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?
Showing posts with label World Cup South Africa.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World Cup South Africa.. Show all posts
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Saturday, 12 June 2010
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:)
Friday, 11 June 2010
Fantastic Start To World Cup 2010
South Africa 1 Mexico 1.
The mesmerising drone coming from the fans added to the exhilaration of what can only be called the greatest show on earth.
It was a game where South Africa went ahead only for their hopes to be sliced to shreds by an on form Mexico. Great stuff. Thanks guys.
The opening bash was what I expected, lithesome dancers, upbeat songs and colours so rich they took my breath away. Stunning spectacle, crazed fans. Wonderful. I loved it.
That was this afternoon, what about tomorrow?
Tomorrow we slip and slide with the yanks, no big do is complete without them, but as a footballing nation, they're not quite up to standard. Yet having said that they'll be out to put on a fine show and are not to be taken lightly. Many on the side have played for English teams, so they're going to know our weaknesses, and it'll be up to us to show our strengths. But I'm not too worried because I have great faith in Fabio Capello. He has re-invented the team let's hope though that he's managed to instill into their hearts the most essential of all traits, belief.
We've done incredibly well under his very dom leadership and I see no reason why we can't go all the way John.
This morning I heard on Radio 5Live that ex-England player Gary (I'm so smug) Lineker doubts we'll succeed, might get to the quarters but that's all. I frosted up on hearing that having never warmed to Lineker but this untimely statement, 24 hours before we play, is unforgivable. I wrote a piece about people who 'knock' the national side but for an ex-England player to down his own nation is treachery on a monumental scale.
Go away Gary and stick your big mouth in a bag of crisps.
I'm expecting England to win tomorrow but even if they don't I won't castigate them. Tomorrow is always another day in football and win or lose we'll be gunning for Algeria on the 18th.
Ok enough on the footie, what about me?
Well I'm alright, as I write this I'm wearing my England cap, pondering tomorrow's action and listening to a feast of birds... Tiny troubadours singing out their minuscule hearts on a Rosemary bush in my front garden.
That's passion and bravery for ya.
Cooking tonight:
Er.....
The mesmerising drone coming from the fans added to the exhilaration of what can only be called the greatest show on earth.
It was a game where South Africa went ahead only for their hopes to be sliced to shreds by an on form Mexico. Great stuff. Thanks guys.
The opening bash was what I expected, lithesome dancers, upbeat songs and colours so rich they took my breath away. Stunning spectacle, crazed fans. Wonderful. I loved it.
That was this afternoon, what about tomorrow?
Tomorrow we slip and slide with the yanks, no big do is complete without them, but as a footballing nation, they're not quite up to standard. Yet having said that they'll be out to put on a fine show and are not to be taken lightly. Many on the side have played for English teams, so they're going to know our weaknesses, and it'll be up to us to show our strengths. But I'm not too worried because I have great faith in Fabio Capello. He has re-invented the team let's hope though that he's managed to instill into their hearts the most essential of all traits, belief.
We've done incredibly well under his very dom leadership and I see no reason why we can't go all the way John.
This morning I heard on Radio 5Live that ex-England player Gary (I'm so smug) Lineker doubts we'll succeed, might get to the quarters but that's all. I frosted up on hearing that having never warmed to Lineker but this untimely statement, 24 hours before we play, is unforgivable. I wrote a piece about people who 'knock' the national side but for an ex-England player to down his own nation is treachery on a monumental scale.
Go away Gary and stick your big mouth in a bag of crisps.
I'm expecting England to win tomorrow but even if they don't I won't castigate them. Tomorrow is always another day in football and win or lose we'll be gunning for Algeria on the 18th.
Ok enough on the footie, what about me?
Well I'm alright, as I write this I'm wearing my England cap, pondering tomorrow's action and listening to a feast of birds... Tiny troubadours singing out their minuscule hearts on a Rosemary bush in my front garden.
That's passion and bravery for ya.
Cooking tonight:
Er.....
Welcome!
Here's the day I've been looking forward to for four years. The start of the World Cup.
And I'm feeling gooooood!
A mad dash around the bungalow this morning doing a little of this and avoiding a lot of that, with rolling t.v news in the background so I don't miss a thing, then with a quick flash of the knife I'll rustle up munchies for tonight.
And in between all this I'll blog and yak and swoon over males then after a quick floor wrestle with Monty I'll make another pot of tea. Then I down tools, floor the cat and prepare...
13:00 ITV1 The opening ceremony.
And, after what promises to be a spectacular shindig, comes the first game, the clatter between the Hosts and the Mexicans. A Rainbow Cocktail rippled with Chipotle and Chocolate. Tasty or what? Possible chance of gross indigestion but what a way to burp.
After swallowing that, I'll find the remote and boogie over to BBC1 for Uruguay v. France. A small workaday Chivito pie being overwhelmed by the sweetness of nun-shaped Religieuse.
Interesting possibilities.
But it's just a game.
Just a game?
No it's more than that, it's a hope giving shot which makes blogging old queens like me BELIEVE.
Three red roses have appeared in my frontage...
Now the pleasure begins.
