Moi?

I see this as a good visual representation of myself - colourless and acting with the sole intention of keeping other people out. Either that or its just a photo that I like that I needed to look relevant in order to keep up the pretense that I plan this journal you are all so kind to read and comment on.

I've been doing that whole 'trying to be funny' thing recently and I haven't really flashed up an insight into where I am myself. I find that writing my journal I often sound quite selfish, and I've realised perhaps I am. However I also wonder if the openess I'm happy to share is the opposite of selfish? I don't know.

I ordered a book by my favourite artist of all time the other day. Born in Guernsey in 1968 he migrated to the English mainland and settled in the city of Southampton. He quickly settled here and throughout his creative years he never left. He often shunned the bright lights of London and the lure of hitting the big time in favour of remaining in his beloved adopted home.

When this guy created art though, he was unrivalled. He could recreate the elegance of a dove landing, he emulated the grace and poise of a ballerina and coupled it with the sort of flair that is only seen once or twice in a lifetime. To put it bluntly the man inspired me with both his attitude and his work. His name? Matt Le Tissier.

This man scored goals that defied gravity and delivered the sort of natural talent the English game lacks. He scored 162 goals in 443 games for the saints, only ever missed one penalty and sadly only played 8 times for England. Glenn Hoddle (a flair player himself) opted to leave him and Gazza at home and take Paul Merson to the 1998 World Cup: That's a bit like taking the Chuckle Brothers to the Edinburgh comedy festival instead of Lee Evans and Billy Connolly and then wondering why no one goes to see the shows. Glenn Hoddle is / was a tool.

However Matt spent his entire career at lowly Southampton, becoming a legend and a folk hero in the process. What he did with a football went away from sport and became art, true art. Please watch the second goal on this video and tell me it is something other than fucking sublime.

I can't wait to read 'Taking Le Tiss'.

In other news I'm going out tonight, smelling like Christian Dior (assuming he wears 'Farenheit'), wearing one of them shirts that costs more than £20 from some half decent shop and my very best Sonnetti jeans. There the only jeans I own that are branded with something other than 'Tesco'. I might even roll out some wit and charm.

Luffbra: watch out