A kind tall lady worker in the Co-Op stuffed some tissues into my hands when my left eye played up. Rivulets of mascara'd water ran down my face turning my perfectly made up eyes into punch drunk Panda Punk!
Didn't concern me how I looked though it was how I felt that mattered,.......shattered! Keeping up with every day mundane matters/tasks/ is taking its toll on my back and brain. But I'll keep calm and carry on. By the way a very good friend of mind recommended Eucryl tooth powder for those stubborn stains. Tea mostly.

Anyway I paid for four papers and butter headed out into the snow packed car park, where not a soul was to be seen..
The car park by the charity shop however was very different, a couple of slow older people battled with sludge and baskets while a business man pounded the path in his inappropriate glossy size tens.
Inside Joan greeted me, her big cherry face breaking into a warm smile. "There she is" she said grappling me nearly to the ground.
I do love Joan....... even more so today................ on account of her letting me have a double duvet, Mickey Mouse shorts and Afghan jacket.......all kind of cut price:)

Have made lots of leek soup and a wholemeal loaf for dinner time.
I made the loaf late last night leaving it to rise by the radiator. Blooming big it was at 7 a.m. and the sight of it cheered me up no end. The soup was made as I took in the incredible news...

So whilst Mother slept I cooked, listening to the News.
Fabio being given the boot by the F.A..... too shocking and cruel for words John. can hardly believe it. All kinds of conspiracy theories swishing about in my head...
Will Ordinary Harry grab the gauntlet? That's what I want to know. Where will Fab go next? Chelsea, Inter, Somewhere else. I just don't know mate.
Looking forward to watching the F.A. press conference at noon, which will, I'm sure enlighten us.

Now I must fly>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Am loving my Afghan;)

Norris A.I. in 2018

Norris A.I. in 2010

After all Becks did for the England team and now Don Fabio Capello has dumped him. Typical. A good English boy been put out to grass by a 64 year old foreigner.

Becks must be livid but he'll get over it especially if his dream of making a movie with Tom Cruise comes to fruition. Have to do something about the old voice though Becks...Can't have you gelled and toned and thrusting a weapon in someone's face whilst sounding like Helium Man...

So....back to footie, the lads with their green shoots of newness sprouting up, smacked the Hungarians. And what a relief that was. I watched it in bed you know so I could dive under the duvet if things got bad.

The whacking we received in South Africa could be the turning point for the England team, if Don Fabio chooses the right players at the right time and for the right games, the world could see the emergence of a world class team once again.

I went into mystic mode last night and all of a sudden 'saw' us lifting the World Cup in 2018. I don't know why or how this fab vision came about, could have been the chocolate Ovaltine but more than likely it was my tortured inner most desire to see my beloved England WIN SOMETHING.
And then I did the finger thing...
I added up on my fingers how old I'd be in 2018.
62.

Oh, F***

Pensioner in Rochford arrested for 'Breaking The Peace'.
Mrs Norris, 62 of Rochford, was arrested last night after complaints from neighbours about excessive screaming. The spritley swinger who has several alias's including little gem and sex pot, told police she was merely experiencing shock and elation over England's 2-0 win in the World Cup Finals.
After being put in the cells she asked if a burly copper could take care of her, for a price. She was later charged with bribing a member of Her Majesty's Constabulary.


Ta ta!

An Awful Rant About A Wonderful Land

My England supporter's stuff is in a cupboard, in the front parlour, with olde birthday cards, candlesticks and broken necked dolls. And this is why...

According to FIFA we are now ranked 13th in the world lagging behind Japan, yes JAPAN, Ghana and the U.S. The U.S.! What you saying to me!!!

We have unceremoniously fallen to the lowest of the low and I am mightily sick. Our highest ever position was ONE after lifting the cup in '66. We have crashed seven places since 2006 and now rub shins with silly Mexico, nutty South Korea and the barking Slovaks. We have no place with these sorts.
The other wannabees including France are at the bottom of this horrible heap.
I am so ashamed.

But my shame will be short lasting because...

On 11 August we play a 'friendly' a 'FRIENDLY' against Hungary. Hoo rah! Hip hip hooray for the Goulasch guzzlers.
And I can't wait...
"Where's me vuvuzela and little horn" I will bark, as I tie a giant flag around me bumps and bits.

Not forgetting my little car of course, flags will be pinned and clamped and then after a drive down to a cheap shop I'll sip sweet tea from my pint capacity England mug...I love my land.