Monday, 7 June 2010
A Quick Post Before The Dream Pie
England 3 Platinum Stars 0
Wayne Rooney is a very great player his skills unquestionable but his temper will, one day, get him in deep doodoo.
After aiding Joe Cole to lob one in, he scored himself, but in the second half lost control when dealing with the Platinum star Kagiso Senamela.
Stuart 'Psycho' Pearce (Fabio's right hand man) was seen mouthing orders for him to calm down...But Pitbull Rooney was booked for dissent anyway.
What is it about extremely talented people that sometimes turns them into mini monsters?
Could it be that being greatly gifted exacts such a price that the geniuses involved don't know how to cope?
And on rare occasions kick out like the thoroughbreds they are. I know I do.
Rooney wasn't the only one to get the blood up of every Englishman, his partner Mr Emile (where's my confidence gone guv) Heskey messed up big time by failing to whack in Rooney's sweet pass instead popping it along to Aaron Lennon who in turn failed to do anything with it.
He, that's Rooney, received a stiff touchline lecture from Stuart Pearce I bet he told him to behave. Or words to that effect.
But bad boys, jugheads, nutters and psychos are what makes for scintillating football, what makes for scintillating evenings, so imagine how dull it would be if we had, year after year, a team of Gary Linekars. And chums who talked incessantly about laminate flooring.
No thank you.
It's better by far to be heart stoppingly brilliant occasionally than mediocre all the time.
I cannot stress enough the importance of this coming Friday. The bright World Cup will twinkle in my front room from early morning. I will not be available for tea, pies or walks in either my neck of the woods or anyone elses.
Unless of course you would like to share your views with me on the first game South Africa v. Mexico. 15:00 our time.
Any other subject of conversation will not be allowed and mates who try their luck will be shown the red. And the door.
Now pie!
Five Days To Go
Until England begin their fight.
And it will be a fight, because not only will they be thrashing around with sharks they'll also be snapped at by the minnows but their war won't end there...
Fabio's men will also be in the firing line of the great British press and the greatest blogger of all, me. The blows will be bloody and come fast and be without mercy if we so much as draw against a 'little' country. And bloggers too will weep and bleat and curse, and worse, shoot such vitriol that the lads might not want to come home. But hey let's not go there, let's not go to the dark place, we are one of the favourites to win the tournament and with Capello's firm hand and my daily prayers we should do well.
They are having a little warm-up today against South African team the 'Platinum Stars' in the Morelung 'stadium' near Rustenberg, it's just a kick about so don't worry, alright?
In fact the guys in 'Platinum' think it's a hoot that they're helping England prepare for their first task against the USA on SATURDAY. Bless. Big Sigh. Oh God.
I love Fabio.
Popped out earlier and I shouldn't have because I bought two dresses, a necklace and a fish slice.
Being baked this afternoon:
Carrot cake
Being scorched later:
A tasty chicken pie
Being watched in a minute:
The Deal with the marvellous Michael Sheen , who was excellent as Brian Clough
England play the Platinum Stars at 15:00 our time.....
Don't go mad lads, just shove the ball around, no need for showmanship.
PLAY SAFE!
Sunday, 6 June 2010
Traitor Lawrenson and the Old Bag.
The carrots are in now but they very nearly weren't on account of two things. 1. My devouring of the Mirror's glossy England Pull-Out and 2. The worshipping of my new secondhand handbag.
Both took me to places of extreme pleasure and excitement. And to places of excessive perspiration...
The booklet is a great read John, loads of paras on all the teams, players, their chances and their managers...And I was thoroughly enjoying my mid morning read until I got to page 10 where Mark Lawrenson sickened me by saying he thinks Argentina will lift the trophy despite the madness of their manager Maradona.
I didn't like that one bit.
Ok we all know that the Argies are a good team with possibly the best player on planet earth in the line up, but Lionel Messi will, if the gods allow, eventually meet up with one Wayne Rooney...The other best player in the solar system.
And oh by jolly jingo will Africa dance if those two hit the turf together.
But I managed to calm down a bit by doing a few abdo workouts. I kid you not.
My small snap-shut type Simon Martin of London handbag was bought in the Trinity Hospice shop and cost a lot despite its price being 'reduced'. The manager's idea of a reduction didn't quite tally with mine but when I saw the vintage beauty sitting alone on a glass shelf with the sunlight picking out the dead snakes's scales I fell in silly love.
I've always loved 'skin' bags, think it stems from playing with my gran's fabulous bags, but I've never been able to afford a real one, having to always make do with faux snake or mock crock so when my eyes caught this one my mouth wetted. I hate using vinyl or plastic bags unless they're charming, and there are few good ones about, but leather is best, I'd rather a small damaged leather pouch than perfect plastic Primark.
Anyway as I looked up at it Mum told me to 'model' it so I gingerly took it down and held it in my left hand, it felt gorgeous, then with a heart quickening flourish I danced it into my right hand. Then, like a child, I played with it...I opened it then closed it then opened it again even being rash enough to raise it to eye level then, with glee, bopping it down so it could rest against my hip. After playing around like two teenagers mum and me smiled the smile of knowledge, the knowledge being that that beautiful old handbag would be walking...
