Charlton 2 Leicester 1

Wearisome clichés. I know all about them. You don't spend so many afternoons in the West Stand without hearing them all. One of the wearisomest this is where the season really starts which should be banned except when it's literally true, ie just before kick-off of the first game.

But, dear reader, I'm tempted to use it. I have to admit, it's partly because I haven't really got into the season yet. It's still too hot, for a start. Ooh, it's so hot I haven't even written this blog until two days after the match.

Some things you don't need to be told: Kermorgant was booed by the visiting fans, scored, and Charlton won 2-1. This is all routine for games against Leicester.

But what was encouraging was the style of the win. Charlton lined up in a 3-5-2 formation, with Wiggins and Wilson playing wide in midfield. It's a very attractive formation to watch, partly because it gives the opposition more possession. As always, Leicester were efficient and well-drilled, but lacking a final bit of spark. Charlton were transformed from the way they've played so far this season, using creative passing to create dangerous positions.

Both Charlton's goals came from corners, though. I'm not sure what to make of that. It should be a worry for Nigel Pearson that his team couldn't defend them, but the first one, in particular, was brilliantly taken -  Morrison scoring from Stephens' kick - and Leicester would have been further behind without some moments of brilliance by Kasper Schmeichel.

Leicester went down to 10 men early in the second half. There's a thesis to be written on how teams can turn a numerical deficit to their advantage. Not by me, obviously, but Leicester noticeably improved their game, and got a goal back to make for an unnecessarily tense final 20 minutes or so (including a ludicrous 6 extra).

The points were safe, though, and from a thoroughly sound performance too. All the doubters shouldn't need to be told that last season's team hasn't suddenly become rubbish, but that's what was proved. What a pity it's now three weeks before the next home game.

Charlton 1 Doncaster 3 Tlaloc 5

A bizarrely enjoyable afternoon. Perhaps every game should contain just 45 minutes of play, with a little underwater gardening at half time.

The pitch was saturated before the game began and constant heavy rain mean that the referee suspended the game after 27 minutes. By then, Doncaster were 3-0 up. A slightly flattering score for them, as their keeper had kept out 2 or 3 strong Charlton chances, but they were clearly better at adjusting to the conditions and exploiting the chances it gave. Unsurprisingly the home supporters called for the game to be called off. Equally unsurprisingly, the always charming Paul Dickov argued vehemently against it. After a short break, it was announced there would be an inspection within 30 minutes. Ground staff started forking and squeegeeing the covered end goal area, while Johnnie Jackson jokingly poured the contents of a water bottle on to the pitch. Dickov sent out his team to stay warm on the pitch by splashing about in the puddles, and some of them grabbed forks and brooms and joined in. (Picture by @patrickcromb)

So the game restarted, although there really hadn't been any improvement in the playing surface and the rain was still falling. Charlton fans howled indignation every time the ball stuck in a puddle but gradually it became clear that the team were playing better. A goal back for Charlton, and a sending off for Doncaster, and the prospect of going into a second half suddenly seemed not so awful. The calls for abandonment eased off, and there was a feeling that the game was really on.

But during halftime the referee abandoned the game completely. The right decision but one he should have made earlier.

Doncaster fans have apparently been fiercely critical of the decision to abandon. But the game wasn't theirs. Anything could have happened in the second half, especially with them defending the boggy end. The only certainty was that there would have been weapons-grade time-wasting from the visitors. So at least we were spared that.

Next week Leicester City come to town.

Nostradamus and Charlton

I've recently discovered two lost quatrains of the 16th century visionary Nostradamus, whose predictions are invariably correct. Thanks to his clear warning, the American government was able to prevent the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Oh, no, wait, that didn't happen. Well I'm sure it's just because they weren't reading him properly. Let's not make that mistake again.

When the Spanish come to the valley
The defences will be solid
A Breton giant will lead the charge
And a man from the west will rule.

But Oh, the woe that will befall
The speaking man will become silent
The clocks will cease from marking the hours
And death death death death doom.

It's pretty clear what's going on in these lines. At first it seems we might be talking about a military campaign, but that mention of "The valley" means "the Spanish" can only refer to Tony Jimenez. The "Breton giant" is obviously Yann Kermorgant, and the man from the west is an oblique reference to Chris Powell's heritage. All looks good so far, yes? How wonderful that Nostradamus could have predicted Charlton's resurgence under Chris Powell so clearly!

But then, there's a dreadful prediction. "The speaking man" is a clearly a reference to the head of communications, who has indeed just become silent. When clocks mark the hours, what do they do? Of course they strike, and so we realise that Nostradamus foresaw Charlton's lack of a regular striker.

The last line is far from ambiguous.

So, there we have it. The people who are predicting disaster for Charlton (as they always do at this time of year) aren't just acting out of ignorance and pessimism (as usual), they're heard of this prediction. For once they're not talking uninformed nonsense, but are basing their statements on solid, ancient wisdom. And I, for one, am terrified.

The curse of a literal mind (5)

The Guardian is running a course in setting up your own mobile food business. For just £129 you can benefit from the wisdom of six speakers, one of whom is Charli Matthews.

I hope she washed it first.

(Thanks to Nikki for spotting this.)

Apple Tree Yard

Note to most of my regular readers: no football  here; be strong; the new season's not far away.

