Devo

May 4th 1970, Kent State University - 21 year old Gerald Casale witnessed two of his friends shot dead as they protested against America's invasion of Cambodia announced four days earlier. Casale described the day years later as "the day I stopped being a hippy". He had come to the conclusion that humanity wasn't evolving, but was in fact going backwards, de-evolving. Three years later he launched the bizarre electronic pop group Devo with his new world view the catalyst for the group's work: "We grew up in a time when hippies became hip capitalists... We saw subversion as the most successful form of change" - their music and distinctive style is certainly a subversion of something. Questions pop into my head which I'm sure Casale would be eloquent on: what exactly needs to be subverted? Can it be as simple as to say that all of humanity is moving backwards? And, if that is true then where to they fit into that de-evolution? Is their subversion a step forwards? I guess they would conclude that it is - hmm.

They're formation is a fascinating one - the creative route tragedy can take someone in is fascinating - and their influence is seen in the likes of Nirvana and Lady Gaga; Casale's services have been called upon by Foo Fighters in recent years. They released eight albums between 1978 and 1990 with 'Whip It' being their biggest hit climbing to the heady heights of 14 in the American charts. This year they have re-entered the musical arena with a new album, 20 years since their last offering: Something for Everybody has finally been compiled after they invited fans to vote for the tracks that they thought worthy of inclusion, and even if you don't buy it, which I won't and you probably won't either, they are still a band worth being aware of and having a quick look at on Youtube.

Door-to-door salesmen

I have been awaiting a door-to-door salesman so that I can fulfil this D request and today,, as my boys: Jarvis and Ned battled over a small plastic goat, there was a soft rat-a-tat-tat on my plastic door. I opened it up to be greeted by a quick-speaking gentlemen who fired questions at me about my loft and the insulation of my walls which I felt obliged to answer. Cold callers don't get a single word out of me; high-street direct debit desirees get a swerving wide berth, but when you're on your doorstep, there's nowhere to run and a slammed door seems a little bit rude, so we discussed joists and stuff for a few minutes.

Once I'd shown myself to be thoroughly ignorant about the insulation of my house, he told me about a government law/initiative and I zoned in and out of attention before agreeing to have a bloke come and tell me whether my insulation in my loft meets government requirements or not. It's a free service, but there is obviously a desire to extract some cash from my bank balance somewhere along the line.

Immediately afterwards I felt like I'd just scored a complacent own goal in the final minute of a Cup Final - I'd failed the doorstep test and allowed myself to tricked by his official approach leading me to believe that he had something to do with government policy. I was caught off-guard because I had assumed he had come to read my electricity meter, but these are poor excuses. Once a Monday afternoon appointment had been arranged he lost all sense of formality and told me how his hands can't stop shaking because he's been riding around on the back of someone's bike all day gripping their saddle. I wondered whether my wife could provide him physio services and reverse the doorstep dynamic, but I was eager to end the embarrassing emasculating process and catch the start of Igglepiggle's exploits on In the Night Garden.

Whilst I have been beaten once by the door-to-door salesman, the ultimate victory is not his yet as cash has not been exchanged and I could quite easily be out when he revisits on Monday, or I could find out whether my loft has adequate insulation - transforming the loft into an extra bedroom is a potential long-term project, so the information could in fact prove useful and the initial root around is free.

I'm searching my memory to find if I have ever been made a mug of by other door-to-door salespersons. I once opened the door wearing just a towel to find that a girl that I used to go to Sixth Form College was at the door trying to sell me Seeboard's services - we pretended we had never seen each other before (in reality she probably had no recollection of me).

Someone once tried to give me some speakers, but that wasn't at the door; it was when I was walking along Western Road in Brighton. They were offering them to me free of charge out of the back of a van and were rather annoyed that I didn't want them, but I didn't want to carry speakers round with me on a night out and it seemed an extremely dodgy situation.