Then it's the start, the beginning, the onset of Almighty Euro 2012.

And so will I and millions of other twits dive into the cupboards of tears for our England caps of passion? Of course will will. Just because someone breaks your soul extinguishing the very fire of life within you, it doesn't mean you ditch them...

Because although the wonder boys stunned us with un-netted balls they didn't break our love. And love for the land is not only quaint.... but immeasurable madness also!

C'mon England....

New Balls....Change Ends

As a tonic to my de-fizzed world cup champers I choose to serve a tennis cocktail.
Without umbrellas.

The great sporting event, highlighted with a green marker in my sugary kitchen diary, starts today, Wimblingdon. A perennial favourite of mine even when rained off, but torrents won't stop the start or delay the end on account of the new roof.
Tennis has never looked so swish.

Federer is out first, but when he plays I'll be kitchen clamped and his glossy shots and slicing forehands may be lost as I turn out a sweet confection. Chicken pie will also demand my complete and undivided attention. Somehow though, pies of a fowl kind don't sit comfortably alongside strawberries and cream. But I have to eat.

What does demand my attention however is the hullaballoo over the possible resignation of Fabio Capello. If England fail to qualify he may well hand in his notice, pack his cases and head off to warmer climes. Rat. And I thought he was such a nice gentleman.

But I couldn't blame him, not really, not after seeing how badly England are performing, how disappointing the multi-millionaires have been, I too would consider looking for another job.
There's also discontent in the brain of Rooney, it, that's the England team, apparently revolves around him. Does it? I thought the other ten guys wore the shirt also. If I were Capello I'd drop him and bring on Joe Cole. Teach Wayne Rooney that he IS NOT indispensable. Silly boy.

So.........you can imagine the flap I'm getting in, and I did promise myself a little while ago that flaps were a thing I wouldn't get in. But love, and it is indeed love, love of my team affects my heart and I can't let go. For God's sake how dare I speak of love, then when I'm needed most, shove of giving myself to something else. Wimblingdon.

Balls and shorts will hold me today and tomorrow so Portugal et al won't get a look in...But come Wednesday, in the afternoon, the ghost of Fred Perry could appear and Cliff Richard could arrive with a bride and I would not turn a hair.

England will have me. Enraptured and believing again.
I hope X

Hart, James or Green?

Fabio knows but we the fans and they the goalkeepers don't.
This unusual way of dealing with team selection has both the pundits and me flummoxed.
Still I'm trusting that Mr Capello, a man of some class and experience, knows what he's doing.
He's a wily Italian with a hint of tetchyness about him and tetchyness is fine providing it delivers leather in the net.

Rumours abound that if Green is left on the bench he will never play again, not sure about that, seems a bit far fetched, a bit drastic, ok he made an enormous error in the USA game but to be shoved off to football Gehenna is really rather silly.
No, I feel that Fabio will give the lad a break, and allow him to redeem himself, maybe not on Friday, but at some stage in the tournament.

Apart from Ghana's wonderful 1-0 win over Serbia and the Kiwis 1 all draw against Slovakia, the tournament is failing to provide the bangs and highs of what promised to be an unctious World Cup. But it's early days yet and I'm not being fair but today we have Spain v. Switzerland ..Should be a cracking affair. I can't wait. I'll wager the onions will make the chocolate makers weep.

Also being deafened today by the vuvuzelas will be the lads from Honduras and Chile. My pennies are on the Chileans.

And, last but not least, South Africa v Uruguay. The vuvuzelas will waken the dead. Great stuff and I along with Monty, am looking forward to it.

My sausage thing last night was gorgeous, none left, so after sending this post along the intertubes, I will scrunch myself into a lather. Sausage overload makes Glo hit the decks...

Cooking today: I'm not!

Ta ta!

p.s. How can I make Friday come quicker?

George And Glo The Perfect Coupling

As Monty and me played kitchen footie at 8 this morning he nutted the ball of death straight into the lamp. He's a decent little player for a fat bloke.
Talking of decent little players I'll have 66 in my front parlour today.

Piffling annoyances like food will be on the back burner on account of there being, and I'm salivating as I type this, on account of there being 10, repeat 10 hours of Football.

