It Came Upon the Midnight Clear

Is that Alan Pardew deciding who to put on the transfer list ready for January?

Well, finally I can sit back and take life easy for a couple of weeks. Term ended on Friday, and with it the ceaseless round of marking tests and exams, writing reports, and going out celebrating the upcoming anniversary of the Nativity of Our Blessed Lord on tides of booze. And since then I have been recovering.

I was happy enough about the upcoming festivities of course, and this year have decided to stay at home in Madrid, and not spend time queuing at airports for possibly non-existent flights (the fog in London threw quite a lot of my colleagues into a flat spin. Rob was so upset on Friday night, not knowing if his connection from Heathrow to Newcastle on Saturday would be on, that he had little appetite for his beer for a while, till his father rang and told him that it was OK, whereupon he more than made up for his previous abstemiousness - not that I am in a position to point the finger), and anyway all the security precautions last time I travelled were very off-putting.

I was also happy that, despite a late night with my quiz team mates after the staff dinner on Monday, we all reported fit for the Charity Quiz on the Tuesday, and put out a full team, and, as usual, won comfortably, again thanks to the excellent questions prepared by our old friends, the chief Old Farts themselves, Luis and David.

I am also happy that Christmas will be relatively simple - just a quiet dinner in the early evening with an old friend whom I have invited round, of home-made tomato soup, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables, and maybe ice cream, as I haven't done puddings and though I made a dozen mince pies a fortnight ago, they have been unaccountably consumed already.

And I am happy that Boxing Day is not a holiday in Spain and I'll be able to stroll out and get a haircut and do some shopping, and generally appreciate being on holiday, and also meet up for drinks in a normal way with the only other team member currently in town, Mush, and one or two other chums.

But of course, the way things have been down at Charlton have conspired to make me very unhappy indeed. I have been much too busy to write about any of it, even if I had been able to tell a better story of the whole sad sequence of events than the Inspector or Wyn Grant (see links, at right). But losing against Liverpool last Saturday was bad enough, as this is a fixture Charlton often win, and then there was the debacle against Wycombe on Tuesday. This was the night of the quiz, so it was just as well I had something to be pleased about.

And although it isn't Charlton-related, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Real Madrid get thumped 3-0 at home by Recreativo de Huelva, Spain's oldest football club, on Wednesday night. (Incidentally, has it never occurred to anyone to wonder why there is only one oldest football club per country, England's of course being Notts County? Who did they play against?)

The Middlesbrough match again gave me some hope - they aren't much good, we won this one comfortably last season, and so on, and the law of averages alone might have brought about a change in the series of disasters, but it was not to be, and I felt rather like someone having a series of blows rained on him; after a while you know it is happening as a whole but individual blows are not perceived separately.

And now, having read in the Observer earlier yesterday how awful Charlton were, I discover that Les Reed, despite signing a new 3-year contract not long ago, has been replaced by Alan Pardew, apparently in line with what the players wanted, who has signed a 3½-year contract...

The commentators who have broken ground are rejoicing (well it is Christmas Day) that Charlton have a proper manager again, and I hope it will be the case, rather than a member of a 'management structure', as Iain Dowie was. For we have a management structure at the Centre, and in my opinion it really is not the best way to achieve success, whatever the actual members of it might think.

Anyway, a press conference at The Valley tomorrow, then Fulham on Wednesday, and a little bit of peace on Earth and good will to all men in the meantime. As last year, for all blog pieces between now and 6 January, I shall try to force the title of a well-known Christmas carol to fit whatever it is I am talking about; failing that, I might find a relevant line at least. As it was not long after midnight on that holiest of nights that the news of Alan Pardew's appointment was vouchsafed unto me, today's title was a breeze.

A happy Christmas to you all.