大佑，我们永远热爱你！
Economic Theory Summer Camp
8 hours ago
Saturday, September 25, 2004
我们永远对他心怀感激
熬夜看了大佑在长沙金鹰艺术节上的亮相，惊奇的发现自己居然又被他感动！他只唱了四首歌，包括我至爱的《光阴的故事》和《你的样子》，还有我不甚喜的《恋曲1990》和我甚不喜的《东方之珠》，可是看着他滑稽的舞步听着他偶尔出错的歌词，忽然鼻子有一点点酸：眼前这个50岁的“老男人”用他的音乐让我们并不灿烂的青春岁月有了些许值得记忆的一面，所以我们没有权力责怪他偶尔略嫌偏激的言语，没有权力埋怨他出唱片太慢，没有权力指责他在不入流的晚会和庆典上亮相：我们对他所有的感情只应该是感激！
大佑，我们永远热爱你！
大佑，我们永远热爱你！
Sunday, September 19, 2004
土耳其政府的必读书
英国病人 @ 2004-09-19 16:06
还记得几年前参加公司的培训，那个做我mentor的中年英国女人在得知我现在基本只看non- fiction以后对我说：这是一个人grown up的标志。英国人总是shoot for understatement，所以我理解她真正的意思是：you are old. 当时在心里说：”Thank you for the reminder. I know I'm old.”
这些年看过的fiction的东西确实屈指可数，除了偶尔上网一目十行一下流行的小说之外，比如《成都》、《一支烟》什么的，纸书也就是看过Kundera和David Lodge的新作品，甚至偶尔翻一下George Orwell也是看他的Essays。
上次在伦敦逛Books etc.的时候从“3 for 2”里面挑了三本non-fiction，最先拿起来读的就是Bill Bryson的这本”A Short History of Nearly Everything”
一是因为很喜欢作者的风格，把旅行书也写的那么有趣，这点上能跟他比的也就是Michael Palin了；二是自从看了爱因斯坦的那本”The Evolution of Physics”之后就对科学史的东西走火入魔。
可以说这是作者三年来学习科学知识的一个总结，虽然内容上不会有创新（他又不是任何学科前沿的科学家）不过他的那种幽默的风格依然随处可见，比如他在计算一个枕头里面会有多少微生物之后还要加一句：幸亏这还是你自己的枕头，想想酒店里的枕头会怎么样？看来作者以后是不打算再写旅游书了。
另一段让我差一点喷饭的是关于祖先数量的计算：现在的任何一个人向上推64代，也就是到罗马人的时代，从数学上算起来需要的祖先应该有one million trillion，是地球上曾经生活过的总人口的数千倍。本来指出计算“错误”在于人类繁衍的过程中存在大量inbreeding就可以了（可能最有名的就是鼎鼎大名的达尔文娶了自己的表妹），Bryson却非要将问题社会学化：我们的祖上有很多“乱伦”现象存在，所以如果有个人骄傲地对你声称：“我是征服者威廉的第xx代嫡亲。”你也可以很高兴地回答：“Me too.”原来如彼：本以为乱伦是某些个别人的性变态行为，这才意识到原来更科学的分类应该是“返祖现象”，跟毛孩算一类。
从奥斯陆回赫尔辛基的飞机上随手翻当天的Financial Times，看到几条有意思的消息：第一条：希腊新政府发现前任左翼政府在奥运会的支出上“帐外有帐”，导致希腊今年的财政赤字几乎要达到欧元区规定的 3%的两倍――不奇怪啊，甚至可以说希腊人简直是少见多怪，等着看北京的。第二条：《英雄》连续第二周排行北美票房第一――不奇怪啊，我对美国人的傻是从来不会吃惊的。倒是张艺谋接受”New York Times”采访时声称：在拍电影的时候脑子里就是一半想着中国观众一半想着西方观众，这倒让我觉着奇怪了：应该坚持说我就是拍的中国电影，西方观众是被我纯中国的东西打动的，那多酷啊。第三条：土耳其执政政府准备提请议会立法给通奸定罪，欧盟随即威胁如果此提议得以通过的话将影响土耳其加入欧盟的进程。不奇怪啊，土耳其毕竟是伊斯兰占主导的国家嘛，只是提议案的不明白，如果乱伦都是我们祖先乐此不疲的运动，通奸岂不是小菜一碟？
第二天的Financial Times跟踪报道：土耳其政府坚持声称：给通奸定罪不是出于宗教的原因，而是为了保护妇女的利益。
第三天的情况发生了变化：土耳其政府让步了，准备放弃这项议案，原因是国内反对党议员的阻力和欧盟的压力――原来是不得已而为之还不是心服口服。我是不是应该做件好事，明儿就把我手上这本书寄给土耳其总理，还要标出重点段落。
==================
Product Details:
Paperback 688 pages (June 1, 2004)
Publisher: Black Swan
ISBN: 0552997048
Category(ies): Science & Nature
Average Customer Review: | Write a review
Amazon.co.uk Sales Rank: 22
还记得几年前参加公司的培训，那个做我mentor的中年英国女人在得知我现在基本只看non- fiction以后对我说：这是一个人grown up的标志。英国人总是shoot for understatement，所以我理解她真正的意思是：you are old. 当时在心里说：”Thank you for the reminder. I know I'm old.”
