude.

But dude, seriously dude, that Arshavin is something special innit?

But Torres is king, dude. Torres is king.

People are complex organisms. Human beings have free will, and they make their own choices. Some are good, some are bad, some are downright eeeveel, but they’re choices. I’m all for religion, worship in whatever form it comes in, faith to whatever deity or principal someone chooses. When one person or group’s specific moral leanings begin to encroach on the rights, beliefs or thoughts of others, I have a problem. People are free to choose what they believe in, and only when their actions contradict societal norms, then their society can sanction them accordingly.

Read: not everyone should be Christian, Jew, Muslim, hindu or whatever. People can choose. Stop fighting about it.

I don’t mind pets. Feel free to have your dog, cat, fish, alligator or nine-metre snake. When your pet then decides to shit, vomit, piss, bite, sting, kill, eat or otherwise screw up another person’s life, maybe it’s time to consider doing what other lonely people do. Have a fucking baby.

Read: keep your dog in your yard, dammit.

Life is for living. The world is one big amusement park, and we need to learn to treat it like one. There are challenges, trials, but all leading to boundless joy and wonder. Don’t look for monsters in every closet and hoods around every corner. Live a little.

Read: don’t be afraid to try new things, new people.

Love exists. Just because someone hurt you before doesn’t mean the next person will fuck you over as well. You have to believe in the power of the human spirit; you have to believe in people. In feelings. Follow your heart – love will pass you by if you think all men are dogs and all women whores. Take a chance, your heart will thank you for it.

Read: go ahead, open yourself up.

People are fallible, and they make mistakes. A moment of stupidity does not a villain make. Learn to appreciate that and you’ll see people for who they are …  simple creatures. Give them a chance.

Read: forgive, and you’ll be all the better for it.

That’s me, and those are my principles. If anything is ever said about me, let it be that I lived my life, loved my women and took my chances. Staying true to yourself is about the best any of us can ever do, and I think I’ve done that.

Just thought you should know.

Roman Abramovich calls Chelsea Football Club a “project”, an undertaking that’s been jeopardised by one Luiz Felipe Scolari. So he’s fired him.

The best football coach in the world. After seven months.

They brought him in to rescue that club from the disaster that was Toad of Toad Hall (aka Avram Grant) and promised him money and time to build the squad in his own image. Not so much.

You have to wonder exactly what Chelsea are trying to achieve; you don’t get a new manager in and ask him to start winning things immediately. You don’t recruit someone like Felipão and treat him like your run-of-the-mill Souness or Curbushley or Allardyce.

Has to make you wonder, with people like Rijkaard and Mancini being touted to replace Big Phil, what kinda idiot would take this job? Oh, the money you say?

Right. Big Phil leaves with  £7.5m. That’s okay then.

It’s not my choice, having to shower in my office every day. It’s not fun, tumbling out of bed and driving fifteen kilometres before the obligatory shit, shower and shave.

This is because I don’t have running water at home, and electricity supply is patchy at best. Now, I usually don’t have a problem with having to perform my ablutions in the office; in fact, there’s no comparing a bucket-wash to that feeling when a warm jet first hits you full in the face. Hot water – good.

Problem; I think I’m getting old. I pack my clothes bag after falling punch-drunk out of bed, and that’s never a good idea cos I always forget something. Usually it’s underwear, which isn’t an issue cos you know a brother’s gotta let it hang sometimes. I mean, the meat and two veg need a holiday, you know? No hay problema senor.

But today I left my socks behind. I’m wearing a formal shirt, cord pants and … dodgy Levi flip-flops that were white at some point but are now just kinda dirty cream wiv brown splodges. Fuck.

Where’s the nearest clothing store?

She strained back, arching her body so that her silky black hair almost brushed his legs. He felt her shudder deep inside, losing control one more time. Then she came slowly forward, until her flushed face was close to his and he could feel her deep drawn breaths and gentle moans. She smiled and licked her lips. His smiling eyes on hers, he cupped the full smoothness of her buttocks and felt her lift, rising away from his stomach, drawing herself to the end of him. For a moment he had to catch his breadth. She giggled. He laughed.

She eyed him mischievously and moved slowly down on him until he felt the pressure of her muscular loins against his. Hey eyes were half closed, the lids trembling as she concentrated on his pleasure. He felt her move inside again as she arched away from him, pushing away from his chest with her hands. Slowly and then faster she rode him, her head thrown back. He watched, excited as he always was by her voluptuous intensity. Then her nails dug into his skin and she was moaning again, over and over.

They lay in his bed for a long time, half-covered by the damp duvet. He turned and looked at her thick, silky black hair spread over his arm and across the blue pillow. They kissed, and exchanged a gentle smile.

Since She had come over to talk yesterday they had been together almost every minute. It was unlike anything she had expected. They had talked about It, about work, about saving his cleaner from a domestic abuse case and the black hole that is Zimbabwe’s legal system. Instead of being “taken out” to grand restaurants by someone who was obviously going to great pains to impress her and make up for some Great Mistake, she had found herself walking alongside him in a shopping mall with no particular sense of urgency or purpose. Found herself eating simple food at odd hours; found herself curled up on the couch in his house with John Legend on the iPod and her feet in his lap, and found in all these simple things that she was deeply affected by him, by them, the way they were together. The spontaneity, the laughter of the whole thing was all the more striking in the context of what her daily routine had become since they had broken up and she had gone back to work.

It wasn’t just a question of the increased pressure which came with discussion, accusation, apology. There was something vaguely scary about being in such close quarters with someone who had caused her so much hurt and pain. In the midst of what seemed sometimes like the ocean of ulterior motive and hidden intention in which she now had to swim, the old He had bobbed up like a life belt. Funny, spontaneous and entirely engrossed with her. Strangely enough she got the feeling that the end of their relationship, and with it the lack of pressure, seemed to afford him the same kind of relief. He seemed to welcome her as if his house were a sanctuary. He only had to touch her and She would relax immediately. And when she touched him it seemed a natural extension of their discourse, their communication. True, he obviously wanted the relationship to go back further than she was ready for, but she believed that in time even that would no longer be an issue.

He breathed her scent and touched her fine skin with his lips. Being close, he felt a heaviness in his throat. How could he ever hurt something so precious? He wanted her back so much, it was difficult to keep control, to keep the thickness out of his voice. She held him too. She had pressed herself against his thigh, straining against him as though he were in fact trying to push her away. He tried to look at her face, but she kept her head buried in his neck. She stayed like that for a long time, breathing through her mouth. He finally looked into her eyes, sure that he would see the fear there which was becoming familiar to him. She looked at him, brows compressed in a line over her soft dark eyes.

“Bitch.”

And her expression, the way she spoke, her beautiful disarming frankness, filled him with love. He kissed her forehead, her fragrant hair. She fell asleep in his arms.