First on the grass and on ITV1 is Greece (Feta) v. Sth Korea (Tangpyeongchae) 12:00
then over to BBC1
for
Argentina v. Nigeria (limbs could be lost) 14:30 hrs
then back to ITV1
for
England (God Save The Queen, Spotted Dick, Morecambe & Wise and World Cup Willy) v. USA (John Wayne, Hot Dogs and Perfect Teeth) 18:15 hrs

I don't know if you understand about football but you can't miss a thing, the merest quick trip to another room and you miss the Goal of the Tournament so taking that into account sustenance and blogging will be scarce. Today.

After the Argies match there is only 1 hour till Fabio's Warriors go into battle against Captain Bob Bradley's Marines (I know very little about the armed forces so all you clever dicks out there be nice and DON'T nitpick) So a hot dish will be called for, something terribly English I think, something like a Homemade Peperoni Pizza :) If this is the case, and it probably will be, I will need to duff up some dough pretty quickly. Takes an age to rise....

And as I keep telling fishface in Somerfields, it's only a game John.

I am now in a state of almost physical and mental exhaustion and I'm still in my jim jams. Monty however is taking some sweet rest under the bed of mess. I may join him if it all gets too much for me. But it won't.

Lunch: Football

Afternoon Tea: Football

Supper: Blood Sweat Pizza and Cheers

Saturday's Don't Come Any Better Than This:)

11days

11 days to go till England play their first game in the World Cup.

So Saturday 12th June is a no-go anywhere, no see no-one, no do anything type of day. And that is my most favourite type of day.

They're playing the USA so I expect along with the great national anthems of both countries (!) they'll be glorious showmanship on er...one side. The yanks will be shiny fit looking like brushed stallions, their attitude triumphant and belief in themselves unquestionable.

Meanwhile the England players will walk out to the sound of 'The Great Escape'.

But would I really want it any other way? Would I really want to see the Americanisation of my beloved heart stopping England team? No.
We have to be ourselves and if that means lining up to meet balding Prince William whilst fans dressed like St George shake rattles and yell into mobile phones then so be it.

The crowd will be loud when the game is going well, but then drop to below silent when the players don't play, when the other team run circles around us, or when we're atrocious. There'll be trumpets, horns and drums when we're on a roll and a verse or two of the awful anthem when our backs are once more against the wall. I am so sick of that wall and being against it.

Fabio Capello will stand on the line with arms folded lips glued, his body waiting for someone to kick it into arm waving action, probably when his boys misbehave with the ball. Or he might get animated when the ref or assistant refs (!) decide against us.
I love seeing Fabio gesticulate.
He is Passion with a capital P, and I hope the rumours of him leaving to go to Inter Milan are baked to death like the crust of my pizza pie. I adore what he's done for the England team and for that I send him millions of kisses. His contract ends in 2012 but there's a clause that enables him to walk away after the World Cup, I hope he stays win or not.

At the end of the day John, it's just a game and winning is the very name of that game but there's something else equally important, the surge of excitement that flows through the veins of every fan, be they from Slovenia or Brazil or a tiny island off the coast of Europe...We all feel the same.

The boss and the squad will be flying out to South Africa on Wednesday and what I wouldn't give to be in the overhead luggage bin...


Ta ta!

Quick Report...England 2 Japan 1

Many thanks to Japan's Tulio who gave the game to England with two own goals.

Frank Lampard missed a penalty after stuttering before his kick. Capello though insisted afterwards that Lampard will still be Penalty Man in the World Cup...

Rooney was for me Man of The Match, his energetic runs and passionate floorings left the others looking like Sunday players in Witham.
We did see a blaze of his infamous temper though and that is something even Maestro Capello can't curb. I liked it, I want to see Wayne red faced and like a boy with tuppence in his pocket and hunger in his heart. No amount of millions can get rid of the dirt from under his finger nails. He reminds me of Gazza. Wildly talented with ammo in his brain and boots.

We struggled in the first half, allowing Japan to score after only six minutes. I dropped a carrot. I expect the boys were out of sorts and a little on edge knowing that the boss was making notes about who and who not would be on the plane.
Their anxiety showed. It was a game played by fidgety men.

Halfway through the tension on the pitch made its way to the bosses bench when Capello and Japan's manager gesticulated in an unfriendly fashion. Arm waving is the one sure fire way for managers to express their feelings. I was more than happy to see Fabio turn blue because he is a spirited animated man. A man with beautifully cut suits who doesn't mind them getting splattered with raindrops. He doesn't use an umbrella.

If England are to do well in the World Cup Capello will need, in the next ten days, to talk to his squad using every English word in his warm vocabulary.