这些年看过的fiction的东西确实屈指可数，除了偶尔上网一目十行一下流行的小说之外，比如《成都》、《一支烟》什么的，纸书也就是看过Kundera和David Lodge的新作品，甚至偶尔翻一下George Orwell也是看他的Essays。
上次在伦敦逛Books etc.的时候从“3 for 2”里面挑了三本non-fiction，最先拿起来读的就是Bill Bryson的这本”A Short History of Nearly Everything”
一是因为很喜欢作者的风格，把旅行书也写的那么有趣，这点上能跟他比的也就是Michael Palin了；二是自从看了爱因斯坦的那本”The Evolution of Physics”之后就对科学史的东西走火入魔。
可以说这是作者三年来学习科学知识的一个总结，虽然内容上不会有创新（他又不是任何学科前沿的科学家）不过他的那种幽默的风格依然随处可见，比如他在计算一个枕头里面会有多少微生物之后还要加一句：幸亏这还是你自己的枕头，想想酒店里的枕头会怎么样？看来作者以后是不打算再写旅游书了。
另一段让我差一点喷饭的是关于祖先数量的计算：现在的任何一个人向上推64代，也就是到罗马人的时代，从数学上算起来需要的祖先应该有one million trillion，是地球上曾经生活过的总人口的数千倍。本来指出计算“错误”在于人类繁衍的过程中存在大量inbreeding就可以了（可能最有名的就是鼎鼎大名的达尔文娶了自己的表妹），Bryson却非要将问题社会学化：我们的祖上有很多“乱伦”现象存在，所以如果有个人骄傲地对你声称：“我是征服者威廉的第xx代嫡亲。”你也可以很高兴地回答：“Me too.”原来如彼：本以为乱伦是某些个别人的性变态行为，这才意识到原来更科学的分类应该是“返祖现象”，跟毛孩算一类。
从奥斯陆回赫尔辛基的飞机上随手翻当天的Financial Times，看到几条有意思的消息：第一条：希腊新政府发现前任左翼政府在奥运会的支出上“帐外有帐”，导致希腊今年的财政赤字几乎要达到欧元区规定的 3%的两倍――不奇怪啊，甚至可以说希腊人简直是少见多怪，等着看北京的。第二条：《英雄》连续第二周排行北美票房第一――不奇怪啊，我对美国人的傻是从来不会吃惊的。倒是张艺谋接受”New York Times”采访时声称：在拍电影的时候脑子里就是一半想着中国观众一半想着西方观众，这倒让我觉着奇怪了：应该坚持说我就是拍的中国电影，西方观众是被我纯中国的东西打动的，那多酷啊。第三条：土耳其执政政府准备提请议会立法给通奸定罪，欧盟随即威胁如果此提议得以通过的话将影响土耳其加入欧盟的进程。不奇怪啊，土耳其毕竟是伊斯兰占主导的国家嘛，只是提议案的不明白，如果乱伦都是我们祖先乐此不疲的运动，通奸岂不是小菜一碟？
第二天的Financial Times跟踪报道：土耳其政府坚持声称：给通奸定罪不是出于宗教的原因，而是为了保护妇女的利益。
第三天的情况发生了变化：土耳其政府让步了，准备放弃这项议案，原因是国内反对党议员的阻力和欧盟的压力――原来是不得已而为之还不是心服口服。我是不是应该做件好事，明儿就把我手上这本书寄给土耳其总理，还要标出重点段落。
==================
Product Details:
Paperback 688 pages (June 1, 2004)
Publisher: Black Swan
ISBN: 0552997048
Category(ies): Science & Nature
Average Customer Review: | Write a review
Amazon.co.uk Sales Rank: 22
Sunday, September 5, 2004
是巧合呢，还是冥冥中给我的提醒？
今天下午懒在沙发上，不想看书，于是翻出几个星期前买的一打DVD，一眼就看到了这张”One Day in September”。
片子几乎放完的时候突然意识到：天哪！那场惨剧居然是发生在32年前的今天！有多少人还记得？
说是结论听起来有点荒唐，不过看片子的时候确实想到：第一，正如这位至今唯一存活下来的巴勒斯坦枪手所说，能去执行这个任务至少比一辈子在难民营混着强。积郁在心中的不满或愤怒总要有表达的渠道，否则它会以某种极端的方式发泄出来，轻的是往球场里面扔矿泉水瓶子，重的就可能是去枪杀对方的运动员或者劫持飞机去撞对方的大楼。前些日子写给The Economist编辑的信也是这个意思：
Sir,
Your attempt in the article on the Asian Cup Final between China and Japan ("Grudge match" Aug 12th 2004) failed to shoot on target, narrowly.
You correctly pointed out that "Nationalism runs high in China, and anti-Japanese sentiment runs even higher", and this stems from "Japan's utter failure to face up to its guilty history.” However, this is equally, if not more, to do with the Chinese authorities' and state-run media' failure to adopt harsh enough stance, not otherwise as you stated in your article, against the Japanese, as well as the failure to provide alternative outlets of this sentiment by banning all civil petitions or demonstrations, resulting in it being pent up, and the fever pitch became almost the only channel for the ordinary Chinese to voice their frustration and discontent. Therefore this "mob ugliness" is less similar to the hooliganism mastered so well by some of the England football supporters on so many occasions than to the mass demonstrations across Czechoslovakia in March 1969 after their ice-hockey team defeated the Soviets, minus the vandalism though—you rightly noticed that the violence was not worse. No Toyotas or Nissans were smashed, as would have happened to the BMWs or VWs had the England football team lost to Germany.
On a separate note: China's capability to stage the Olympics peacefully should never be doubted as all the state apparatus will be in full motion to make sure that any disagreeable voices would be muted and any disagreeable people would be removed and locked away from the proximity of any public exposure long before the first whistle is blown . However, China's credential of hosting such an event has never been questioned enough by the international communities, not on the grounds of its lack of capability to make it a happy gathering, but on the grounds of its overwhelming power to do so.
结论之二，三十年来通讯技术特别是移动通信的突飞猛进使得劫持和解救都变得更困难更复杂，在无良的媒体眼中也就更刺激了。
结论之三，The so-called German efficiency is just a myth. The Royal SAS, or even the US Marine Corps would have done a much better job had they been involved.
片子几乎放完的时候突然意识到：天哪！那场惨剧居然是发生在32年前的今天！有多少人还记得？
说是结论听起来有点荒唐，不过看片子的时候确实想到：第一，正如这位至今唯一存活下来的巴勒斯坦枪手所说，能去执行这个任务至少比一辈子在难民营混着强。积郁在心中的不满或愤怒总要有表达的渠道，否则它会以某种极端的方式发泄出来，轻的是往球场里面扔矿泉水瓶子，重的就可能是去枪杀对方的运动员或者劫持飞机去撞对方的大楼。前些日子写给The Economist编辑的信也是这个意思：
Sir,
Your attempt in the article on the Asian Cup Final between China and Japan ("Grudge match" Aug 12th 2004) failed to shoot on target, narrowly.
You correctly pointed out that "Nationalism runs high in China, and anti-Japanese sentiment runs even higher", and this stems from "Japan's utter failure to face up to its guilty history.” However, this is equally, if not more, to do with the Chinese authorities' and state-run media' failure to adopt harsh enough stance, not otherwise as you stated in your article, against the Japanese, as well as the failure to provide alternative outlets of this sentiment by banning all civil petitions or demonstrations, resulting in it being pent up, and the fever pitch became almost the only channel for the ordinary Chinese to voice their frustration and discontent. Therefore this "mob ugliness" is less similar to the hooliganism mastered so well by some of the England football supporters on so many occasions than to the mass demonstrations across Czechoslovakia in March 1969 after their ice-hockey team defeated the Soviets, minus the vandalism though—you rightly noticed that the violence was not worse. No Toyotas or Nissans were smashed, as would have happened to the BMWs or VWs had the England football team lost to Germany.
