I was planning to palm you off with an indifferent post about spring onions but Germany play Argentina this afternoon so words will fly...Later.

Once upon a time my creative writing tutor told me to 'show' rather than 'tell'. But her habit of breaking pencils told me all I needed to know. She was right of course, good fiction doesn't explain it draws you in via the side entrance, but I believe 'telling' has its place and all the great books I've read have had far more telling than showing...

.....When I went into the front room this morning I was tickled by the sound of happy birds, warmed by the faint light of the emerging star and uplifted by the perfume of a dozen or so Oriental Lillies.
Who needs chemical air fresheners I thought when all you need to saturate your senses is a chum's bouquet.

I drank my sweet tea thinking about today...
...Go to the station lunchtime to pick up Mr H. I really don't approve of these overnight shifts. ...But do approve of 'Predator' with Horlicks...
...Drop into the chemist to buy best value/cheap/no fancy packaging pain killers, had an awful head for three days. Heat or tumour?
Duff up some pizza dough for Spain v. Paraguay unless someone suggests Kung Po chicken.
Silence is God's restroom.

Ta ta!

Glo Kicks Off...EARLY

Cake, seeds and bread for the birds. early a.m. Haddock in jelly for Monty. earlier a.m. Coffee with no shug for me. Now.

After a quick peek at the scheds I see I have no time for dalliances. So....after blogging I will slip into a gaily speckled frock, dribble milky bran flakes down its frontage and then dash orf to the shops...All this speeding is on account of...on account of......the footie. Again.

The highlight of today's matches could well be the last African team left standing...The Black Stars (Ghana) against the Stars and Stripes. Ought to be smashing astraly affair really... But that's tonight.

What about this afternoon, well......providing I am upright and not comatose from bacon overload, I will most definitely watch South Korea reel from the kicks flung around by the Uruguyans. Ought to be worth a blast or three from my vuvu or from my other horn. The one in a can John. Noise is good. Sometimes.

What time is it? Er....All this football is making me neglect my tasks, tasks akin to slavery, i.e. cooking blasted chickens. But blasted chickens will be cooked today, but only their limbs. Possible glaze being brushed over and around the skinned legs. Ugh. Just had a image of what my legs would look like if they were hair and skin free. Might be tasty though if slathered in honey and mustard.

Now me scoot...

Ta ta!

Mondays Are Good

Especially after an exhausting weekend of footie and scrunchies, which reminds me I must, after writing this, grab my ankles in a desperate manner. Could look horrible, especially if I lay in the hall in front of the mirror wearing an of the shoulder number.
What a silly way to start the week!
Benefits will be obvious though...

At11ish ITV4 will be teasing us with a warm-up prog about the first match...Holland v. Denmark Why has bacon come to mind? Anyway straight after the little appetiser over to ITV1 for the main meal.

Talking of main meals, sometime around 1ish I'll fortify myself with a couple of cream crackers and a pint of water. Not a believer in overdoing lunch, tends to zonk me out all afternoon and I can't be zonked when Japan bow down to the mental Macaroons. This is a game I've been looking forward to and I'm not sure why. Could be that I see small and meticulous Japan getting bounced all over the field by the all dancing, all jiggling Cameroon.
Ought to be a corker!

During the match I'll try to keep my mind off of singular pies.......

All football and no dusters makes for a disreputable gaff so at half time I'll move the dust from one surface to another and scribble down a list of groceries. By the way I've lugged my favourite old pine table back into the front room but oh dear did I need to cover it. It is a very old coffee table and has the scars to prove it, so out with sense and in with a lovely lace tablecloth. Sweet and Victorianesque but it does shift around about, especially when Monty skates...Especially when my legs are on it.

Where was I?
Nope. No idea.

I very much doubt I'll have time to sort through poems today (competition calls) because all this football is taking me far away and this evening, as I dish up a very small one-man pie, no pie for me thank you John, Italy will face Paraguay, shouldn't that be the other way around? At any rate this should be another split lip busted brain affair:)

Now I really must leave the intertubes and get prostrate:)




Ta ta!

Post Match Analysis with Glo

England 1 The Others 1

I'm not upset.
Because I've been here before.
We've been here before.
Green's clumsy hands costing us the game.
But he did serve up a corker of a save so I sort of forgive him.


To bed now in my red and white cap, where I will think about next Friday when we meet Les Algériens.

I can't bear this John:(

Lady England

In a couple of weeks England play their first game in the World Cup. It's against the U.S.A and already I'm flying the flag. On my head.

Yes my dear friends Glo goes patriotic but won't be joining the E.D.L. that would be a flag too far even for this most passionate England supporter.

The flag I'm referring to is a baseball cap in the colours of St George (foreign) . I saw it as I made my way to the pet section in the Factory shoppe. I knew that apart from bird seed that there cap would be in my basket.
So as I was leaving the shop I placed the great flag upon my tiny bonce whilst having a quick look around for any stray Scots then I jumped into my motor to continue my shopping experience at Sainsbury's.
I dawdled.

No-one, not even white van man, dared tailgate me because they could see that I was the type of lady driver that downs a pint of wallop and smacks my thighs at a jolly good goal.
I did look lovely.
White drop earrings, white blouse, red and white cap, red lipstick and old thug jeans.
Oh and kitten sunglasses. Stare at me I dare ya!

Cooking tonight:
Salmon salad
Mini trifles.

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.

England 5 Kazakhstan 1

That's more like it!
After a shaky start Fabio's fellas knocked seven bells out of the plucky yet sometimes annoying Kazakys. And then when King David came on in the dying minutes I broke into song singing 'There'll Always Be An England' and then promptly cried.
On this wonderful night I could see the moon to my left, Fabio's men in front of me and Monty on my lap and as I sucked on Rolo after Rolo I had beautiful visions of a sunny South Africa and a glistening golden cup..