I once got given a pair of Y-fronts in a club - it sounds a bit dodgy, but it wasn't - the bloke was giving away pants willy-nilly (that is perhaps an unwise choice of vocabulary) and they bore a logo advertising something or other. How many people did he think would see my pants? I guess my washing line was overlooked by a few houses and once in fact I had a jumper stolen from my off of it. A couple of days after the item had gone missing I saw a girl who was friends with my next door neighbours wearing my jumper. I accused her of the theft and she denied it and then we were stuck in a bit of a stalemate. I couldn't wrestle it from and her refusal to acknowledge the theft meant that conversationally we were at a standstill and I had to walk away and let her walk the streets in my jumper. It was most frustrating.

I guess she sort of beat me, but no door-to-door salesperson has yet got the better of me. Shall I hide on Monday?

Disturbance

A fire engine sits at the end of my road,

A ladybird trapped in an ants' cul-de-sac.

A trickle of numb fear caterpillars across my stomach

As I momentarily wonder whether my belongings are on the barbecue.

Women in pyjamas scuttle from their doors

Proudly displaying their pink baggy silk trousers.

A balding man approaching forty cranes his neck

In a blue toweling dressing gown that ends worryingly mid-thigh.

The bright yellow helmets have disturbed the street's slumber,

Bare feet and bulging eyes investigate the disturbance.

The Pyjama Party has been paused by these oleander aphids

Who have come careering into our habitat at five to twelve.

My interest in the matter dwindles when I see that my anthill isn't scorched

And as I rest my antennas, the ladybird backs beeping away

And the street rests its many legs beneath the grey hazy sky.

Dictatorships

Now that the summer is here and the demands of teaching lessons, marking essays and wearing trousers are no longer upon me, I am able to pick up a book or two and give them some serious attention. With the boys spending the morning in nursery, I sat in the bath and read some of Russell Brand's Irons in the Fire followed by some of J.M Coetzee's Diary of a Bad Year. The first book follows West Ham United's 2006-07 season, which included the double-signing of Carlos Tevez and Javier Mascherano; the takeover of the club by Eggert Magnusson and a last day victory at Old Trafford to ensure their Premiership survival. The second book, so far, is split into two narratives: one is the writings and complainings of an academic about what is wrong with the world and the other is his diary which has so far included him meeting a beautiful girl and employing her as his secretary. Every page is split into two halves with the top half an academic discussion and the bottom half his personal diary.

Coetzee is a master at reinventing the novel format. I first came across him in my first year at university when I partially enjoyed his novel Disgrace which won the Booker Prize in 1999. It was his autobiographical trilogy Boyhood: A Memoir, Youth and Summertime that really captivated me though. The last, Summertime, discusses Coetzee's life from the perspective of a third person interviewing people who have known Coetzee at various points in his life after he has died. The people he interviews are blunt and honest and it allows Coetzee to be hugely critical of his own life in a way that very few autobiographers are.

I have barely touched the heading at the top of this page yet, so I must press on: the theme of dictators arose in one of the opening chapters of Diary of a Bad Year. In the academic discussion topping the page, Coetzee discusses the nature of democracy in relation to dictatorships, claiming that their is little freedom in either. Dictatorships demand that you follow Person A and democracy forces you to choose between Person A and Person B when the reality for most people is that they want neither or a little bit of both. In both scenarios people are led by people that they don't really want to lead by and they have no choice about that. He criticises the fact that political debate doesn't take place outside of politics, meaning that people who don't agree with the two main parties don't get to have their voice heard. I can see where he is coming from, but I think he ignores the fact that people surely do have more power in a democracy because if the person in charge keeps doing things that the majority of people disagree with, then they are likely to lose power the next time an election comes round, whereas with a dictatorship, the dictator is pretty much free to do whatever they want because there are few consequences, although a deeply despised dictator may find themselves disposed.