On a separate note: China's capability to stage the Olympics peacefully should never be doubted as all the state apparatus will be in full motion to make sure that any disagreeable voices would be muted and any disagreeable people would be removed and locked away from the proximity of any public exposure long before the first whistle is blown . However, China's credential of hosting such an event has never been questioned enough by the international communities, not on the grounds of its lack of capability to make it a happy gathering, but on the grounds of its overwhelming power to do so.
结论之二，三十年来通讯技术特别是移动通信的突飞猛进使得劫持和解救都变得更困难更复杂，在无良的媒体眼中也就更刺激了。
结论之三，The so-called German efficiency is just a myth. The Royal SAS, or even the US Marine Corps would have done a much better job had they been involved.
Monday, July 26, 2004
My Portugal Diary (Final)
Day 8 Tuesday 22 June 2004
What happened last night still feels surreal.
Started to move into the ground at 6:30, but didn't manage to get to my seat at around 7:15 going through a series of security checks. There were even a team of mounting police outside the stadium, well equipped and prepared. There was a clock counting down to the kick-off. Cheering was always reverberating in the stadium when the England players were warming up. The stands were quickly filled up, am afraid 70-80% were taken by fans in England jerseys in red or white. Cheering was especially loud when Rooney and Gerard were introduced, while the names of the Croatian players were made completely inaudible by the whistles and boos. Then the big chorus of "God Save the Queen", followed by the Croatian national anthem submerged in the jeers—something similar to what happened when England were playing Turkey in the qualification stage, then there were the abuses of England's black players by the Turks. Hope things are not going as bad today.
The start couldn't have been worse for England. I had a sinister feeling before the kick-off that England might concede an early goal. And that's exactly what happened. The defence on set pieces has always been fragile. The score line read 1:0 to Croatia already in the 5th minute. I was saying the same prayer as I did the day I landed in Portugal: ENGLAND, HERE I AM, COMING ALL THE WAY FOR YOU. DON'T LET ME DOWN!
It seemed the prayer was being heard and answered immediately, it was all England. After 40 minutes of anxiety, Paul Scholes headed England level. After Nuno Gomez settled the scores for Portugal the previous night, I was predicting that it would be an international veteran to rise to the occasion, and for England it would be Owen or Scholes. Then there came that feeling of unreality, first striking me when the whole stadium was on its feet for the goal. For a split of a second, I felt I was flying high. Just probably, drugs could give the same effect? Even before the stadium sat down on its seat, Rooney the wonder boy scored another wonder goal! The legend simply continues! Half time: England 2:1 Croatia.
Got a text message from a friend in Beijing:”你坐在什么地方？看来不裸奔是看不见你了” I texted him back:”坐在英格兰角旗边上，裸奔不大容易，因为在上台，估计还没奔下去就已经被按住了”
The second half started with England continuing the dominance. Then Rooney scored again! England were cruising, running wild. With about 20 minutes left, Rooney was substituted to a standing ovation. But, almost immediately, Croatia pulled one back from yet another sucker free kick. That sickening feeling creeping secretly back: would we repeat that tragic finale of one week ago? The doubt was dispelled though when the impressive Frank Lampard struck a sweet goal to settle all nerves. England are through, 4:2! The same score as England won the World Cup 38 years ago…..
Never had I expected to live through such a sensational game. When England were trailing by one goal, my prediction, or hope, was that we could get back on level before half time, then score a winning goal in the second half.
Crowds were lingering in the stadium, crowds were gathering outside the stadium. Fans were chanting Rooney’s name in front of television cameras. Suddenly a familiar figure came out of the crowd: Andrew Gilligan, carrying the same rocksack (maybe). Taking out his notebook, he started to interview a group of fans sitting on the road curb. Struck a brief chat and asked for an autograph from him before he walked away, this seemed to have surprised him.
What was so lovely was that the fans from both camps mingled merrily together, both on the tube and later in the city centre.
Suddenly, for no reasons at all, I had a feeling of anticlimax. Could it simply be the fact that the emotions, expectations, anxieties and excitements have been built so high in the past few days, and then they are released in such an emphatic manner, and left in me only void? Anyway, did join the crowds in Rossio for a beer, than came back to the youth hostel before 1:00.
Had a very good sleep, woke up at 10:00 this morning. As soon as the phone was switched on a couple of business related messages came in, reminding me there is a real world outside football. Then a long discussion on business issues over my brunch with two colleagues in the office was only strengthening that message.
Couldn't manage to get a direct flight back to London, had to go via Milan. The flight took off at 15:05. I'm now wrapping up this diary on the plane. For me, the trip to Euro 2004 is over. I'm back to reality, and back to my armchair supporter status.
But England are marching on. That is a fantastic feeling!
（全文完）
What happened last night still feels surreal.
Started to move into the ground at 6:30, but didn't manage to get to my seat at around 7:15 going through a series of security checks. There were even a team of mounting police outside the stadium, well equipped and prepared. There was a clock counting down to the kick-off. Cheering was always reverberating in the stadium when the England players were warming up. The stands were quickly filled up, am afraid 70-80% were taken by fans in England jerseys in red or white. Cheering was especially loud when Rooney and Gerard were introduced, while the names of the Croatian players were made completely inaudible by the whistles and boos. Then the big chorus of "God Save the Queen", followed by the Croatian national anthem submerged in the jeers—something similar to what happened when England were playing Turkey in the qualification stage, then there were the abuses of England's black players by the Turks. Hope things are not going as bad today.
The start couldn't have been worse for England. I had a sinister feeling before the kick-off that England might concede an early goal. And that's exactly what happened. The defence on set pieces has always been fragile. The score line read 1:0 to Croatia already in the 5th minute. I was saying the same prayer as I did the day I landed in Portugal: ENGLAND, HERE I AM, COMING ALL THE WAY FOR YOU. DON'T LET ME DOWN!
It seemed the prayer was being heard and answered immediately, it was all England. After 40 minutes of anxiety, Paul Scholes headed England level. After Nuno Gomez settled the scores for Portugal the previous night, I was predicting that it would be an international veteran to rise to the occasion, and for England it would be Owen or Scholes. Then there came that feeling of unreality, first striking me when the whole stadium was on its feet for the goal. For a split of a second, I felt I was flying high. Just probably, drugs could give the same effect? Even before the stadium sat down on its seat, Rooney the wonder boy scored another wonder goal! The legend simply continues! Half time: England 2:1 Croatia.
