Sunday 12th September

Ok here we go, this week uni starts, and I've got to go to a few meetings - teaching doesn't start just yet so it's like go see Alex Shepard and get my courses sorted out. I have a startling lack of enthusiasm for this, I freely admit. I'm still worried sick about this job, for which I have heard nothing further beyond that I passed the interview and they are waiting for the references to kick in. I keep telling myself that this could well be down to the fact they have to get a new disclosure certificate for me, which takes forever. But it's very depressing, there's no doubting that.
So what have I been doing to fill my time? Trying not to pay too much attention to those who've handed their dissertations in and are now fancy free, etc! Even in one case, off on holiday! This seems like rubbing salt in the wound. But not to worry, ok, yes I'm worrying, but I'm trying to keep a grip on it.
It was Martin's birthday yesterday - his birthday is now indelibly marked by the events of 9/11, which frankly always seems to me to be wierd, because it should be 11/9. Every time this comes around, I remember talking with him on the phone when I was coming home, on the day itself and saying we could be at war by the time I get there. War with who, one of us said, and I'm not sure we're any the wiser now. At any rate I feel I should pay tribute to the post office who did a really sterling job this year of getting his package to him in less than 24 hours - I posted it around 3.30 to 4 o'clock on the Friday, and was stunned to hear it had actually arrived. The reason for the delay was in the late arrival of one component, an Aston Villa Miscellany from the club shop. He tells me it's full of interesting stuff, including about Pongo Waring, who he remembers Dad going on about quite a bit. Pongo apparently got his nickname from setting off for a trip (presumably a game) with only a toothbrush as luggage, not even a change of clothes. Either it's that or smelly feet allegedly. Personally I cite the influence of PG Wodehouse, who wrote memorably of Pongo Twistleton, a member of the Drones Club and pal of Bertie Wooster. Think of the derogation this poor man's memory may be undergoing if the nickname merely originates from Pongo being his favourite character or something.
And how come no one gets fancy nicknames like Pongo these days? It must have been a 20s/30s thing, and perhaps - well I know I wouldn't want such a nickname! At any rate he must have been a very good player, to still be being talked about all these years later.
Ah, Wikipeadia to the rescue.
Thomas (Tom) "Pongo" Waring (12 October 1906 – 20 December 1980) was an English professional association football player. Nicknamed "Pongo" after a famous cartoon of the time, Waring is one of Aston Villa's all-time great centre forwards. In his career, he scored 243 league goals in 363 matches over 12 seasons for 5 different clubs.
1928 to 35, apparently, died in 1980 and had his ashes scattered at the Holte End prior to a match with Stoke. Seems appropriate somehow. Couldn't find a photograph of the man, which is a shame. At any rate, Martin seems to like the book, which I have to say ranks as a triumph, present wise. What is it about men and presents? You just can't find anything they a) like, or b) really want!