His discussions branched out towards religion and it got me thinking about the relationship between democracy and religion. A faith in a religion will put what that religion says above what the democratically elected person says although a lot of people who don't align themselves with a particular religion will have strong convictions that they will stick to regardless of what a law demands of them - I guess whatever world view we hold is a sort of religion. God is not elected to the position of God, so in some ways he could be accused of being a dictator, but from a Christian perspective God gives us free will to follow him or not making it clear that our destinies are dependent upon this choice as all of our choices have consequences of some kind. This freedom is a key distinction. There's also the fact that Christianity is not about laws, but about a relationship whereas governing a country is about maintaining stability, order and that sort of thing, so the aim is completely different.

I guess my conclusion is that democracy is limited, but is certainly distinctive from dictatorships. However, I also concede Coetzee's point that forced democracy is probably not always the wisest step forward - surely it needs to be discovered, not demanded.

Dead Rabbit

The Ballad of Bootylicious

A £20 price tag sat on her head.

She felt like an undesirable loaf of bread.

People walked by choosing others instead.

She started to dread the lonely years ahead,

Then in I walked with a purplish note;

I noticed her beautiful patchwork brown coat;

Her ears hung low, on her I would dote,

So I emptied my wallet and gave her my vote.

Her sexy wiggle meant she was christened Bootylicious

And for a while she lived with Brian* before she got a bit vicious.

The interbreed abode was perhaps not so judicious;

She was banished to her hutch where her life became repetitious.

She drank water and hopped gaily in the grass.

Her 3-60 jumps were truly world class.

Trying to catch her was tricky; she was always quite fast,

But she always made me feel special when she wiggled her ass.

Things seemed so perfect; it seemed that nothing could afflict,

But our happiness was in danger; we were about to be tricked

By a roguish thief - while on holiday she was nicked

From our garden by a lapin-loving convict.

We searched and we searched and I lost all hope

When a boy down the road said he'd seen her on the slope

Of the park in a box and I ceased to mope

And went to his house which stunk of dope.

His mum said she'd sent her off to the RSPCA.

I sat waiting for opening time the very next day

And as I entered there she sat saying, "I've not been astray,

I was petnapped and I thought my life had turned grey,

But now you're here and we're reunited,

I can barely control myself, I'm so excited."

She gave a joyful little hop and I invited

Her home and our relationship was reignited.

Three years passed and she started to get old.

I worried that the winter would prove deathly cold.

Her golf ball sized poos were something to behold.

They stuck to her behind, glistening like gold.

I went on holiday last week and disaster would come.

Maggots attacked her beautiful bum.

It was sad to see what her wiggle had become.

The vet gave me some medicine but she still looked quite glum.

This morning I got her out of her bed

To return to the vet and when we got there he said,

"For nineteen quid I will inject her in the head,"

And now sadly, Bootylicious is no more - she's dead.

* Brian is a guinea pig who briefly shared a hutch with Bootylicious, but they kept biting each other and had to be separated.

Dialectics

I've been trying to get my head around dialectics in order to deliver you (my reader) with a clear, amusing and educational five minutes diversionary reading, but I fear that this subject is one of those subjects that won't jump into my brain properly; every time I think I have squeezed some sort of understanding between my ears, another bit of understanding pings away like a grasshopper whose just been tickled on the behind by a curious finger. Retaining this information feels a bit like attempting to carry a whole shopping-load in from the car in one go: fingers go numb from strangulation by plastic bag straps; the red wine smashes to the ground and you just know that the eggs have failed to make the journey intact. That kind of chaos went on in my brain during every Science lesson at school and whilst in the past I would have walked from the battle bloodied and beaten, this time I will fly the flag of victory above my brain and leave you confuzzled and no less knowledgeable than you were when you started reading my ramblings.

Okay, dialectics is a type of argument where you attempt to arrive at the truth by the exchange of logical yet opposing arguments. It's been developed over time by the likes of Plato, who didn't like the sophists who took pride in their ability to make nonsense sound true, Georg Hegel, a 19th century German philosopher, and the big-bearded Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, who were also German philosophers, but they disagreed with Hegel on a number of points.