Got a text message from a friend in Beijing:”你坐在什么地方？看来不裸奔是看不见你了” I texted him back:”坐在英格兰角旗边上，裸奔不大容易，因为在上台，估计还没奔下去就已经被按住了”
The second half started with England continuing the dominance. Then Rooney scored again! England were cruising, running wild. With about 20 minutes left, Rooney was substituted to a standing ovation. But, almost immediately, Croatia pulled one back from yet another sucker free kick. That sickening feeling creeping secretly back: would we repeat that tragic finale of one week ago? The doubt was dispelled though when the impressive Frank Lampard struck a sweet goal to settle all nerves. England are through, 4:2! The same score as England won the World Cup 38 years ago…..
Never had I expected to live through such a sensational game. When England were trailing by one goal, my prediction, or hope, was that we could get back on level before half time, then score a winning goal in the second half.
Crowds were lingering in the stadium, crowds were gathering outside the stadium. Fans were chanting Rooney’s name in front of television cameras. Suddenly a familiar figure came out of the crowd: Andrew Gilligan, carrying the same rocksack (maybe). Taking out his notebook, he started to interview a group of fans sitting on the road curb. Struck a brief chat and asked for an autograph from him before he walked away, this seemed to have surprised him.
What was so lovely was that the fans from both camps mingled merrily together, both on the tube and later in the city centre.
Suddenly, for no reasons at all, I had a feeling of anticlimax. Could it simply be the fact that the emotions, expectations, anxieties and excitements have been built so high in the past few days, and then they are released in such an emphatic manner, and left in me only void? Anyway, did join the crowds in Rossio for a beer, than came back to the youth hostel before 1:00.
Had a very good sleep, woke up at 10:00 this morning. As soon as the phone was switched on a couple of business related messages came in, reminding me there is a real world outside football. Then a long discussion on business issues over my brunch with two colleagues in the office was only strengthening that message.
Couldn't manage to get a direct flight back to London, had to go via Milan. The flight took off at 15:05. I'm now wrapping up this diary on the plane. For me, the trip to Euro 2004 is over. I'm back to reality, and back to my armchair supporter status.
But England are marching on. That is a fantastic feeling!
（全文完）
My Portugal Diary: Day 7
Day 7 Monday 21 June, 2004
D-Day!
Felt terribly weak when waking up, sweating all over. Suddenly realised that I had been too busy celebrating with the locals last night to eat any food! And the beer didn't help. Pulled myself out of bed, and dragged the "dead" body to the nearest coffee shop. A banana settled me slightly, but even after a sausage roll, a croissant, a yogurt, half a melon, and two cups of coffee, I still didn't feel full. Oh, God, too old to be flexible with diet any more!
Finally settled with a bowl of fruit salad and a third cup of coffee. Could finish yesterday's diary and recorded the stormy start of the day. The sun is as bright as any other day.
Went down to Rossio. Was planning to do some shopping, but was amazed to find the whole square was already draped in St. George's flags with all kinds of clubs' and individuals' names painted on them. Shame couldn't find a LFC flag. Only on one flag by a couple can one find a Liver bird—took a picture in front of it. A huge St. George's sponsored by Nationwide was spread on the square with three giant words on it: Pride. Passion. Belief. Countless people have signed on it with encouragements or good wishes. I could barely find a space to write anything, but did manage at the end to scribble: "England All The Way!" Texted Roger: "It looks like we not only have won the game, but have taken over the whole country."
Had a fabulous lunch in the restaurant next to the youth hostel, and finished a bottle of vinho verde. Feeling great, just the right mood to go to the pitch
葡萄牙人比法国人还过分：3：00多到餐厅的时候还有很多穿西服的人在吃午饭，而且每个人面前都有酒。估计下午都不用工作了，和我一样也是为晚上的比赛酝酿情绪的吧
Got to the Estadio da Luz (Stadium of the Light) by the tube 3 hours in advance, only to find the surrounding area was already packed by fans in all kinds of costumes, the English fans vastly outnumbering the Croats. The England supporters have the capability of converting every pitch into a home ground!
The nearby shopping mall is housing tens of thousands of England fans, with beer flowing at sky high. Provided no window is smashed, the shop owners must be dreaming of a European Championship every month, with every game involving the English
Are you ready? Come On, England!
D-Day!
Felt terribly weak when waking up, sweating all over. Suddenly realised that I had been too busy celebrating with the locals last night to eat any food! And the beer didn't help. Pulled myself out of bed, and dragged the "dead" body to the nearest coffee shop. A banana settled me slightly, but even after a sausage roll, a croissant, a yogurt, half a melon, and two cups of coffee, I still didn't feel full. Oh, God, too old to be flexible with diet any more!
Finally settled with a bowl of fruit salad and a third cup of coffee. Could finish yesterday's diary and recorded the stormy start of the day. The sun is as bright as any other day.
Went down to Rossio. Was planning to do some shopping, but was amazed to find the whole square was already draped in St. George's flags with all kinds of clubs' and individuals' names painted on them. Shame couldn't find a LFC flag. Only on one flag by a couple can one find a Liver bird—took a picture in front of it. A huge St. George's sponsored by Nationwide was spread on the square with three giant words on it: Pride. Passion. Belief. Countless people have signed on it with encouragements or good wishes. I could barely find a space to write anything, but did manage at the end to scribble: "England All The Way!" Texted Roger: "It looks like we not only have won the game, but have taken over the whole country."
Had a fabulous lunch in the restaurant next to the youth hostel, and finished a bottle of vinho verde. Feeling great, just the right mood to go to the pitch
葡萄牙人比法国人还过分：3：00多到餐厅的时候还有很多穿西服的人在吃午饭，而且每个人面前都有酒。估计下午都不用工作了，和我一样也是为晚上的比赛酝酿情绪的吧
Got to the Estadio da Luz (Stadium of the Light) by the tube 3 hours in advance, only to find the surrounding area was already packed by fans in all kinds of costumes, the English fans vastly outnumbering the Croats. The England supporters have the capability of converting every pitch into a home ground!
The nearby shopping mall is housing tens of thousands of England fans, with beer flowing at sky high. Provided no window is smashed, the shop owners must be dreaming of a European Championship every month, with every game involving the English
Are you ready? Come On, England!