Recently I found a couple of copies of a magazine called Acclaim from 1993. It was the bi-monthly magazine of the Ian St James awards, and the Ian St James awards were an annual short story competition.

Louise Doughty was a previous winner, and she contributed a column to each issue, giving aspiring writers tips on What Makes A Winning Short Story. In effect, I suppose, she was passing on some of what she'd learned while doing the MA in Creative Writing at East Anglia.

Attentive and long-memoried readers of this blog (which narrows it down substantially) will recall that I've written about Louise before. And seeing this photo again has reminded me of what first attracted me to the beautiful Ms Doughty. Yes, I'm shallow, but just look into those deep dark eyes for a while. I may need to throw you a rope ...

And now she has a new novel out, Apple Tree Yard. I've given links below to a couple of reviews, which will give a better idea of the kind of book it is. What a lark it would be to analyse it in terms of Plot and Theme! What is it all about, huh? But it would be pointless. Louise is technically brilliant and the new book manages an intricate timeline with impressive ease. There's an ingenious and selective use of the present historic, which is no gimmick but a studied way of indicating which part of the story we're reading about now, and large parts of the book are written in the second person, addressed to the narrator's lover.

The effect is to make the gradual revelation of what happened more compelling. Although it is easy to guess what will have happened to have brought the narrator, Yvonne, to the predicament she outlines at the start of the book, there's enough uncertainty about what exactly had happened to keep one's interest engaged until the end, or the ends. Because you think you've heard all the story with a few pages to go, and you think you're just reading through a decompression zone, when one further fact is revealed that makes you think again about the whole story. Obviously, I won't say what that is.

As in the previous book, the first person narrative has a prose that sometimes flattens into triteness. But Yvonne's style gets a bit unhinged as the novel goes on, and those final few pages make you reconsider your opinion about what you've read.

There's a suspicion of improbability in the way an apparent plot-hole is plugged up. Again, no spoilers, but it involves police procedure, and the ostensible solution doesn't sound plausible at all. But the depth and detail of Louise's research is apparent throughout the book: it's unlikely this is her mistake, so it must be Yvonne's mistake or mistruth, which again makes you look again at everything she's said.

So, it's a strong recommendation from me. Here are some other views.

Alfred Hickling in the Guardian: "a compelling cautionary tale of what happens when fantasy begins to occlude real life"
Amber Pearson in the Daily Mail:  "A disquieting, perceptive and gripping read."
An interview with Louise on the Faber blog

And you can buy it a local bookshop, eg these nice people The Beckenham Bookshop

Off target

Advertising anything to me is pretty pointless, because I just don't buy much. But there's been a lot of concern about how much Facebook knows about us, and how it delivers us to advertisers with sinister precision.

Here are the advertisers who've presumably paid a tiny fee to Facebook to get my attention this morning.

First up, a hotel in Manchester. I've no idea how I could have given the impression I might be interested in this.


Then American Express. Like I need a new way to pay for things I don't even buy.
 

Bizarrely, a Brazilian dentist.


Michael Parkinson wants to sell me some kind of policy.


Oh well, if I'm staying in Manchester, I might as well do the Great Manchester Run. As if!


And then, if it turns my fingers white - whiter than they already are, I presume - here's someone to help my claim compensation.

I think we're a long way off from being Facebook's property yet.

Charlton 4 Bristol City 1

Once again the season ended with a happy day and a feeling of optimism. While there weren't the spectacular scenes of last year, once again we could reflect on a season that turned out to be a bit better than most people expected, and much, much better than some feared a couple of months ago.

I won't go into details of the game, particularly not the first half.

Just as we were all settling down for a similarly uneventful second half, Yann Kermorgant scored a brilliant goal - an unstoppable volley from a cross by Mark Gower - that threw wide open the goal of the season contest and ushered in a free-flowing display by Charlton. Although Bristol City were understandably not very good and not very interested, in that form Charlton could have beaten anybody in the division. One more goal from Kermorgant, one from Obiobiobika, and the last from Johnnie Jackson couldn't have gone to more popular players.

But, then again, every player is popular. You can search through the team and you won't find anyone who doesn't deserve their place. There are no skivers in the team, and what's more they all seem to be decent human beings. It's all so different from when Pardew's mercenary millionaires were underperforming on a weekly basis. I often wonder if fans of Chelsea, say, ever get bored of sighing "Yes, I know, perhaps he has shagged his mate's girlfriend/has shot a work-experience trainee/is a racist - but he's a really good player". We never have to do that. I've never met the man, unfortunately, but get the feeling that Chris Powell has high moral standards, and he infuses them into the squad. (Oh, I love him so much it's embarassing!)

As in all good parties, the guests get party bags, and Bristol City's was a silly goal. I hope they do well next season. It's always struck me as ridiculous that Bristol - England's sixth most populous city - can't seem to sustain a top-flight football club.

In other results, Millwall (bastards!) were saved from relegation by Crystal Palace (bastards!), who managed to stay in the playoffs. Wolves, disastrously but deservedly, whimpered into League One, and in a dramatic series of events Hull City became hot favourites for relegation next season.

All the drama elsewhere means that very few people will pay attention to Charlton's performance today, so Nick Pope will have to wait for his name to be used wittily in a witty headline. But those of us who were there will wonder what might happen next. Chris Powell took half a season to work out how to win League One. He's had a whole year to suss out the Championship. I'm really looking forward to next season.