There are apparently four main rules of dialectics, but one of them is controversial and not accepted by all dialecticians.

Rule One: Everything is made up of opposites - Objects need opposing forces to hold them in place apparently. The earth and the sun attempt to escape each other's company, but gravity holds them in place, thus the opposing force of gravity makes the earth-sun combo work for us. Dialectics says that this works for things like hunger as this desire leads us to eat stuff. I guess this works for things like love and hate too. Loving someone combines itself with the opposite emotion of hate in that you intensely hate harm that could come to the loved one. This in argumentative terms means that understanding the opposing argument to the one you are espousing needs to be understood and debated before you can arrive at genuine understanding. This demands a willingness and openness to listen to others.

Rule Two: Gradual change leads to turning points - This is the idea that lots of quantitative changes will end up in a qualitative change. This idea fits with politics in that lots of rule changes for the better will end with quality of life being improved in a qualitative way. This can be demonstrated in simpler ways: after you study and think for a while, you get to a point of understanding.

Rule Three: Change moves in spirals, not circles - Dialectics reckons that change doesn't move round and round in circles, but rather in spirals with some degree of change coming about after every rotation (I'm starting to confuse myself). I guess every day feels quite similar, especially when you're going to school, but after each rotation the student returns slightly different. Politics feels like it keeps going round in circles with the Labour Party passing the baton onto the Conservative Party and repeating the process a few years later, but change has occurred for better or worse on each rotation.

The Controversial Rule Four: Everything is transient and finite, existing in the medium of time - I don't quite know how this affects arguments, but it seems to me that a faith in God questions this rule, as God would not need to operate within time's constraints although I guess he might choose to do so.

In terms of coming to definitive truth in dialectical terms when in debate then, we should seek to understand the opposing opinion to our own, recognise that changes in our thinking and decisions result in changes in who we are and recognise that repetition isn't always repetition - there will always be some subtle difference.

I'm sure my understanding is flawed and I guess the one thing that seems positive about this is that it encourages people who disagree to seek understanding of each other's viewpoints. Too often unnecessary tension is created by disagreement, no more so than between people who hold different faiths. I'm a Christian and believe God exists, but I make a mistake if I don't seek to understand why and how people have come to different conclusions to the one I have, and from my very simple understanding, dialectics seems to create this safe place for debate.

Dead Badger

On the Hampshire-Wiltshire border lies a sad sight, an unrecognisable mess which once stood as a proud black and white beast of the night. It is a common sight, and one I witness regularly on the way to from school each day. It is estimated that 5,000 badgers meet this fate every year and with the badger population of the UK at 25,000, that is a staggering statistic.

This particular badger though has made the news for another reason: that the council workmen commissioned to paint the double white lines along the middle of the road chose to pause at the corpse before resuming their painting. Apparently it wasn't their responsibility as part of the Hampshire County Council to remove the badger; it was the New Forest District Council's task. Badger road death is a sadly common thing, and so is the ridiculous 'not doing things because they aren't technically my responsibility' attitude. Every time I come across this attitude, which I am going to name badgerbuckling from now on, I chuckle, but also feel a little sad that we don't just do things for each other out of a furry fuzzy place in our hearts that thinks, 'why not?'

Dreams

Dreams have sat waiting to be written about for a while now and they are getting impatient. The problem is I only ever remember snatches of dreams and these never seem enough to write about. Some budding writers keep a notebook by their beds and scribble down dreams throughout the night as and when they awake, because the theory is that a dream is forgotten forever if you fall back asleep. The only way to remember a dream is to give it some focused attention directly after waking. With actual dreams lacking material, I have turned to songs that feature dreams and come up with a top seven songs involving dreams.

1. Purple Haze - Jimi Hendix

Apparently this euphoric track featuring knee-crumbling guitarmanship was inspired by a dream where Hendrix found himself wandering around under the sea in a purple mist. He only survived the engulfing purple haze through Jesus' intervention.