My Portugal Diary: Day 6
英国病人 @ 2004-07-26 16:06
Day 6 Sunday 20 June, 2004
Went back to Praca Figueira to have a sunshine breakfast. Loved the whole setting of the square, and the Castello is the backdrop. A group of local people are practising Judo with Japanese music at the background. However, very soon the music was overwhelmed by the cheering Spanish fans all over the place—I’m afraid the cheering never stopped since last night! The Spanish staged a huge “celebration” at the nearby Rossio, cheering, chanting, drums were beaten, flags were flying. Texted Roger: “You might think they have won the game already, but the game actually is nine hours away.”
Had thought about going for some more beach and sunshine before coming back for the match. However the atmosphere in Lisbon was simply fantastic. So I just hopped on the coach for Setubal to collect my luggage and got back to Lisbon on the first possible coach, where I was seated in the middle of a group of Croatian fans. Luckily I was still in my plain T-shirt
Changed into my Liverpool kit for the night. A Spanish fan staying at the same dorm was borrowing some toothpaste, then whispered to me: the colour red you are wearing stands for Spain tonight. I didn’t agree though. But, as was texted a friend, “I hope the Portuguese don’t take it that way.” Quite often there are cars or buses roaring past, with Spanish flags flying from the windows and Spanish fans cheering from inside. Seems the city is occupied, yet another time, after so many centuries
Two Hours Later:
1:0! Nuno Gomes settled the score. The Spanish struck the woodwork twice after that, but that was it. Portugal go on, Spain are out. Winning the “local” derby has given the Portuguese some special pleasure. Seconds after the final whistle the city went crazy! All those Spanish flags seemed to have been packed and gone by a whisk. I only saw two Spanish fans on Rossio, draped in the national flags, looking forlorn.
Interestingly, the loudest groups on the square were the English! Hope they can do the same tomorrow night! And I’ll join!
Day 6 Sunday 20 June, 2004
Went back to Praca Figueira to have a sunshine breakfast. Loved the whole setting of the square, and the Castello is the backdrop. A group of local people are practising Judo with Japanese music at the background. However, very soon the music was overwhelmed by the cheering Spanish fans all over the place—I’m afraid the cheering never stopped since last night! The Spanish staged a huge “celebration” at the nearby Rossio, cheering, chanting, drums were beaten, flags were flying. Texted Roger: “You might think they have won the game already, but the game actually is nine hours away.”
Had thought about going for some more beach and sunshine before coming back for the match. However the atmosphere in Lisbon was simply fantastic. So I just hopped on the coach for Setubal to collect my luggage and got back to Lisbon on the first possible coach, where I was seated in the middle of a group of Croatian fans. Luckily I was still in my plain T-shirt
Changed into my Liverpool kit for the night. A Spanish fan staying at the same dorm was borrowing some toothpaste, then whispered to me: the colour red you are wearing stands for Spain tonight. I didn’t agree though. But, as was texted a friend, “I hope the Portuguese don’t take it that way.” Quite often there are cars or buses roaring past, with Spanish flags flying from the windows and Spanish fans cheering from inside. Seems the city is occupied, yet another time, after so many centuries
Two Hours Later:
1:0! Nuno Gomes settled the score. The Spanish struck the woodwork twice after that, but that was it. Portugal go on, Spain are out. Winning the “local” derby has given the Portuguese some special pleasure. Seconds after the final whistle the city went crazy! All those Spanish flags seemed to have been packed and gone by a whisk. I only saw two Spanish fans on Rossio, draped in the national flags, looking forlorn.
Interestingly, the loudest groups on the square were the English! Hope they can do the same tomorrow night! And I’ll join!
My Portugal Diary: Day 5
Day 5 Saturday 19 June, 2004
Almost immediately after I decided to go to the beach at Costa da Capparica did I notice that it turned a bit overcast. This could be the only chance for me to get some tan! The sun has been strong in the last two days, just walking in the town yesterday already give me a bit bronzage. Don't tell me the sun would shy away when I really want to be bathed in it.
Started the day with an uphill stroll to the Castello de Sao Phillipe, which is now converted to a "pousada" (I think it should mean bar + restaurant). The hotel receptionist warned me that it wouldn't be too easy to walk up there. It was a bit breath consuming, but I managed ok. Almost felt that I'm back to my walking best, the form I obviously lost after moving back to Beijing. Isn't life too comfortable in Beijing that I'm not motivated at all to walk long distance?
Got to the bus station just in time to miss the bus to Cacillas, where I should change for another bus for the beaches. The next bus is 1h30 later! Brilliant! Now I'll just have to sit in the cafe next to the bus station, doing some reading maybe, after finishing this paragraph.
Now, after reading the LP for about an hour, I suddenly feel a sense of anxiety creeping into my heart. Have I wasted too much time wandering around without seeing what I "should" see? Counting the days left, do I still have time to see and feel what I "should" see and feel? Or, maybe I should have saved those two days in London for Portugal instead? I'm truly a very very bad planner—what an irony on the job I'm paid for! However, as a consolation at least, I say to myself: I came for the football, and anything else I experienced on the way, seen, felt, eaten, whatever, would be a bonus. I made a rule to myself before the trip: I'll not do any museums or galleries this time, because: 1) I'm not an artist, and shall never make one given my quality, or the lack of it rather; 2) my artistic education is already better than the average; 3) what I really enjoy are good books, good music, good films, good food, good beer and wine, none of which can be got from the museums.
6 Hours Later:
Got to the beach after all, could be any beach though. It is said to be 8 miles long, think I covered about half on foot, in addition to sleeping for about an hour on the "family" section. The gay section and nudist section are pretty much mingled, or so I noticed. Was in my swimming trunk when walking past the nudist section, the "inhabitants" didn't seem to be offended since I didn't get any cat calls. Meanwhile there were also other clothed sun-bathers. So I kept my last piece of cloth on. But the real, utmost, fundamental, critical reason for my "prudence" is that, amongst all the nudists on the beach, none can be remotely associated with the image of sexy girl—graceful granny is nearer to reality. So there is no point for me to "sacrifice" my only differentiator and to be viewed as "one of them"
When coming back to Lisbon and settling down at the youth hostel booked yesterday, I was amazed to find there was a shower IN the dorm! Too much of a luxury really!
Had a bit of difficulty in finding a screen nearby. Caught a couple of minutes of the first half after sitting down in a bar. Holland were leading Czech Republic 2:1 at half time. I'm pretty neutral towards these two countries, but the choice is obvious between Baros and Smicer on one side and van Nistelrooy on the other. Then Czech Republic staged a fantastic comeback in the second half and beat the Dutch by 3:2! And Baros was awesome, scoring a goal that would grace any match, plus Smicer also got himself on the scoreline. Hope Baros' form can continue next season when puts on the red shirt playing for Liverpool. Out of excitement, I decided to explore Lisbon's nightlife one day earlier than planned: I reserved it for tomorrow originally. Found a great bar up at the hill, which, invariably, was swamped by the English fans, who mingled merrily with the small group of Croats.