We need to come out against the USA knowing we can win, knowing we can serve up delicious platters of succulent football, if we don't the Press and I will have their hearts for starters.

Goodnight.

KICK OFF!

England v. Japan
Today
ITV 12:50
Kick Off 13:15
Graz, Austria

According to reports Japan are rather good, even being likened to the mighty Brazil. I really don't need to know that when I'm eating toast.
But I and millions of other England followers will have to wait and see...Again.

I'm up and ready and in a state of high excitement and my sacred Sunday lunch
is being manoeuvred round the lads. AND the World Cup hasn't even officially begun...
THIS is what life is like for a lady fan.

Was I attending my toilette first thing this morning, was I checking the news, was I keeping an eye on old people? No! I was not. I was arranging my Sunday afternoon around 12 fit men. No change there then!
But seriously I am known for being the perfect woman who dedicates her life to family and nature but when Capello's men are up early and ready for a fight then so is their greatest fan:)

Being fitted in today:
Lunch.


*The UK lost the Eurovulsion Song Contest being hammered by the Germans and just about everyone else. Young Josh was lost on stage, his performance not tacky enough for our European 'neighbours'. We'll be back next year but will I?

As I look at my watch there are only 50 minutes to go....So now I must drape my body in my giant England flag and see to the carrots...

Ta ta!

WINNING ISN'T ENOUGH SAY THE KNOCKERS

Paul Gascoigne was right.

People, so called 'fans' of the England football team DO want us to lose.

Even after winning 3-1 there were still fans and commentators saying it wasn't good enough. Ok, we didn't thrash them them 55-0, but the name of the game is WINNING and we did that. We won. There is no higher achievement than beating the opposition. We do that occasionally. We did it last night. If the men on the pitch intoxicate me with their effortless ball skills then I'd be happy but I'd rather them be as dull as ditch water and WIN. I think the frail hearts of Englishmen can't hack it any more, unless we're 20-0 in front by half time then we've failed! If you can't stand the mud boys get off the pitch. Football is man's game. Er....

I suppose losing makes for better newspaper headlines, makes for red hot phone calls to talk shows and gives the England bashers plenty of ammunition. If we lose then we can all have a go at the lads lacklustre performance and Capello's leadership but for heaven's sake let praise ring out when we WIN! DING DING!!!

Last night we listened to the match whilst shoving the late night lettuce around (John arriving home way past his usual time, blasted trains) and after each England Goal I leapt up because I want my team to WIN. I do not get some kind of sick pleasure out of kicking the England team, even when they play poorly, being a true supporter is like being head over heels in love with a bad'un. You know he/she drives you to despair but you stick with him/her because, for Christ's sake, you love 'em.
You don't support only when they please, you stand alongside them when they fail miserably. That's love folks!

Anyway after getting indigestion (me) we retired to the front room to listen to listen to the rest of the game, and when Mexico slammed one in I shivered. Don't do this to me boys I said, my colourful imagination taking me to places I didn't wish to go. Been there, got the t-shirt, got the war wounds. I didn't need a kicking from another 'little team' who surprised us all by their sweet passes and unbelievable success in the Group of death. Blah blah whatever....

It's true to say that every time, and I've blogged about this before, that every time England get ahead, even by two or three goals, I'm still nervous.
Something ignites the hearts of lowly teams when playing England, don't know what it is, but when the minnows score they take that as a green light to ram a few more in. It didn't happen last night though and so I went to bed with MONTY and slept easily...

This morning I'm thinking about my other current love....

Crystal Bowersox, 24 year old American woman with dreadlocks and imperfect teeth.
You know there are performers, who, without any falsies or whitening or smooth talk manage to make you feel uncomfortable in their presence. She is one such gal.

Her amazing voice is almost too perfect, she's not a Mariah Carey or screamer of that ilk, Bowersox has more than a voice she bleeds when her pipes open.
Watching her singing last week on American Idol, made me wonder what has happened in her young life to enable her to belt so effortlessly.

And then I realized she's just blessed with great vocals and she's poor. And she doesn't give a damn what you or I think. She also has sense of humour borne out of not giving a hoot about regular baths.

Been busking for God knows how long and God knows where, she has a child, has a toothless wild haired old dad who looks like he swears by the bible and just swears. Her exuberant boyfriend looks like her friend as well as the father to her child. I expect they sit on the floor counting money from a cookie jar. Not for long....

