Anthem

Arsenal are not my team but I am glad that they have done really well this season in The Premier League. They play an attractive brand of flowing, honest football and there is sparkling talent all over the pitch. They play together as a proper, united  team, all pulling in the same direction.

Last night they were up against Atletico Madrid in the second leg of the semi-final of  The European Champions League competition. They scraped home courtesy of a  scrambled first half goal scored by captain and England international - Bukayo Saka. And now they are through to the final against Paris Saint-Germain.

After the match, the massed Arsenal supporters delivered a loud, spine-tingling rendition of what has become the club's unique anthem - "North London Forever". It was only written in 2022 and was never intended to be a football anthem. However, the creator happens to be an Arsenal supporter who was born and raised in Islington.

His name is Louis Dunford and having listened to the full song a few times, I would suggest that it was only ever intended to be an affectionate homage to his home city with all of its big metropolitan confusion, its modern issues, its cultural variety. The fact that the song has been adopted by the football club he loves must blow his mind with pride and joy.

Of course the fans only sing the chorus but the edgy, urban full lyrics are worth looking at. I will just supply the first verse followed by the uplifting chorus that Arsenal supporters have adopted and after that a video from The Hammersmith Apollo two years ago. You might just get the "vibe":-

As I walk these streets alone, through this borough I call home
Upon the barren fields of Highbury 'neath the stadiums of stone
Through the turnstiles at The Angel, see the homeless on the green
From The Cally to The Cross, and every shithole in between
Past the church, the mosque, a crack den, and the offie on the corner
See the brasses from the brothel that pretends to be a sauna
Watch the bedlam in the bookies, see the winners and the losers
Seeking solace from their sorrows in the local battle cruisers
Through the madness in the market, weathered faces turn to greet ya
"Hello guvnor, how's your mother?"
"You alright son, be lucky, geeza"
Double pie and mash and liquor, a cuppa Rosie Lee up chap
Or watch retired gangsters bicker, everyday in Arthur's cafe
The little fuckers causing trouble, for the cozzers make you smile
You meet ya muckers for a couple, forget your troubles for a while
From The Thornhill to The Hemmy, all the faces are the same
'Cause the manor might be changing, but the people still remain

North London forever!
Whatever the weather,
These streets are our own!
And my heart will leave you never!
My blood will forever
Run through the stone!

I wish that Hull City had an anthem like that instead of a recycled Elvis Presley song. By the way, British visitors may be interested to learn that Louis Dunford's mother is the TV actress Linda Robson who first entered the national consciousness via "Birds of a Feather" with Pauline Quirke.

Garden

Dave and Steve - just two of our garden gnomes

During my twenty one years of blogging I have discovered one sure thing about bloggers - they're a nosy breed. A few weeks ago now, the legendary North Florida blogger Mary Moon asked if I would share some pictures of our garden. By now, she probably imagined that I had forgotten about her request - but I hadn't. Today, I nipped out to capture some images of our long, thin suburban garden.

When we moved here in 1989 the garden was a neglected, overgrown and unloved wasteland of long grass, brambles and forgotten brick-edged pathways from the nineteen twenties. There wasn't even a fence or gate or anything at the bottom of the garden which backs on to a communal lane.

The previous owners - who were British "Scrabble" champions - clearly weren't in the least bit interested in gardening and the lack of a fence at the bottom of the garden probably seemed unimportant given the lethal barrier of tangled bramble briars there. No intruders would ever do battle with that.

It was a wild domain in which neighbourhood cats could sun themselves, foxes could copulate and flying  insects were untroubled by interfering humans.

Then I arrived and within three weeks set to. I hired a heavy duty petrol-driven strimmer, made bonfires, used "Round-Up" and tamed the jungle. The next thing I did was to make a little brick path that I pictured leading from the lower part of the garden to the top  part. There would be shrubbery borders to each side of the path. 

At the bottom part of the garden there would be a lawn and in the top part a vegetable patch. The very size of the garden was the thing that swung it for me when we decided to move here. It is 45 metres long - I know this because I once measured it.

