Sort of Actual Diary

I can’t be arsed trying to write actual articles so we’re going stream-of-consciousness. This genuinely should be of little interest to anyone and to be honest it’s only because I’m a tight-arse and I’ve paid for the hosting and the domain that anything’s going on here at all.

14th July 2021 (probably)

You can’t kid the children of the Rafalution.

These are strange days we’re living through. We’re inundated with so much information that your only way to deal with the bombardment, the constant noise – to avoid your head bursting like Michael Ironside in Scanners – is to reduce and filter and simplify what’s going on around you. 

Pick a lane and stick to it. Avoid anything that challenges your world view. Fuck it, you don’t even have to try that hard: just sit back and let the algorithms do it for you. The more the computer knows you the more it reinforces your opinions and reassures you that your outlook is the only one that makes any sense. 

Monetised monotony preserves the racist quo. 

Brexit, Trump, Covid, Black Lives Matter, Rafael Benitez. 

I know what I think and nothing you say is going to change it. So don’t even try.

17th July 2021 (ish)

And the weird just go weirder.

Internet rumours about an Everton player being arrested for child sex offences – just read that phrase back to yourself there, Christ – turn out to be true. The papers let it be known that it was a 31-year-old Blues’ player, and Fabien Delph was understandably quick to announce it’s not him, which leaves only…the other 31-year-old Everton player, who looks more likely to turn up at your door with a white shirt and a satchel, asking you to let the Lord into your life, than send your teenage daughter photos of ‘little *****’. But there you go.

However it turns out now it’s tragic.

If he’s guilty then a child has been the victim of a crime. That’s just horrific. And if he’s not guilty then, well, good luck with your reputation. 

Just horrible all round.

24th July 2021

I’m being rubbish at doing these diary entries on the actual days. It doesn’t really work doing them retrospectively. I wouldn’t mind, I’m up at 4am every morning. I’ve been like this for over a year now. I don’t know whether I should worry about it or not. I have no problem dropping off at night. Far from it, in fact. But then boom, 4am, or even earlier, wide awake. Work starts about 8am and I’ve already been for a five mile walk and read for an hour and watched something on iPlayer. It’s not really a problem other than I just seem completely out of sync with the rest of the world. I’m putting myself in bed at half nine because I’m shattered and I can still hear kids down the road having water fights and playing on trampolines.

I’ll try and at least use the time productively and keep the diary up to date. There’s really no reason not to.

Anyway, the Toffees play in the Covid Cup in Miami this weekend. Arsenal and Inter Milan have swerved it, but like a load of ket-wig anti-vaxxers Everton have said ‘fuck it lad, it’s 5G isn’t it’ and now play some random South or Central American sides. I’m glad it’s not been called off as my uncle and my cousin have flown from New York and Washington State respectively to get a whiff of that Rafa magic. The pair of them have lived in the States for years now and are absolutely Everton crackers. 

We were planning to go to Everton’s next preseason in the US as well. There have clearly been worse casualties of this pandemic, but still, Miami with the Blues, drinking out of those big weird red plastic cups, would have been ace.