Was it because he would magically disappear any time Wales played a friendly?
Sorry, meant to pm you mate.
Pat ingoldsby is 82 tomorrow. Legend.
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I liked it the first time and I’ll like it again… Pat’s a legend. And i love him. I minded his books for him many times so he could go to the jacks. A great man to have a chat with and a genuinely independent mind oozing creativity.
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Documentary about Pat on rte tonight at 9.35 for anyone who is interested. Cc @backinatracksuit @TheUlteriorMotive
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Great stuff - he’s a gas cunt. Used to always have a waffle with him at college green
T.S. Eliot. A fucking deranged bluffer or I am insufficiently cultured to appreciate his best work.
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon’s repose.
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Seems appropriate
The Second Coming
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
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That’s actually genius. She didn’t even have to pretend to write a book. 
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She should never have left Fsir City
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I got round to watching this tonight. It’s absolutely superb. A wonderful slice of a very full but troubled life. Whoever directed it is brilliant.