Our garden is not neatly manicured and still has a degree of rough, unkempt wildness to it but that is how I like it.

In her retirement, Mrs Pudding has become much more interested in gardening and is often out there nowadays, showing keen interest. In the past - when she was nursing and being a homemaker, she was rarely drawn out to work in the garden. It was mainly a place to hang our washing. I must say, I rather like the fact that she now finds a lot of pleasure in growing things, tending plants and noticing the changes that Nature oversees.

In cities, many people do not have private gardens so I think we are very fortunate in that regard. I am  not going to label my pictures. I think that together they speak for themselves. I present our English garden in the suburbs of a Yorkshire city in May 2026...

Bowie

Come back David Bowie! We need you to rework your song, "The Man Who Sold The World". Please re title it - "The Man Who Broke The World" and this time focus on the activities of the 47th President of the USA or POTUS for short.  You might reflect on his tariff penalty chaos that foreshadowed the current war on Iran.

These actions have been disastrous for the world as a whole and into the mix you could throw in some asides about "Drill baby drill!", Greenland ambitions, thinly veiled allegiance with Putin the Tyrant,  the kidnapping of Nicolas Maduro, the cruel scrapping of USAID, The Nobel Peace Prize fiasco and the gross dumbing down of political rhetoric. 

Yes, "The Man Who Broke The World" will make a perfect title for this song from the grave David.

The current occupant of The White House is an impetuous person, puffed up with self-importance and blind faith in his self-assumed exceptionalness but the truth is he is shallow, not well-read, reluctant to take expert advice on anything. And today many well-informed onlookers suspect that he is falling apart both mentally and physically.

When he sparked his crazy, untimely war upon Iran, he clearly had no appreciation of how things might develop. It was as if he had lifted his plan from a comic book. 

The US goes in with their flags fluttering and their military might pumping and the enemy capitulates. A white flag is raised. In Washington D.C. cheering crowds laud their beloved president as in Tehran an obedient puppet leader is installed. And they all live happily ever after.

I doubt that #47 had even heard of The Strait of Hormuz before the war kicked off let alone understood its significance in terms of the global economy.

Through his belligerent, unnecessary and ill-considered action he is breaking the world. Fuel prices rise along with food prices, agriculture is severely impacted along with aviation and there is great anxiety and nervousness abroad.  Over 120 innocent girls were killed by American might without apology in the Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School in Minab, Iran. And who did all that? Why - him - "The Man Who Broke the World":

We passed upon the stair

We spoke of  this and that

Something strange about his hair

Then he donned a MAGA  hat

Which came as some surprise

I spat into his eyes

"I dreamt you died alone

A long, long time ago"

[Chorus]

Oh no, not me

I never lost control

You're face to face

With the man who broke the world

Thank you David.

Saltmarshe

Heading to Saltmarshe Hall Dairy Farm with The River Ouse to the right.

I neglected to mention that when I drove homewards yesterday afternoon after the football match, I came off the M62 motorway at the Howden junction. My destination was Saltmarshe on the north bank of The River Ouse.

There I wanted to gather three more Geograph photo squares to add my current tally of 19,002 photographs contributed. The diversion would not take me very long - about forty five minutes and then I would be back on the road, heading home for chicken curry making responsibilities. There would be just a bit of walking to do.

Saltmarshe is a remote East Yorkshire village which you reach along narrow lanes. There are only about twelve houses there, two farms and a grand Georgian "hall" that was once the home of  the Saltmarshe family who could trace their history right back to the Norman Conquest. 

Plough Farm, Saltmarshe

Saltmarshe Hall is now a wedding venue. In fact, my best friend Tony's youngest daughter was married there in 2018. I wrote about it here.

In that peaceful riverside settlement, off the beaten track, I successfully nailed my desired squares as the three photo-illustrations that accompany this blogpost  show. 