2. Ernold Same - Blur

This track from Blur's The Great Escape album starts with the lyrics, "Ernold Same awoke from the same dream in the same bed at the same time." Blur's narrative songs were some of their best and this juxtaposition of Ernold's dream life and his dull day-to-day existence show "Poor Old Ernold's" repetitive life in post-modern monotony.

3. Daydream Believer - The Monkees

I struggle to hear this song without thinking of Peter Reid and rude lyrics, but whether it is sung by a Geordie crowd or monkeys who struggle to spell, it is a fantastic song.

4. California Dreaming - Mammas and Poppas

The Beach Boys are the perfect summer time band and whilst delving into who they really were reveals some slightly odd truths, their music stands for innocent and utter summer joy.

5. Gone the Dream - Ash

Ash's big nonsense rock numbers are what I really love them for, but Gone the Dream is a listenable quieter track.

6. Number 9 Dream - The Beatles

This is actually a pretty appalling track, but the fact that it nestles in the Beatles' untitled album dubbed The White Album somehow makes it fascinating as you wonder what was wandering through John Lennon's dreamworld that night.

7. Dreams - The Everly Brothers

This is the first song that comes to mind when I think of dreams. The cooing repetitive "Dre-ee-ee-ee-eams" lulls the listener into bliss or perhaps rage.

D Engraved on the Jules Rimet

The Letter D 1 (Forlan 51) The Letter V 0

The D Team: Diego Godin, Dennis Aogo, Diego Lugano, Diego Perez, Nigel De Jong, Dirk Kuyt, Diego Forlan.

The Letter D lifted The Alphabet World Cup after a narrow victory over The Letter V. The dangerous strike partnership of Robin Van Persie and the traitorous David Villa was predicted to be too much for the D defence, but it proved not to be the case. It was thought that V would be for victory after 90 minutes, but the V team's tactics meant that violence was a more appropriate word for the brutal manner in which the likes of Van Der Wiel, Van Bronckhorst, Van Bommel and Van Persie conducted themselves - they all found themselves in the referee's notebook for naughtiness.

  The first half was a full of crunching challenges mainly inflicted on the D team while they attempted to play their beautiful brand of total football. They weren't entirely innocent though, with Dennis Aogo crunching Van Persie's leg after just four minutes and Nigel De Jong karate-kicking Rafael Van Der Vaart in the chest, both offences worthy of red cards. 

  It was early in the second half that The Letter D broke the deadlock when Diego Perez cut the ball back from the byline to Diego Forlan whose volley bounced into the top corner. 

  The Letter V were struggling to make chances, but did come close when a defensive error gifted David Villa the ball at his feet just four feet from goal, but a despairing lunge by World Cup debutant Aogo diverted the ball up and over the bar.

  It was in fact The Letter D that came closest to adding to their solitary goal when Forlan bent a freekick against the crossbar deep into injury time. The final whistle brought delirious delight to The D team and their traveling fans, nicknamed dans because a lot of them bear that name. Sadly, the Alphabet World Cup has received little media interest with a handful of people following its progress because they don't have a great deal to do with their time. The ABC division of FIFA are hoping that interest will increase when the World Cup reaches Brazil in 2014.

Stepping outside of the sports journalist role for a moment, I am well pleased that my following of The Letter D through this World Cup led to them actually being the greatest footballing letter. I'll leave football bloggeration alone for a while now and concentrate on other things beginning with the letter D because I fear that I have thoroughly bored people with my odd obsession with meaningless football trivia. 

Donkey Kong

In 1989 my family entered the technological age when a family friend updated their Sinclair ZX Spectrum 48K to an Amiga 500 and Speccy was passed down to us. It was a moment of intense excitement for the Atheralls - the box full of cassette games bearing mysterious and enticing titles such as Jetpac, Fantasy World Dizzy, Kenny Dalglish's Football Manager and Donkey Kong would occupy hours of our childhood from that moment on.

