K. (infinitemonkeys) wrote,

  • Mood:

"He couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo"

I have been at home since Wednesday, watching wee Polish Stan and his taciturn mate reduce my garden to a mess of rubble at a cost of OHMYGOD pounds.

I have been up early and yet unable to go out until 6pm and it is driving me insane. On the plus side, my doorstep of a book is almost finished and I have watched arty Canadian movies and more "Stargate" than you can shake a stick at.

Why is it always the episode with the wee white mime troupe who paint random Adam Ant lines on people and the singing and the bizarre phallic plant growths whenever I watch? Is this some kind of bizarre punishment for offending the TV deities? Do I like list shows too much?

So I watched the England v Trinidad and Tobago match in my front room just now.

I thought I was going to have to sit morosely with my bottle of Hoegaarden all night, softly singing "you couldn't score in a brothel" [tune: Guantanamera ] and "we're shit, and we know we are" [tune: Go West! ] to myself as Sweden thumped Paraguay, for that was how shite England were, but NO!

At 83 minutes in, that lanky streak of piss Crouchinho scores with a header and then Stevie Gerrard looses a *belter* of a shot to make it 2-0 to the (not at all) mighty Eng-er-land.

If we were any jammier we'd be dodgers. That's all I am saying.

Now we are through to the last 16 where we will play either Ecuador (football gods be kind) or else Germany, who are not invincible but have huge home advantage. We're just lucky we don't have to face Spain next. Anyone who fancies a flutter, I'd put your cash on Spain to win. They're the best team I've seen so far.

It was so weird -- the street outside my house was silent the whole time the game was played; almost no one drove past, there were no kids out, nothing. Now there are a bunch of the little kids from this street, who are of a score of different descents but mostly in England or Poland shirts, all pretending to be Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard and commentating very loudly on their own inexorable progress goalwards (the goal is the gate of the carpentry shop opposite) Cars keep stopping play.

One of them just yelled "Five-two!!!" and the other yelled "Five-three, you cheating bastard!", which at least shows that they have been watching the professionals. (Oh no, a lorry just drove into the goalmouth and parked. Red card, ref, surely...)

In other news, Green & Blacks' Organic Chocolate and Orange ice cream is ambrosia, the bee's knees, the cat's pyjamas, the dog's bollocks. It is gorgeous. I have a pint in my freezer AS WE SPEAK and you don't. I believe that calls for gloating.

I shall be eating some later, along with a little light and very late email-answering.

So tell me how you are.

What are you reading, what are you listening to, what's your favourite colour? Who do you want to win the world cup? Do you care? What should I be watching?
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