As I walked past Saltmarshe Hall, I noticed that there was a wedding reception in progress. In the garden there was a little ice cream stand, no doubt ordered by the happy couple. Cheekily, I  wandered through the gap in the hedge and asked the ice cream lady if I might have a cone as I was gasping for something.

Kindly, she agreed. We had a nice little chat and though she said I need not pay anything for my rum and raisin cornet, I gave her three pound coins - suggesting they could be slotted into her grandchildren's piggy banks. Whereupon she revealed that  she was not only childless but she had "lost" her husband to cancer last year. "Well put it into your own piggy bank then, " I said. "Add it to your next holiday fund".

She was a nice lady and I am sure I could have conversed with her for hours. Sometimes you just "click" with people. She was also a Hull City supporter and was delighted to hear that we had made the play-offs yesterday afternoon.

Railway bridge just north of Saltmarshe on the Sheffield to Hull railway line.

Play-Offs!

Oli McBurnie

Well blogmates, I had a splendid day today, here at the start of the merry month of May.

I drove over to Hull to see what might have been my team's last match of the 2025-26 football season. We were up against Norwich City. If we won the game we would have a reasonable chance of making the end of season play-offs for the last remaining promotion position.

The MKM Stadium was packed and because Norwich are a well-supported team, their corner of the ground was filled with The Canaries' distinctive yellow and green garb.

THe atmosphere was electric when the two teams came out of the tunnel and just before kick-of f it seemed that every Hull City fan was in good voice as we sang:-

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

Please don't ask me why, Tigers fans adopted that old Elvis Presley number a few years ago because I have no idea. Perhaps Elvis himself was a closet Hull City supporter.

Anyway, Norwich City scored the first goal, coolly hammered home by Mohamed Touré. The Hull City army felt their hearts sink into the pits of their stomachs but there was no need for such despair because two minutes later we won a penalty when bustling Joe Geldhart was felled in the box.

Up steps Oli McBurnie and drives the ball down the middle into the back of the net. GOOOOOOOAAAL!

Halftime came. I went down to the concourse to meet up with Tony and Karl again. We were nervous. Our competitors, Wrexham, were drawing with Middlesbrough and Derby County were beating Sheffield United. At that moment, it looked as though we could forget the play-offs.

The second half commenced and time was ebbing away until in the sixty seventh minute, Oli McBurnie slides home what turned out to be the winner. Hull City fans went wild and my facial muscles could not control the big smile that illuminated my countenance with unadulterated  joy.

When Croatian keeper, Ivor Pandur, plucked a Norwich corner out of the sky in the very last minute, it was as if he  himself had scored a goal.

The other results went in our favour and so now our season is extended into the play-offs. We will be taking on London club Millwall next Friday night before the second leg happens down in the capital the week after.

It's an exciting end to the season and even if we do not make it to the Wembley final at the end of the month I know that our team will give it their all. It has been a very good season to be a Hull City supporter.

And I know that there are plenty of wannabe Hull City fans out there in the blogosphere - such as Andrew in Melbourne, JayCee on The Isle of Man  and Jennifer in Florence SC - so specially for you here are today's highights. Enjoy!

Motivation

➕

Here in Great Britain, human weight is traditionally measured in stones and pounds. I recognise that In America folk think in terms of pounds alone and of course in continental Europe it's all kilograms - whatever they might be. Down in Australia I expect that Aussie weight is measured in marsupials. But here it is, as I say, stones and pounds.

While I have been churning out this blog during the last eight months, I have been in the process of losing weight with the aid of "Mounjaro" weight loss injections. They have spurred me on to be much more watchful about what I eat and to be far more weight conscious.

Previously, I had not weighed myself in over twenty five years and looking back I realise now that I was in denial.  I didn't want to turn into somebody who constantly watched what he ate and allowed the bathroom scales to have any kind of influence. So I simply never weighed myself.

But my ostrich-like attitude was changed by high blood pressure and the warning that I was teetering on the edge of Type 2 diabetes. It was time to act and shedding weight would, of course, be of great assistance in my fight back.

