Der Himmel über Berlin

Tomorrow I'm off on holiday! But before of any of you mutter 'lucky bastard' and stop reading, wait until you hear where I'm going.

Somewhere wet. Somewhere wet and cold. Somewhere wet and cold and high up.

Yes, tomorrow I'm off to Scotland, spending the night in Edinburgh then heading up the high road to Ben Nevis, where, on Sunday, I will be the highest man in Britain, at 1,344m. According to BBC, the weather might actually be quite nice. *fingers crossed*

I have a long-term mountain-based aim, and that is to reach every highest peak in every Europen country. Despite having reached some 2,000m+ peaks in Italy, Poland and Slovakia, my list of highest peaks is rather pathetic, comprising of Ireland, (ahem) San Marino and (ahem ahem) Monaco.

So this weekend will really kick the list off properly. The two biggest landmasses outside mainland Europe will have been conquered by me.

Roll on Mont Blanc!

The woman's parents were in town last week. Aside from marvelling at the cuteness of my delicious Irish accent, they spent some time trying to decide who it is exactly that I remind them of. The results, by all accounts, are surprising.

Before I reveal them though, let me first show you who my soft angelic face has previously been likened to.

1. John Lennon. This was a couple of years ago, as I was going through an interesting leather jacket phase.

2. Paul McGann, as in 'I' in Withnail and I, and later of Dr Who fame. I think this one is rather accurate, especially from the point of view of my wonderful hair.

But what did the visitors come up with? Johnny Depp? George Clooney? Richard Gere? (since the grey flecks in my hair and beard are becoming rather more pronounced, I was hopeful). No, none of those.

*drum roll*
In descending oder, Rampage's lookalikes are...

No. 2 Lookalike: Sir Walter Raleigh. Particularly galling to be linkened to an English colonist and advocate of Irish plantations. But the resemblance is...er...striking...?

But the No. 1 Rampage lookalike is...
The King of Diamonds.
Yes, that's right, I look like a playing card. Judge for yourself:

So, where's my nearest plastic surgeon?

All summer, I had serious doubts about the wisdom of purchasing a Hertha BSC season ticket, and not just because of every pundit from here to Munich tipping them for the drop. But after dismissing Dortmund yesterday, maintaining this year's 100% home record, my days of doubt are over.

Best. Purchase. Ever.

Look, everyone knows that women have a much higher pain threshold than men. The fact that we whinge about having to listen to our woman's pain-related laments doesn't mean that we don't appreciate it - we know that they can simply tolerate much more pain than us.

Yesterday, while making dinner, I chopped up a bunch of screaming hot peperoni, puchased from my local Turkish market. I was fully aware of the danger of touching any bodily orifice afterwards, so carefully washed my hands afterwards.

So imagine my surprise as searing pain ripped through my head as I absent-mindedly scratched my ear some minutes afterwards. Excuse my French, but those motherfuckers were motherfucking hot.

As you might expect, I whimpered like a little baby for the rest of the evening. And I'm still whimpering. Now I don't expect any women to understand this, but it just hurts more when it happens to us. And therefore I thank the missus very sincerely for giving me the sympathy I very much required.

Arr! Be it just me, Scurvyface Rampage, who think that the pirates all be talkin' like Irishmen?

For sure, ahoy, and top o' the morning to ye all!

Arr, me hearties, Scurvyface Rampage be havin' a great time lookin' here and learnin' the fair tongue of the corsairs.

Now I be off to splice the mainbrace. Arr!

Fair winds, me blogbuckos!

So, Ireland's top scorer Stephen Ireland had to leave the squad before last week's vital EURO 2008 qualifier against Czech Rep, citing the death of his granny as the reason.

The real reason? You couldn't have dreamt it.

Statement from Stephen Ireland.

"I wish to explain the circumstances surrounding my departure from the Republic of Ireland international squad following the Euro 2008 qualifier against Slovakia in Bratislava last Saturday.

"When the game ended our manager Stephen Staunton took me outside the dressing room into the corridor along with the Ireland team doctor. He told me that they had taken a call from my girlfriend, Jessica, and she said my grandmother had died.

"I was deeply shocked because I believed it was my maternal grandmother who had brought me up from when I was five. The manager went back into the dressing room to get my phone and when I got it I immediately rang my girlfriend to get more details.

"My girlfriend was distraught and explained that she had just suffered a miscarriage. Jessica said she was very lonely and wanted me to come home. She said she thought they might let me home quicker if they thought my grandmother had died.

"When I finished the call I told the manager and doctor that my grandmother had died and because we were very close I wanted to go home immediately. The manager said that was no problem and he would get the FAI to sort it out.

"The FAI hired a private jet to get me home and I flew out of Bratislava the following morning. Before I left I told the FAI media officer that the name of my grandmother was Patricia Tallon.

"Early on Monday morning I got a phone call from Stephen Staunton telling me that the FAI had discovered my grandmother in Cork was not dead. He wanted to know what was going on and I told him that there had been a mistake and it had been my father's mother. I told him her name was Brenda Kitchener, that she lived in London.

"Jessica and I were still very upset over the miscarriage so we flew home to Ireland for a few days.

"On Thursday, I got a phone-call from Manchester City stating that the FAI had discovered that my grandmother, Brenda Kitchener, was also alive. I decided at that stage that I must tell truth and admit I had told lies.

"I realise now that it was a massive mistake on my part to tell the FAI and Manchester City that my grandmothers had died and I deeply regret it. The miscarriage that Jessica suffered last Saturday has caused both of us a lot of heartache and had caused us both to panic.

"It was wrong and I sincerely apologise, particularly as I caused a lot of problems for many people.

"I would like to apologise to my grandmothers and all my family for any distress I have caused them.

"Ireland manager Stephen Staunton, my Ireland team-mates, the backroom staff and the FAI also deserve my profound apologies. I truly appreciate that the extraordinary lengths they went to put my welfare first and ensure I got home from Slovakia as quickly as possible.

"I am also sorry for causing Manchester City any embarrassment and apologise to the supporters of both Manchester City and Ireland for misleading them and the media.

"I love playing for my country and am grateful for the understanding Mr Staunton and the FAI have shown to me since I told them the truth.

"I have learnt a valuable lesson from this mess and hope those I have hurt by my actions will forgive me."

It's real. Honestly. Click here. And here.

Bloody hell.

Barring an absolutely unthinkable miracle, Ireland won't be at EURO 2008 next summer.

And I'm not really as upset as I thought I would be. Maybe since I never really believed they'd make it, I mean a team that gets hammered 5-2 by Cyprus doesn't really deserve to, do they?

But mostly I think it's because now I don't have to save relentlessly for the next 9 months in order to finance a Swiss summer. I don't have to inform blog HQ and my students that I'll be absent for a full month as I soak up a carnival of football in the stunning Swiss landscape. I won't have to forget about all responsibility as I enjoy my three biggest passions in life - football, mountains and beer. I won't have to help create a glorious atmosphere of international understanding through the unadulterated global medium of football.

So, hurrah, every cloud, eh?

Why can't I bloody be Scottish?

Just saw a news piece that has sent shivers of fear down my spine. A news piece that is going to make me reconsider the way I live my life.

The price of beer in Germany is set to rise by about 10% over the next few months.

I'm going to have to start working more than three hours per day. This sucks.