  Gaming in this low-tech era demanded more patience than today's instant 'insert and play' culture. Before you grasped the joystick like your life depended upon it, you had to wait for the screechy loading process. The tapes emitted a sound not dissimilar to my sisters' ear-chastising violin playing and whilst most of the time this high-pitched squealing was normally concluded with the opportunity to play a game, this wasn't always the case with games often stuttering and stumbling to a crash just as your anticipation had reached a point of heart-thumping desperation to shoot an alien; collect a meaningless coin; purchase an exciting young striker or vault a rolling barrel. The excruciation you feel as a child having to wait for something you desperately want is like little I have experienced in my adult life. Perhaps I learnt some patience through this procedure that modern gamers know nothing of, although I'm not so sure.

  Donkey Kong was not the most regular cassette to play me a discordant tune, but it was a game that featured in my childhood. The first stage, which I never made it past, put you in the position of Mario and your task was to climb various ladders whilst avoiding barrels thrown at you by a monkey called Donkey Kong. Once you reached the top, you freed Mario's girlfriend Pauline from her apish enslaver and proceeded to complete a similar task. There's a theory that Donkey Kong was originally meant to be called Monkey Kong and that a mistake in translation from Japanese to English led to the odd choice of name. Creator Shigiru Miyamoto denies this however, saying that the name was chosen to reflect the big ape's stubborn nature. That isn't the only controversy surrounding the name-choice: Universal Studios felt that Donkey Kong's name infringed on the King Kong copyright, but they failed in suing Nintendo and ended up having to pay $1.8 million in damages.

  Donkey Kong and Mario have gone on to huge fame since their introduction to the gaming world in 1981 and have become figureheads for Nintendo. My Spectrum though has been stolen by my brother who gets it out now and then when he is feeling nostalgic. If you to experience the unbridled joy of early Donkey Kong, you can do so by visiting: http://www.classicgamesarcade.com/game/21595/Donkey-Kong-Classic-Game.html

D in Dreamland, T down Toilet

The Letter D 1 (Forlan 41) The Letter T 0

The Letter D: Diego Godin, Diego Perez, Demy De Zeeuw, David Silva, David Villa, Diego Forlan, Dirk Kuyt.

The Alphabet World Cup is in danger of descending into farce as all four semi-final teams struggled to raise a team comprised of players whose first names or surnames begin with the appropriate letter. The Letter T were one of the worst hit and when they made the incredible decision to start with just one player, The Letter D must have thought their moment of World Cup glory had come. Piotr Trochowski was the man who carried the heavy burden of T hearts. The D team managed to field seven players and it was this numerical advantage that surely swung the tie in their favour.

  However, the predicted goal-fest that the fans hoped for was not delivered. A tense first half yielded little goal-mouth action with Trochowski putting in an inspired performance to keep The Letter D at bay. His tireless running couldn't prevent Diego Forlan though, and when he found space (there was quite a lot of it) 25 yards from goal, he rasped the ball into the roof of the net.

  In the second half Toni Kroos replaced the weary Trochowski and in one last desperate throw of the dice, misfiring Fernando Torres was thrust into the action to swell the T numbers to two. Torres, who has scored a whopping 56 in 79 appearances for Liverpool, couldn't match the prowess of Diego Forlan, who managed just 10 goals in his 63 appearances for Manchester United. It can only be concluded that wavy blond locks are the key to finding the net in this tournament, and Torres with his new close-cropped hazelnut brown hairdo is no match for the yellow-maned Diego.

  The victory sets up a final with The Letter V, which means that David Villa who has been instrumental in The Letter D's success will be ineligible for The Letter D because surnames take priority over first names. The Letter V with Villa and the multiple Vans of the Netherlands are now firm favourites with the bookies after their 1-0 victory over The Letter H thanks to a Giovanni Van Bronckhorst thunderbolt.

Dirty Den

Den before dirtyness was once a slick-haired assistant to Commander Lytton on Doctor Who named Kiston. He was based on a satellite called Riften 5 which orbited the planet Vita, 15 centuries in the future. Den's Doctor Who link wasn't forgotten when years later Lytton made a surprise time-traveling trip to Walford. He popped into the Queen Vic and mistook Den for his former assistant. I guess this isn't surprising because they are sort of the same person pretending to be someone else for the sake of a TV programme. 

