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Ad Lib

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Ad Lib last won the day on October 7 2015

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About Ad Lib

  • Rank
    Watch out Simon Stainrod
  • Birthday 27/05/1991

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  • Website URL
    http://www.predictableparadox.co.uk

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    London

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  1. If you grass on Gary Caldwell, does that make you a good guy or a bad guy?
  2. “We aren’t racist! Some of our players are black!”
  3. Do you or do you not condemn the vile racism, casually endorsed by way of Retweet by your own Club’s Chairman? It’s a simple question. Yeah but the problem here is one of the idiots is your *Chairman* Retweeting racist language. We’ve found a racist Gammon everyone. Didn’t take long.
  4. There we have it. Ayr’s indifference and blindness to racism among its rank and file. Shocking.
  5. How do Ayr fans feel about their Chair retweeting racist language?
  6. I think it's fair to say my accent is regionally non-specific Scottish. There are definitely influences from Fife, Aberdeen and Glasgow having grown up at different points in those parts, but none dominate and being #HopelesslyMiddleClass by Scottish standards moderates it somewhat. I'm also very conscious of being a shameless code switcher. Being in London makes me far more self-conscious about it.
  7. BBC correspondent opened the piece saying that Bill Clinton had called a Pennsylvania jail his home for the last two years. Huw Edwards with an absolutely mortified correction statement at the end of the segment.
  8. I really hope that everyone who’s struggling with this disease, whether directly or being around nearest and dearest with it, are getting the support they need. My own family has gone through a steady train of brain tumour pish in recent years (my mum’s dad died with one in summer 2017, my dad’s mum died with one in early 2018, and in late 2019 my dad got diagnosed with one). It turns people’s lives completely upside down, totally shattering plans and expectations and assumptions about the way your life is going to be. With dad its like he’s gone senile post op and radio/chemo and we know it’s just a matter of time. That’s obviously rubbish for him but it’s been horrendous for my mum, who had always counted on him being the one to look after her (with all her own health issues) in old age. I’m lucky enough to have them down here at the moment for a bit, and I’ll hopefully be up in August for my nephew’s baptism, but there is that dawning realisation that they gave him 18 months in March 2020, and that despite a relatively stable spell in late 2020 he’s close to borrowed time now. At times it feels like you’re doing the grieving long before he actually passes though, as all the things that gave him joy and all the things that were shared experiences in our father son relationship just become harder or impossible. Dad’s love was classic cars; he can’t drive. We would always banter with puns; he struggles to string a sentence together without using the wrong word. Right now we are watching the cricket and he saw Phil Tufnell and said “that’s that rugby player. Wait. No. Not rugby”. He knows he’s trapped in this cloud of fuzzy nonsense but he can’t quite fight out of it. He came into the study during the pandemic and once said that lunch was “the flat disc thingies” (meaning pizzas 😂). He would pass some time reading the newspaper early on in his treatment; he can’t now read much more competently than an 8 year old child. It’s the robbed time I resent. If I find a woman who’ll have me he’ll probably never meet her. If I have children he’ll never meet them. They’ll never get to know the sharp silly man we’ve all loved for decades. In many ways I’ve been so lucky to have him in my life throughout my childhood as a reliable and supportive influence. I really do feel for those who lose a parent in childhood. But even though I objectively have my life shit fairly together I still feel like I’ll be totally lost without him when he pops his clogs. What I’d give for just another, say, five years…
  9. (1) I met Terry Venables at Legoland Windsor (2) I met Peter Beardsley at Disneyland Paris (3) I met Alan Curbishley at Phantasialand in North Rhine-Westphalia
  10. My mortgage broker recommended, given I have a decent sick pay policy with my work, that I should probably opt for some form of income protection with a deferred activation date. Aviva wanted to charge an insane additional premium literally because I'm a fat b*****d. So because it wasn't mandatory for my mortgage I told them to ram it. Depending on your job and how secure it is, of course, your mileage may vary.
  11. Been kind of bottling this up for a while now. Completely out of the blue my dad (then 56) was diagnosed with a brain tumour just before Christmas in 2019 after a funny turn at work. There was a whole faff in the January about whether it was benign or not that was settled by a follow-up scan in late February 2020, they operated on him sharpish, and they confirmed in March it was grade 4 and he was basically fucked. There are a million and one things about that journey that are exhausting and uncertain and horrible and gut-wrenching. I've spent the last hour listing them out before deleting it all as it's just TMI and incoherent. The things that still stick out though, more than a year on, are having to be the one to break it to my mum on Christmas Eve that he'd been told he has a brain tumour, and then being told by my aunt over the phone (while I was at work) not long after his operation, in not so many words that he was terminal and that radiotherapy and chemotherapy were only going to buy him time. In some really important ways I was lucky with the pandemic. It indirectly led to me working mostly from Glasgow, meant I could help mum look after dad, sharing the burden and spending some quality time with both of them. And my (younger) sister has at least brought the family some happiness in the form of his first grandchild. But the combination of the path of his illness, the twists and turns, the pandemic, and more recently me moving properly back to London (to become a home owner) has just been too much at times. After a pretty bad depressive and anxiety phase at University quite a few years ago now, I had developed a lot of strategies to protect against burnout and spiralling, but I've found my dad's restarting chemo (this time while I'm not there) really difficult. Mum and dad are hoping to come down to London next week and it could well be the only time dad gets to see my home in person. I don't know if he's going to have the energy to do anything while they're down, mum's been so pessimistic about how the chemo has zonked him since restarting it, he can't even read a newspaper anymore, and I just don't know how much give I've got left before I start to lose it a bit again. I know my work is suffering, with the combination of forced working from home and the whole dad situation, but work is also just about the only thing I have actual proper control over right now. My sister and I also know that, with mum being bipolar, there's a very solid chance that when dad does eventually pass on that she's going to be an absolute wreck for quite a prolonged period. We always assumed with her many health issues that she'd be the one to go first but to be honest there are times when I worry I'll lose both my parents in quick succession. One of the hardest things while working "from home" up in Glasgow was overhearing my mum saying to her psychiatrist (over the phone, because of course, because fucking Covid) that she was feeling suicidal again. One of the hardest things about not being up there is not knowing what's really going on, both with dad and with mum.
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