If she wins this thing, I hope the money guys don't try to change her. They will of course. It always happens. A cute waitress with a flat chest, bad hair and yeee haaaa country in her blood did well a few years back
and when she appeared on American Idol as a guest she was unrecognizable. Gone was beer swilling po' girl working for 5$ an hour and hello to the augmented wine sipping Sindy doll.

I hope Crystal uses her voice not just to entertain but to hang on to what makes her so beautiful, her dirt.

Rant over.
I'm sitting in a dark blind covered room in my dressing gown wondering about bread and sausage.

I'm also thinking about Sunday 30th May when England play another friendly little team. Japan.
Could be worth a para or two...


Ta ta!

ENGLAND 3 EGYPT 1

My much beleaguered England sorted out the Egyptians last night and what a night it was. Especially for me.

The game started with all the hype I expected, due not only to the usual hysteria which accompanies all of England's matches, but the hullaballoo surrounding Mr Terry. As the teams waited in the tunnel like well kept, well fed gladiators the camera clung to the expressionless chops of John Terry. What the hell he does off the turf should be of no interest to anyone other than his nearest and dearest. But we are, as a nation, keenly, almost obsessively interested in what our multi-millionaires do when the lights go down. I, however, am not. The only part of Mr Terry's life I'm keen to know about is what he'll do in England's World Cup games. It's true that his indiscretions may well impact on his ball skills, but I very much doubt it.

The game started with the boring Egyptian anthem followed by our equally boring dirge, I did notice however that it was only John Terry who bellowed the dreadful lyrics, the other guys mouth's barely opened. So well done to you my stained patriotic friend.

When Egypt scored I felt what I always feel when Johnny foreigner kicks our arse, sadness and rage, and a woman at my time of life shouldn't give a home to those devils. So as I watched the whooping visitors and listened to the pessimistic commentators I sucked another toffee.

Crouchy was called upon by God, a.k.a Fabio Capello to go out and rally the lads. He not only rallied his team mates, he did a little something for me too, his fabulous goal had me jerking and writhing in my seat, so pleased and relieved was I that I felt like crying. This is what England does to me. Not only blasted footie games but everything about the country...But we won't go there today...

So lean and lengthy Crouchy got us back in the game and this was quickly followed by a nut of a goal from super midget Sean Wright-Philips. There's something about that boy which I love, maybe it's his ability to get me breathing again, I don't know, but whatever it is, I bow before him. Then, as the Egyptians ran amok, Crouchy slammed another in, leaving me feeling all warm inside.

God, how much longer I thought, the ref who looked like a alien smashing colonial marine with a state-of-the-art-microphone taped to his bald head decided on three minutes of extra play. And those three minutes, my dear reader, felt like thirty.
Always in my head, even when we're ahead, is the ice cold fear that the opposition will become supermen and whack in three more goals in rapid succession.
But they didn't.
We won.
And I'm sure Fabio Capello was as chuffed as I was.

Glo Is All Action

Action, action it's the only way.
Only way to what you may ask.
Why, it's the only way to get anything done. Silly.

So this afternoon I:

Cleared away the very last of the old tomato plants.

Put Jessamy the Gnome on the doorstep so he can be a beacon of happiness for all my visitors.

Put together a sausage casserole, a dish of colcannon and individual strawberry trifles for tonight's tea.

Nailed a blue sleeping bag to the warped door frame at the rear of the garage. The door disintegrated a couple of years ago and you know how it is, broken things just never seem to get fixed. But seeing as Winter is approaching I thought now would be a good time to do something. So with my cheapo hammer and couple of very long nails I made a rather good makeshift door from a bright blue sleeping bag (£1 from you know where...)

*************************************************************************************

I'm still smarting from England's diabolical match against Brazil. No idea what the boys were doing but all credit to Mr Capello for having the audacity to try out 'unknowns' against the biggest team on planet earth.
I did feel however that although they sort of won they also got away with a lot, I think the ref was very biased. For example...When one of the Brazilians clobbered Rooney I naturally assumed he'd be sent packing or at least get booked, but no. Nothing. Zilch. I tutted in girly fashion but continued cooking.
The match was supposed to be a 'friendly' didn't look very chummy to me matey. My blood was up from the beginning I can tell you...
Heaven knows what state I'll be in next summer.
But next summer is a long way off.
And I can't be getting overwrought and brittle on account of what occurrences will be occurring next year, after all I'm still dealing with this summer's tomatoes...:(

But for now I'm all done with being Action Girl, I now need to raise my legs.

Cheerio!