  But this small incident only recorded in the Doctor Who magazine goes a long way to explaining Den's miraculous reappearance on Albert Square. I proffer that Den's murder in 1989 that turned out to be only an attempted murder in a terrible twist of appalling story-telling was actually a real murder and that the subsequent return of Den fourteen months later was actually a pre-1989 Den time-traveling forward to 2003. However, this explanation doesn't explain the second murder problem which would have made it difficult for Den to return to a time before 1989 to allow himself to be genuinely murdered. This can only be explained when we consider the assumed shape-shifting potential of Lytton who I reckon must of taken on the shape of the dirty one and allowed himself to sacrificially murdered in Den's place by the three angry ladies that Den had pained. This allowed Den to return to the 80s to pay the Sixth Doctor Colin Baxter the tenner he owed him and allow himself to finally meet his end and satisfy the watchdog of coherent narrative structure. Why didn't Eastenders just explain this to the audience at the time and avoid accusations of reintroducing Den just to steal viewers back off of Corrie?

Demographics of the Netherlands

I am in the mood for exposing things unknown at the moment, and today I realised that my geographical knowledge, which is pretty much entirely based around football, contained a nugget of knowledge which not everyone knows. It is that Holland and the Netherlands are not the same. I always preferred the name Holland to the Netherlands as a boy, feeling that Holland matched the flamboyance of Ruud Gullit's dreadlocks whereas the Netherlands sounded oldy worldy and slightly dull, but now the same connotations don't hold for me any more. The Netherlands sounds far more romantic and enticing and not boring at all; the Netherlands holds mystery and sounds like it belongs somewhere across the sea from Narnia. It somewhere where otters talk and leopards invite you out for a stroll. 

  Anyway, back to the matter in hand - Holland is not the same as the Netherlands, but an area within the Netherlands. North and South Holland make up just two of the twelve provinces of the Netherlands with Drenthe, Flevoland, Friesland, Gelderland, Groningen, Limburg, North Brabant, Overijssel, Utrecht and Zeeland the other ten. These twelve haven't always made up the Netherlands though - in the early 16th century Belgium and Luxembourg were included in seventeen Netherlands. Conflict between the provinces and Spain led to the Eighty Years' War or the Dutch War of Independence and as a result a Dutch Republic emerged made up of seven provinces. It has since expanded to the twelve that make up today's Netherlands.

  I am a quarter Dutch myself, but have never set foot on Dutch soil. I do, however, like to follow their World Cup process - could this year be their year? - and convince myself that if England persist in ignoring my footballing ability, then I will offer the Dutch my services, although sadly I don't qualify as neither of my parents are Ducth, I don't have a Dutch passport and I wasn't born in the Netherlands. Oh well, at least I know what they are.

Digestive Brain

While driving along the A27 from Moulsecoomb to Southwick yesterday, with burbling boys in the back-seat, I found out an incredible piece of human biology which seems to be largely unknown to the masses: humans have two brains. Danny Baker was the deliverer of the information and whilst he might not be the first port of call for scientific enquiry, it seems he wasn't talking out of his second mouth, but from a position of scientific authority. We do indeed have two brains.

  Brain number two, known as the enteric nervous system, finds its home in our bowels. I guess some kind of definition of what constitutes a brain is required here, and this is where I start to stutter and stumble and annoy anyone with any level of scientific knowledge. The key seems to be that a brain is a coordinating centre and our belly-brain coordinates digestion and that sort of thing, making it a brain. Sometimes it works with the main brain - for instance, butterflies fluttering in the stomach are some sort of neurotransmitter confab between the two. At other times it works independently - when we get windypops, that is brain two telling our body that the food we've recently eaten is not to be consumed again in a hurry.

