The Clouds Were Pretending to Be Clouds When in Fact They Were Overheard Comments Regarding His Recent Behavior

My insomnia and Serendipity brings you the above highlights of a Manchester football club you don't have to hate. Yesterday I saw and at three o'clock this morning remembered and read this Guardian article on FC United of Manchester, who play in the Northern Premier League, the seventh tier of English football. Here's the current table:

1.	Skelmersdale	19	13	2	4	41:27	41
2.	Chorley	17	12	4	1	39:12	40
3.	Fylde	18	10	5	3	41:14	35
4.	Worksop	18	11	2	5	55:43	35
5.	Marine	20	8	8	4	37:30	32
6.	Blyth	20	9	5	6	33:31	32
7.	Kings Lynn	19	9	4	6	38:27	31
8.	Matlock	19	9	4	6	29:20	31
9.	Ilkeston	21	9	4	8	38:30	31
10.	Buxton	18	8	5	5	26:20	29
11.	United of Manche...	17	8	4	5	34:21	28
12.	Grantham	19	8	4	7	36:32	28
13.	Rushall	17	8	4	5	25:29	28
14.	Whitby	20	6	9	5	32:31	27
15.	Barwell	21	7	5	9	30:35	26
16.	Ashton	18	6	6	6	33:30	24
17.	Nantwich	20	6	5	9	32:29	23
18.	Witton	17	6	3	8	29:27	21
19.	Frickley	20	5	6	9	28:33	21
20.	Trafford	18	6	3	9	27:34	21
21.	Stamford	19	5	3	11	28:44	18
22.	Stocksbridge	20	3	4	13	34:56	13
23.	Stafford	19	2	3	14	20:52	9
24.	Droylsden	18	0	2	16	12:70	2

About an hour ago blogfriend Hamish Mack retweeted the above video highlights of yesterday's FCUM v Frickley game which includes a spectacular own goal, so Serendipity must be honored with this post.

While I'm here, have Maggie's weekly links and { feuilleton }'s weekly links and Joyce dug Defoe and hear Anne Lauterbach read her poems and this lovely piece on the death of a cat and sanctuary and RIP Doris Lessing (who I read dutifully decades ago, it wasn't love it wasn't hate) and Hilary Mantel's review of Lessing's autobiography.






STAY

Franz Wright

The clouds were pretending to be clouds
when in fact they were overheard comments
regarding his recent behavior, but muffled

as though heard through a wall. Unlike
the personal messages being conveyed to him
in the form of asides by people on TV, chilling

in their clam and unequivocal malevolence.
In the garden the roses were opening,
chanting in unison, My name is Mary and

you really don't want to come near me,
not if I was the last little swastika nympho
on earth, and what was that supposed to mean!

Then there the others who lived there.
(Was he living there now?) They were indifferent
to him with the very striking exception of

two friends. He could tell they were friends
by the marked improvement in their mood
when his was at its most truly desolate.