Losing

I hate losing, absolutely hate it. Probably more so now than a few years ago actually, although the difference is when I lose now I'm at least able to look my opponent in the eye, shake his hand and walk off. I lost tonight playing footie - in a manner which I'll call the Bayern Munich method - that is, conceding two late sucker-punches in a footie game you've dominated most of.

Someone else who clearly hates losing, and indeed has admitted as much, is Arsene Wenger, the manager of Arsenal. After their game against Chelsea yesterday, Wenger unloaded a rant which some have taken as a sign of a man finally losing it after having spent the past five years being outspent by his rivals.

You have to have some sympathy with the man, though perhaps it is about time he dropped his immense, stubborn obsession with perfect football and gave in at least a little to the current obsession in football with pace and power (though, on a seperate note, I believe that obsession is slowly killing football).

Judging by some of the fan reaction to the Chelsea defeat, quite a few are clearly beginning to lose the faith as well, and have increased the calls for a change, not only in footballing philosophy, but even potentially in their manager. This despite Wenger having given them ten years of Champions League football, several trophies and one glorious season where they were unbeaten - humans really do have a short capacity for memory and an apparent lack of appreciation for, or recognition of, the good times.

So what should Wenger do? Either he carries on with his beliefs, nails his colours even further to his mast and refuses to change. Or he puts up the white flag, gives in, sacrifices his reputation and succumbs to the modern obsession.

I'm fairly sure I know which one he'll choose, and I'm probably not alone in hoping he does choose that way - the Premier League needs Arsenal to keep doing what they're doing. Get the ball down, play it around and demonstrate what football should be about.

Handy

Thierry Henry's little 'hand gesture' has certainly created a bit of a stir this week, resulting in debate on everything from video technology to the very ethics of the game and french people as a whole.

Of course, like everything with a faint whiff of scandal that's picked up by the media, it's been blown out of all proportion - witness the Daily Mail's front page story this week about oil tankers sitting in the English Channel waiting for petrol prices to rise before selling their cargo.

The whole point on both these fronts is that whilst what has been done was wrong, it was done by people, and people as a race are ultimately fallible, both in their desire to prosper and from the pressures they themselves are under.

The backlash on Henry has come from both sides of the Channel, but ask yourself this - what would the French have done to him if he'd admitted the handball and they'd gone on to lose? He'd have been equally lynched, or maybe even worse for not using sporting 'gamesmanship'.

I'm not saying for one minute that what he did was right. Just asking for a little wider perspective on why he did it and what has happened since.

Clarkson, Hammond, May

The new series of Top Gear started last night - a joyous event as always for me, and several million others. Whilst it's true that they probably try a little too hard these days with some of the comedy, it's still a genuine pleasure to watch for an hour each week and this week's episode was no exception.

I'm not a car fanatic, although I do enjoy driving and (like most 20-something blokes) have a list of cars that I would love to own/drive one day. But the secret to the success of the show is that they've realised that this is how most of the population generally thinks as well, outside of the relatively small band of absolute car-lovers.

That's why there's more in the way of comedy, camaraderie, and "oh cock" than there is of actual, serious motoring journalism. Last night was no exception - a trip to Romania, some gags about local customs, every boy's dream of driving a supercar in a very long, very straight, very dark tunnel, and then, right at the end, some glorious aerial views of a stunning piece of landscape in the mountains of Eastern Europe and a completely empty road just waiting to be driven.

As I said, they overdo the slapstick a little these days, but when they combine the funny with the cinematography on show last night, it really is fantastic to watch.

There are doubters of course, just as with any successful show (I myself am one when it comes to things like Strictly, and especially X Factor), but for me this clip really proves that when they put their minds to it, they can still make quite breathtaking television.

Time over distance

I had a great night out on Friday with a couple of friends who, it turns out, I hadn't seen for at least 3 months. This despite living no more than 3/4 miles away from either of them and working within half a mile of each.

That's the slightly strange thing about London, and still something I've not really come to terms with despite having lived here for 2 years now. This place moves at such a fast pace, and the dynamics of working life and travel are so different that it can be weeks before you realise it's been weeks since you last saw someone.

Diary schedules also seem to get filled a lot quicker here than elsewhere - or maybe it's just a case of getting older and having more on, I'm not sure.

Happily though, the months-long famine was no barrier to a damn good night - especially if the Jagerbombs were anything to go by. Fantastic place actually, though all I could tell you was it was somewhere near Waterloo, had an outdoor area with disturbingly spiky plants, and sold 5 bottles of Corona, in a bucket, for £14. What a brilliant idea!

Midweek Lounge

As I might have mentioned before, Bristol is quite a lovely place to live, or indeed visit. Or in my case, to have lived and then keep on visiting. And so it was again this week when I had the chance to head down and welcome another close friend to the pensioner's club that is being 26.

But there was something a little bit different about this birthday - the owner of the event had gone all impetuous and youthful and decided that a midweek, Wednesday night party event was the way forward.

This meant two things - an excuse to take the rest of the week off work, and a chance to revisit the glory days of studenthood and take in some good, hard midweek drinking.

The night was a classic in most ways really - quiet, respectable start with good food, then the obligatory dirty birthday shot (and this one really was bad), then a bar or two before ending up in the most likely destination - the Lounge.

To anyone who's been in Bristol for a period of time, Lounge is like that comfy pair of old jeans that you slip on at the end of a long, hard working day. It's not particularly outstanding, but it tends to do the job pretty damn well nine times out of ten.

And so it was this week as well - still the same, still a good night out, and still the same fuzzy-lipped feeling from drinking £2.50 vodbulls the morning after.

One day I'll grow out of it, but happily, even though the numbers in the 26 club continue to swell, that day doesn't appear to have arrived just yet