On the way back, I came across a street gathering of the Spanish fans in Praca Rossio. The Iberian derby has begun.
Almost immediately after I decided to go to the beach at Costa da Capparica did I notice that it turned a bit overcast. This could be the only chance for me to get some tan! The sun has been strong in the last two days, just walking in the town yesterday already give me a bit bronzage. Don't tell me the sun would shy away when I really want to be bathed in it.
Started the day with an uphill stroll to the Castello de Sao Phillipe, which is now converted to a "pousada" (I think it should mean bar + restaurant). The hotel receptionist warned me that it wouldn't be too easy to walk up there. It was a bit breath consuming, but I managed ok. Almost felt that I'm back to my walking best, the form I obviously lost after moving back to Beijing. Isn't life too comfortable in Beijing that I'm not motivated at all to walk long distance?
Got to the bus station just in time to miss the bus to Cacillas, where I should change for another bus for the beaches. The next bus is 1h30 later! Brilliant! Now I'll just have to sit in the cafe next to the bus station, doing some reading maybe, after finishing this paragraph.
Now, after reading the LP for about an hour, I suddenly feel a sense of anxiety creeping into my heart. Have I wasted too much time wandering around without seeing what I "should" see? Counting the days left, do I still have time to see and feel what I "should" see and feel? Or, maybe I should have saved those two days in London for Portugal instead? I'm truly a very very bad planner—what an irony on the job I'm paid for! However, as a consolation at least, I say to myself: I came for the football, and anything else I experienced on the way, seen, felt, eaten, whatever, would be a bonus. I made a rule to myself before the trip: I'll not do any museums or galleries this time, because: 1) I'm not an artist, and shall never make one given my quality, or the lack of it rather; 2) my artistic education is already better than the average; 3) what I really enjoy are good books, good music, good films, good food, good beer and wine, none of which can be got from the museums.
6 Hours Later:
Got to the beach after all, could be any beach though. It is said to be 8 miles long, think I covered about half on foot, in addition to sleeping for about an hour on the "family" section. The gay section and nudist section are pretty much mingled, or so I noticed. Was in my swimming trunk when walking past the nudist section, the "inhabitants" didn't seem to be offended since I didn't get any cat calls. Meanwhile there were also other clothed sun-bathers. So I kept my last piece of cloth on. But the real, utmost, fundamental, critical reason for my "prudence" is that, amongst all the nudists on the beach, none can be remotely associated with the image of sexy girl—graceful granny is nearer to reality. So there is no point for me to "sacrifice" my only differentiator and to be viewed as "one of them"
When coming back to Lisbon and settling down at the youth hostel booked yesterday, I was amazed to find there was a shower IN the dorm! Too much of a luxury really!
Had a bit of difficulty in finding a screen nearby. Caught a couple of minutes of the first half after sitting down in a bar. Holland were leading Czech Republic 2:1 at half time. I'm pretty neutral towards these two countries, but the choice is obvious between Baros and Smicer on one side and van Nistelrooy on the other. Then Czech Republic staged a fantastic comeback in the second half and beat the Dutch by 3:2! And Baros was awesome, scoring a goal that would grace any match, plus Smicer also got himself on the scoreline. Hope Baros' form can continue next season when puts on the red shirt playing for Liverpool. Out of excitement, I decided to explore Lisbon's nightlife one day earlier than planned: I reserved it for tomorrow originally. Found a great bar up at the hill, which, invariably, was swamped by the English fans, who mingled merrily with the small group of Croats.
On the way back, I came across a street gathering of the Spanish fans in Praca Rossio. The Iberian derby has begun.
My Portugal Diary: Day 4
Day 4 Friday 18 June, 2004
Started the day with a breakfast in the sun near Praca Rossio. Then walked Lisbon s little bit, as a by-product of my journey in search of the youth hostel. It turned out to be full until the 22nd, which made me suspect the majority of the residents are England supporters, all coming for THAT match. Was recommended to another hostel nearby, which looked better equipped, and, invariably, slightly more expensive. Booked myself in for 3 nights starting from tomorrow. Croatia supporters start to appear in the streets.
Before that, I will explore some other places of the country. I hit the road at 3:30 in the afternoon for Setubal. On the bridge over the Rio Tejo, a giant Jesus Christ statue is opening his arms to all the mankind. It is written in the LP that the statue was an imitation of the giant Jesus in Rio da Janeiro, and partially financed by the Women's Association in gratitude for the government sparing them the horrors of the Second World War! 女人要的其实很简单！
An hour later I was in the centre of Setubal, a weekend retreat for the Lisbonaises. A lovely town. Dropped my big bag in the youth centre (affiliated to the youth hostel, where the booking would only start after 6:00) and was directed to a bar nearby with a relatively big television. I was the only non-local, and the least old. The other customers must all be pensioners already, apart from one beggar, who, it looks to me, is equally old, but supposedly with no pension. They were playing all sorts of games ranging from chess to a four way game similar to 麻将 and a board game more like 大富豪, only no one actually cared about the game on the screen. Bulgaria were never in the game. Denmark scored a goal they more than deserved in the last minute of the first half. Then the bar was closed!
Back to the youth hostel. Same old story: fully booked by the English fans! Was recommended to another place, but decided to come into this roadside hotel which looked luxurious but turned out not too expensive.
Having settled down, followed the second half of the game in the hotel bar. Denmark scored the second, again, almost in the last minute.
Came out for some food, and passed a restaurant I simply couldn't resist—to quote Oscar Wilde: I could resist everything except temptation. LP says Setubal is famous for the fish and dolphin, but the latter should not end up on your plate as the majority of the locals may not have Cantonese cousins. Grilled fish, potatoes, and local beer made a fantastic dinner. A couple of funny pics were taken. For a while I was the only customer of the restaurant, now it is packed. I'm writing this journal over a cup of espresso. A group of locals are sitting next to me, and we exchanged some funny words on football and life, and I enlightened one of them, the most vocal opponent to football, on Shankly's famous quote: "Football is not just a matter of life and death: it's much more important than that. " How much more powerful it could get if I could only speak that out in a Scottish accent!
Should be on my way to the local park, where a giant screen is set up for the fans and cheap beer is served. Hope Italy will go out.
