The Seven Dwarfs and Pollen in the Air
For many years, my wife has said that when I went to Anfield, she wanted to be with me (for background, see here). She has long maintained that the tiny fragments of my soul...
Author: Saul
Football is the most important of the least important things
Warning to non-football fans: I’ve tried to minimise the football content in this post about football. My wife says I have failed dismally. She is right. I am not sorry. I consider myself a...
Drinking Rum and Queuing until Infinity
“If this is going to be like spending three weeks in Home Affairs, I don’t think it’s going to be that much fun.” My wife was grumpy. We’d been in Cuba for only 3...
Alcoholics Synonymous and the Devious Yankees
Just before we left Vancouver Island for the US, I received a slightly strange email. In the email, the woman who ran the place that we were due to stay at near Olympic National...
Chinese Torture, Canadian Wine and the Mother of All Storms
San-Marié decided that we were falling prey to a Chinese people-trafficking syndicate when we arrived in Vancouver. I bear some responsibility for this as I refused to pay the extortionate hotel prices near the airport for a...
The Doors of Perception, Dancing with Bears and the Firestarter
I think my wife has been playing Beatles songs to me while I sleep. Backwards. I’ve always thought that “Yellow Submarine”, despite its marine setting and all its other connotations, has a certain pastoral feel...
Alaskan Indians and Cappuccino
The book I’ve just read describes all of Anchorage as resembling a strip development near a major airport. I’ve also heard people say that the best thing about Anchorage is that it is only...
Keanu Reeves and a Cunning Plan
I love a cunning plan. Especially when it’s mine. Especially when it works. The most cunning of all plans, ones that are celebrated and admired, are those which exceed all expectations. Mine was one of...
Diego Costa and the Running of the Bulls
It was a dream come true. Well, more like a collection of faint ideas I’d once had of thundering through the streets of Pamplona, leaping onto balconies in my dashing white outfit, red belt...
Enrique Octavo and Clothes For Your Feet
Those of you who’ve been subjected to my ardent rambling for some time, may recall my last visit to a Spanish-speaking country. However, it is a story worth repeating. Armed with a smattering of...