  This brain, that was only discovered about thirty years ago, can apparently affect our sense of well-being, and whilst brain two seems to stick mainly to sorting our peas and carrots, I wonder whether the fact that emotions seem to be felt in the stomach is something to do with our extra encephalon. Often when the English-language Bible talks of the 'heart', the actual Hebrew translation is 'guts'; the Bible writers are recognising the link between emotions and the belly. Perhaps it is time for brain two to usurp the long-held dictatorial power of brain one, or perhaps not.

D-elight for D as They Reach the Semis

The Letter D 2 (Forlan 55, Villa 83) The Letter K 2 (Klose 68, 89) - The Letter D win 1-0 on penalties

The D Team: Dani Alves, Paulo Da Silva, Darlo Veron, Diego Lugano, Martin Demichelis, Angel Di Maria, Nigel De Jong, Dominic Adiyiah, Diego Perez, Diego Forlan, David Villa.

  The Letter D won their second consecutive penalty shoot-out to march into the semi-finals of The Alphabet World Cup. The Letter K were always likely to be a threat with their three-pronged strike-force of Miroslav Klose, Dirk Kuyt and Kaka always likely to test the D defence.

  The first half was a dull affair with both sides looking tentative and nervous of making mistakes, but after half-time orange segments, both teams returned to the field with a more adventurous spirit. The Letter D took the lead in the 55th minute when Diego Forlan sent a fizzing free-kick past the wrong-footed Richard Kingson, the jabulani flying like a pigeon on heat. 

  Miroslav Klose restored parity shortly afterwards with a simple finish from all of three yards before David Villa looked to have won it for the D Team when his close range finish hit both posts before nestling in the onion bag. But, Klose wasn't finished yet and his controlled close-range volley one minute from the whistle sent the tie to extra-time. 

  Extra-time yielded little excitement and penalties followed. An incredible inability to find the back of the net from twelve yards by almost every player meant that Diego Forlan's composed finish gave The Letter D a 1-0 victory in the shoot-out. They face The Letter T in the semi-finals who beat Players' Names Who Start and Finish with the Same Letter 1-0.

Quarter-final Results

The Letter D 2-2 The Letter K (The Letter D win 1-0 on penalties)

The Letter H 0-0 The Letter L (The Letter H win 12-11 on penalties)

The Letter T 1-0 Players' Names Who Start and Finish with the Same Letter

The Letter R 1-1 The Letter V (The Letter V win 2-1 on penalties)

Semi-final Draw

The Letter D vs The Letter T

The Letter H vs The Letter V

Dinosaurs

The dinosaurs all looked up to a diplodocus

called Denzel who was a master of hocus pocus.

He'd written a spell book and in it was a chapter

about how to transform a velociraptor.

If you ate an erotic slug and whispered, "I'm a quarter Hawaiian,"

then the aggressor would instantly become a dandelion. 

This drastic magic, Denzel warned, should be done in dire need.

because no one wants to be overrun by a yellow weed.

But the dinos were gobbling down slugs

to protect them from the razor-toothed thugs.

The delicate balance of the ecosystem

surely needed a little bit more wisdom

than a slug-slurping stegosaurus

singing the latest Beyonce chorus.

They were foolish, I'm sure you'll concur,

but the worst disaster had yet to occur.

Enter stage left, an illiterate triceratops called Doug

who misread ' an erotic slug' for 'a narcotic drug'.

He got high and spluttered the words

and suddenly all around were badgers, whole herds.

He looked down at his body, saw black and white stripes

and muttered, "Oh bother, oh fiddlesticks, oh cripes."

The witless herbivore had brought an end to his race

with a moment of madness, getting off his face.

And now we know it was not the Ice Age

That ushered these vertebrates off of centre stage.

It was Douglas who caused their extinction.

with a moment of stupidity worthy of distinction.

There is a message in this, that we should not meddle with magic

or we may end up with a moment quite tragic.

And now you know why badgers, not dinos are here

Or have I just had a night in on Sangria?