Two hours later, 10:00pm:
Well, Italy didn't lose, but they can still go out
Started the day with a breakfast in the sun near Praca Rossio. Then walked Lisbon s little bit, as a by-product of my journey in search of the youth hostel. It turned out to be full until the 22nd, which made me suspect the majority of the residents are England supporters, all coming for THAT match. Was recommended to another hostel nearby, which looked better equipped, and, invariably, slightly more expensive. Booked myself in for 3 nights starting from tomorrow. Croatia supporters start to appear in the streets.
Before that, I will explore some other places of the country. I hit the road at 3:30 in the afternoon for Setubal. On the bridge over the Rio Tejo, a giant Jesus Christ statue is opening his arms to all the mankind. It is written in the LP that the statue was an imitation of the giant Jesus in Rio da Janeiro, and partially financed by the Women's Association in gratitude for the government sparing them the horrors of the Second World War! 女人要的其实很简单！
An hour later I was in the centre of Setubal, a weekend retreat for the Lisbonaises. A lovely town. Dropped my big bag in the youth centre (affiliated to the youth hostel, where the booking would only start after 6:00) and was directed to a bar nearby with a relatively big television. I was the only non-local, and the least old. The other customers must all be pensioners already, apart from one beggar, who, it looks to me, is equally old, but supposedly with no pension. They were playing all sorts of games ranging from chess to a four way game similar to 麻将 and a board game more like 大富豪, only no one actually cared about the game on the screen. Bulgaria were never in the game. Denmark scored a goal they more than deserved in the last minute of the first half. Then the bar was closed!
Back to the youth hostel. Same old story: fully booked by the English fans! Was recommended to another place, but decided to come into this roadside hotel which looked luxurious but turned out not too expensive.
Having settled down, followed the second half of the game in the hotel bar. Denmark scored the second, again, almost in the last minute.
Came out for some food, and passed a restaurant I simply couldn't resist—to quote Oscar Wilde: I could resist everything except temptation. LP says Setubal is famous for the fish and dolphin, but the latter should not end up on your plate as the majority of the locals may not have Cantonese cousins. Grilled fish, potatoes, and local beer made a fantastic dinner. A couple of funny pics were taken. For a while I was the only customer of the restaurant, now it is packed. I'm writing this journal over a cup of espresso. A group of locals are sitting next to me, and we exchanged some funny words on football and life, and I enlightened one of them, the most vocal opponent to football, on Shankly's famous quote: "Football is not just a matter of life and death: it's much more important than that. " How much more powerful it could get if I could only speak that out in a Scottish accent!
Should be on my way to the local park, where a giant screen is set up for the fans and cheap beer is served. Hope Italy will go out.
Two hours later, 10:00pm:
Well, Italy didn't lose, but they can still go out
My Portugal Diary: Day 3
英国病人 @ 2004-07-26 16:01
Day 3 Thursday 17 June, 2004
Journey to Portugal starts. Realising that I know almost nothing about the country, I bought a copy of Lonely Planet's "Portugal" before boarding TP353 for Lisbon. Recalling in Chaplin's "Autobiography" the caption under a photo says (roughly): every morning I come to the sight having no idea what to shoot today. I'm getting more and more artistic.
The flight was delayed by (only) half an hour (more like the Latins), which means I'm not too sure any more if I can make it to Coimbra to watch the Switzerland game on the big screen outside the stadium, and hopefully to celebrate with the fans there. It could take me more than two hours to get to the town from Lisbon's main railway station. Better off probably just pop into a pub and watch the game on the telly. Before closing this diary for landing, I'm whispering in my heart to whoever is up there listening to me: ENGLAND, HERE I AM, COMING ALL THE WAY FOR YOU. DON'T LET ME DOWN!
4 Hours Later, 7:00pm
I'm sitting in a bar in the centre of Lisbon, enjoying my dinner.
Realised I'm in Portugal as soon as I stepped out of the airport. Fewer cars are flying flags, and on top of those who do, the St. George's have given way to the Portuguese red and green. Found the Residencial booked at the Tourist Information at the airport. The room is ultra-small but brisk-clean. The landlady couldn't really understand English, but by accident I found that she speaks perfect French, which became our language of communication and put me to a very disadvantaged position. However, I suppose anything other than Spanish would endear me to the locals. Had some difficulty in finding a pub to watch the game though. Spotted a chap wearing an England kit in the street, and was directed to a bar where a big screen was set up. Not too crowded inside. A pint of local beer kicked off the game for me. England started so nervously. Then, a star was born! How I hate to admit that he's from Everton! Well, at least Michael Owen was the provider of the last pass—Merseyside connection after all. Second half was started in the same nervous, nail-biting fashion, and nail-biting was literally what I did. Then Wayne again! The nerve was settled, and I could even afford the leisure of exchanging text messages with my friend back in China, teasing her to come over here to carry me back to the hotel if I went over board by drinking too much beer. Then Stevie got this redemption by scoring the third. That was it! 3:0! England are back on track!
Very fast the streets are swamped by singing England supporters—luckily I am not wearing my England kit. Sitting next to me in this bar, which, ironically, is called Suica, are a group of young lads and a father and a son, all wearing the Three Lions. A chap wearing Switzerland jersey passed in front us, and was inevitably taunted by the sneers, but he responded in good manner by squaring his shoulders and giving a wry smile
Decided to come back to my hotel to get some of the second match. France equalised by a hand-ball unspotted by the referee, and then almost fluffed it at the dying seconds. What an irony that would have made! Anyway, we have to beat the Croats at the cracker on the 21st, the game I come for.
Before that, though, I have to find a place to sleep tomorrow night.
Day 3 Thursday 17 June, 2004
Journey to Portugal starts. Realising that I know almost nothing about the country, I bought a copy of Lonely Planet's "Portugal" before boarding TP353 for Lisbon. Recalling in Chaplin's "Autobiography" the caption under a photo says (roughly): every morning I come to the sight having no idea what to shoot today. I'm getting more and more artistic.
The flight was delayed by (only) half an hour (more like the Latins), which means I'm not too sure any more if I can make it to Coimbra to watch the Switzerland game on the big screen outside the stadium, and hopefully to celebrate with the fans there. It could take me more than two hours to get to the town from Lisbon's main railway station. Better off probably just pop into a pub and watch the game on the telly. Before closing this diary for landing, I'm whispering in my heart to whoever is up there listening to me: ENGLAND, HERE I AM, COMING ALL THE WAY FOR YOU. DON'T LET ME DOWN!
4 Hours Later, 7:00pm
I'm sitting in a bar in the centre of Lisbon, enjoying my dinner.