Losing weight has been an up and down sometimes frustrating experience though the gradual trend has always been downwards. I am now happy to report that I have lost over two stones in weight - around thirty two pounds.

Earlier this week, I thought to myself - what does a stone feel like if you are holding it in your hand or carrying it on your back? I determined that six standard 75cl wine bottles weigh just over a stone.

So I put six bottles in a shopping bag and lifted them. Wow! They were pretty heavy and to think, I have lost the equivalent of two bags of wine bottles! 

That excess weight must have been distributed around my body - not just my belly and I realise what an extra strain carrying that weight must have been placing upon me.

It was very helpful to get a handle on the amount of weight I have lost by using the bag of wine bottles idea and I would advise anybody who has successfully lost some weight to try to replicate my little exercise. A physical demonstration of the weight you have lost could provide the motivational boost you might need.

For myself, I am not done with weight loss yet but I feel I am on the final furlong of my mission and then it will be all  about maintaining the reduced weight and not slipping back into those old devil-may-care ways. Vigilance shall be my watchword... I hope.

Addiction

In the course of my life I have been addicted to several things. Cocaine? Heroin? Uppers? Downers? No none of those  things. My addictions have been more mundane.

Once I was addicted to cigarettes and smoked twenty to thirty a day but finally, in early 1988, I managed to chuck the habit for good simply by deciding to become a non-smoker. My determination was bigger and more powerful than the insidious effects of nicotine upon my brain. I have not smoked another cigarette since that January morning when I destroyed my last full pack of Benson & Hedges, breaking up the cancer sticks and watching the golden tobacco hidden within fall into our dustbin with the rest of the rubbish.

And I was addicted to the British soap opera "EastEnders" from it's very first episode on February 19th  1985 until the summer of 2013. That's when I finally decided it was taking up too much of my life and the commitment was plainly ridiculous. I have never watched a single episode since then. A bit like giving up cigarettes.

Once I was down at our local pub four or five nights a week supping the elixir of life - "Tetley's Bitter". Each time I would drink between three and five pints. I just could not get enough of the stuff and Lord knows how much dosh I spent on my habit. Today, I have not given up drinking beer entirely but my input is massively reduced. On Sunday, I had four pints at the quiz in "The Robin Hood" but I haven't had any beer since and that's been story most weeks in the last two years.

I have had other addictions. I was addicted to reading and studying when I was at university. When I discovered Indian curry meals, I  could not get enough of them. Nowadays I seem to be addicted to walking and taking pictures as well as  blogging but I am cool about that and have no immediate plans to give up. These addictions seem healthy enough.

And while I am on the subject of addiction, let me refer to the blogpost I wrote last week about Shirley, my "Wife". I neglected to mention that she is an addict. The problem began over a decade ago now and gradually the addiction has got worse. I am at my wit's end and have no idea how I can help her to give up and get clean again.

I am talking about smartphone addiction. When she got her first smartphone, she was able to handle it pretty well but gradually the addiction has grown. 

I get up in the morning and ask if she wants a cup of tea. She's there on the front room sofa, glued to the smartphone.

She goes out to the greenhouse to potter with her plants and seedlings. I look outside and she's standing there in the greenhouse - on her smartphone..

I am cooking in the kitchen, stirring this and checking that. She brings me her smartphone to look at - a meme, a photograph, a message but I am a non-addict and so I am not attuned to this smartphone obsession. I never want to know what people are looking at in the depths of their little screens. It is all so alien  to me.

As I look around the world - in  parks, on buses, in pubs or cafes, outside Phoebe's school, at football matches, I see the smartphone addiction everywhere. It has swept across the planet like fentanyl or something . So many people are completely hooked and do not seem able to function without checking out their bloody smartphones every five minutes. 

I would be happy to feature in an anti-smartphone advertising campaign. The uniting slogan might well be "Not So Smart!". I wondered what A.I. imaging might make of that:-