Well that didn't exactly go to plan, did it? Another blunderfull derby game. Things did bode well at the start, with Paul Cooke's immediate knock-on offering us hope of instant retribution. Then it all went a bit schoolboy error-riddled, Rovers dominated the first half and the second-half comeback didn't really ever look like happening. Watched the game with two of the cast in a hotel full of young, very noisy, ice-hockey players. Like a hostel for lovers of contact sports, it was. Fidel lost interest in the game when someone sat opposite us took delivery of a hefty amount of chicken wings and tortilla chips. En-route to the hotel some boy racers in a Renault Clio took the time to wind their passenger window and hurl an empty plastic bottle at me. Thought for a few seconds they might have been filming that dreadful Balls of Steel. Once home I took solace in a doner kebab, half-watching Road to Perdition. Today's early morning insomnia was accompanied by Kelly Jones' Only The Names Have Been Changed and Josh Rouse's Dressed Up Like Nebraska, which eventually gave way to some sleep that was broken four hours later by the new neighbours sawing up kitchen units in their front garden at 8am. Quite an horrific few hours, really.
Took mother to her bus stop in the city centre the other day and noticed, for the first time, this whopper of a vinyl banner dangling outside Hull's monopolistic telecoms company offices announcing that there are 27m men, women and children in the world currently forced to live as slaves. Big numbers and, heck, yes it needs to be stopped. But not too sure that hanging a banner outside Hull's monopolistic telecoms company offices on a thoroughfare that is hardly the busiest in the city is really the way to achieve such a seismic shift. Certainly my mum didn't glance up and exclaim that she'd be signing the petition as soon as she got home. No, all she was bothered about was what time the 1C would be arriving.
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