Realised I'm in Portugal as soon as I stepped out of the airport. Fewer cars are flying flags, and on top of those who do, the St. George's have given way to the Portuguese red and green. Found the Residencial booked at the Tourist Information at the airport. The room is ultra-small but brisk-clean. The landlady couldn't really understand English, but by accident I found that she speaks perfect French, which became our language of communication and put me to a very disadvantaged position. However, I suppose anything other than Spanish would endear me to the locals. Had some difficulty in finding a pub to watch the game though. Spotted a chap wearing an England kit in the street, and was directed to a bar where a big screen was set up. Not too crowded inside. A pint of local beer kicked off the game for me. England started so nervously. Then, a star was born! How I hate to admit that he's from Everton! Well, at least Michael Owen was the provider of the last pass—Merseyside connection after all. Second half was started in the same nervous, nail-biting fashion, and nail-biting was literally what I did. Then Wayne again! The nerve was settled, and I could even afford the leisure of exchanging text messages with my friend back in China, teasing her to come over here to carry me back to the hotel if I went over board by drinking too much beer. Then Stevie got this redemption by scoring the third. That was it! 3:0! England are back on track!
Very fast the streets are swamped by singing England supporters—luckily I am not wearing my England kit. Sitting next to me in this bar, which, ironically, is called Suica, are a group of young lads and a father and a son, all wearing the Three Lions. A chap wearing Switzerland jersey passed in front us, and was inevitably taunted by the sneers, but he responded in good manner by squaring his shoulders and giving a wry smile
Decided to come back to my hotel to get some of the second match. France equalised by a hand-ball unspotted by the referee, and then almost fluffed it at the dying seconds. What an irony that would have made! Anyway, we have to beat the Croats at the cracker on the 21st, the game I come for.
Before that, though, I have to find a place to sleep tomorrow night.
My Portugal Diary: Day 2
英国病人 @ 2004-07-26 15:58
Day 2 Wednesday 16 June, 2004
Woke up around 5:00 local time, and it was already bright sunshine outside. Had suspected it would get too hot for me to fall asleep last night, but it turned to be very pleasant.
Started working on my .xls files after a simple breakfast, same pattern as my holidays in London last autumn—well, maybe slightly better: I had a couple of teleconfs with the office last time.
Done the work around 10:00, called the office in Southwood, then started out to prepare for the Portugal trip, i.e. buying an England jersey. Oxford St. is as busy as any time, and it’s just a Wednesday morning! Unbelievable. Seems quite a few sports gears have cut the price. Struggling a bit with buying the red or the white—too many choices make life hard in a perverse way, same problem with democracy maybe (the communists should borrow this argument). Decided to go the white top, as my Liverpool kit is red enough already.
Having visited my bank, I’m now sitting in a Caffe Nero in Holborn, the part of London I’m most familiar with. Looking out of the window, a lot of cars in the street are flying the St. George’s flag. “Football is coming home”. Hope by the time I’m back here next week, St. George’s are still flying.
Buried a panini, am now sipping an espresso writing my journal. What a familiar scene: the winter of 2001 I was sipping an espresso in the Quartier Latin, writing postcard to my friend, telling her that I could only taste bitterness. By then I was even once crying over a passage in “The Razor’s Edge”, now I can read Russell’s “Autobiography” in complete peacefulness. 有个成语叫“白驹过隙”吧。
Coffee is gone now, time to head back to the hotel and need to go to the office in a while. Hate the invasion of work on holidays but seems I can never avoid it. Just dreamed one day I could have holidays as long as I like wherever I love, and don’t have to work at all. Oh, just a second, how do I pay for the holidays?
Later Tonight:
Back from watching the Russia vs. Portugal match with Roger in a pub near Westminster. Ran into a couple of Roger’s old colleagues from the Home Office, who he confided me are more often drunk than sober. No wonder the Home Office isn’t best known for its efficiency. The Russians were done tremendous injustice by having the ‘keeper sent off for a non-existent hand-ball out of the area. The pundits at Sky Sports branded this as “a shocking decision”. 2:0 to Portugal.
A separate football story but more important, to me at least: a press conference was called early today at Anfield to unveil Rafael Benitez. He may not have come from the boot room, but I do hope he can start another Shankly Era.
Day 2 Wednesday 16 June, 2004
Woke up around 5:00 local time, and it was already bright sunshine outside. Had suspected it would get too hot for me to fall asleep last night, but it turned to be very pleasant.
Started working on my .xls files after a simple breakfast, same pattern as my holidays in London last autumn—well, maybe slightly better: I had a couple of teleconfs with the office last time.
Done the work around 10:00, called the office in Southwood, then started out to prepare for the Portugal trip, i.e. buying an England jersey. Oxford St. is as busy as any time, and it’s just a Wednesday morning! Unbelievable. Seems quite a few sports gears have cut the price. Struggling a bit with buying the red or the white—too many choices make life hard in a perverse way, same problem with democracy maybe (the communists should borrow this argument). Decided to go the white top, as my Liverpool kit is red enough already.
Having visited my bank, I’m now sitting in a Caffe Nero in Holborn, the part of London I’m most familiar with. Looking out of the window, a lot of cars in the street are flying the St. George’s flag. “Football is coming home”. Hope by the time I’m back here next week, St. George’s are still flying.
Buried a panini, am now sipping an espresso writing my journal. What a familiar scene: the winter of 2001 I was sipping an espresso in the Quartier Latin, writing postcard to my friend, telling her that I could only taste bitterness. By then I was even once crying over a passage in “The Razor’s Edge”, now I can read Russell’s “Autobiography” in complete peacefulness. 有个成语叫“白驹过隙”吧。
Coffee is gone now, time to head back to the hotel and need to go to the office in a while. Hate the invasion of work on holidays but seems I can never avoid it. Just dreamed one day I could have holidays as long as I like wherever I love, and don’t have to work at all. Oh, just a second, how do I pay for the holidays?
Later Tonight:
Back from watching the Russia vs. Portugal match with Roger in a pub near Westminster. Ran into a couple of Roger’s old colleagues from the Home Office, who he confided me are more often drunk than sober. No wonder the Home Office isn’t best known for its efficiency. The Russians were done tremendous injustice by having the ‘keeper sent off for a non-existent hand-ball out of the area. The pundits at Sky Sports branded this as “a shocking decision”. 2:0 to Portugal.
A separate football story but more important, to me at least: a press conference was called early today at Anfield to unveil Rafael Benitez. He may not have come from the boot room, but I do hope he can start another Shankly Era.
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