After the games came the serious stuff, the inspecting of an interior. It was nigh on perfect a sliver of biro ink by the zipped compartment being the only flaw. Whoever owned this bag before me took care of it, I don't know how old it is but it has to be more than forty years, possibly fifty. The edges are worn and some scales are missing but these small imperfections don't make a jot of difference.
It is still a beautiful creature.
Games and worship over I took a deep breath and went to see the lovely woman on the till. We smiled because I've done business with her before and, with that woman-to-woman knowingness, she gently popped my dream into a John Lewis carrier bag. I handed over a lot more than £12 and left with a grinning mum to go to Boots.
So my tip to London was sweet, the only pesky fly in the sweet conserve was dad's disappearing tummy. I'll be keeping an eye on him that's for sure.
Now I must check lunch, there's an oldish bird roasting in an enamel tin and some fingered carrots glazing in a 1970's dish oh, and a sweet old fashioned rice pudding is baking.
I love old things!
Ta ta!
Both took me to places of extreme pleasure and excitement. And to places of excessive perspiration...
The booklet is a great read John, loads of paras on all the teams, players, their chances and their managers...And I was thoroughly enjoying my mid morning read until I got to page 10 where Mark Lawrenson sickened me by saying he thinks Argentina will lift the trophy despite the madness of their manager Maradona.
I didn't like that one bit.
Ok we all know that the Argies are a good team with possibly the best player on planet earth in the line up, but Lionel Messi will, if the gods allow, eventually meet up with one Wayne Rooney...The other best player in the solar system.
And oh by jolly jingo will Africa dance if those two hit the turf together.
But I managed to calm down a bit by doing a few abdo workouts. I kid you not.
My small snap-shut type Simon Martin of London handbag was bought in the Trinity Hospice shop and cost a lot despite its price being 'reduced'. The manager's idea of a reduction didn't quite tally with mine but when I saw the vintage beauty sitting alone on a glass shelf with the sunlight picking out the dead snakes's scales I fell in silly love.
I've always loved 'skin' bags, think it stems from playing with my gran's fabulous bags, but I've never been able to afford a real one, having to always make do with faux snake or mock crock so when my eyes caught this one my mouth wetted. I hate using vinyl or plastic bags unless they're charming, and there are few good ones about, but leather is best, I'd rather a small damaged leather pouch than perfect plastic Primark.
Anyway as I looked up at it Mum told me to 'model' it so I gingerly took it down and held it in my left hand, it felt gorgeous, then with a heart quickening flourish I danced it into my right hand. Then, like a child, I played with it...I opened it then closed it then opened it again even being rash enough to raise it to eye level then, with glee, bopping it down so it could rest against my hip. After playing around like two teenagers mum and me smiled the smile of knowledge, the knowledge being that that beautiful old handbag would be walking...
After the games came the serious stuff, the inspecting of an interior. It was nigh on perfect a sliver of biro ink by the zipped compartment being the only flaw. Whoever owned this bag before me took care of it, I don't know how old it is but it has to be more than forty years, possibly fifty. The edges are worn and some scales are missing but these small imperfections don't make a jot of difference.
It is still a beautiful creature.
Games and worship over I took a deep breath and went to see the lovely woman on the till. We smiled because I've done business with her before and, with that woman-to-woman knowingness, she gently popped my dream into a John Lewis carrier bag. I handed over a lot more than £12 and left with a grinning mum to go to Boots.
So my tip to London was sweet, the only pesky fly in the sweet conserve was dad's disappearing tummy. I'll be keeping an eye on him that's for sure.
Now I must check lunch, there's an oldish bird roasting in an enamel tin and some fingered carrots glazing in a 1970's dish oh, and a sweet old fashioned rice pudding is baking.
I love old things!
Ta ta!
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
I Am The Best. Except When In Sainsbury's...
I dazzled around Sainsbury's quite early this morning on account of wanting to get back early!
And everything was going swimmingly well, managed to keep to my list, gave the nod to Bob on veg, and did a jig when I clapped eyes on some BOGOF sausages, they weren't on my list but that was the only diversion, I swear.. Oh no there was something else, a packet of fig rolls. Anyway I handed over my money to a startled Barb on the till. "You do look glamorous today"she said her infectious smile making me break out also.
"Thanks sweetie" I said carefully watching the eggs.
"Glitter does the trick for me, especially on a Wednesday".
She laughed then took all my notes. Bitch.
So I was feeling rather pleased what with my bogoff sausages, plump sultanas and frozen chicken, and I had money left over...:)
This is great I thought as I tackled a pensioner with more sausages than me, I've done well today, even have enough money for the Daily Mirror (Glossy World Cup Pull-Out) So I made my way to the paper counter...WRONG! So wrong. Shouldn't have thought about buying the Mirror because next to the papers were....DVD's. Ooops!
I love films as you know, so I thought what harm is there in just flicking through a few?
The harm idiot face, is that you'll spend money you don't have. Well I do have it but it should go to more worthy causes like petrol and lipstick NOT on films.
I looked anyway...
He, he, he, he, he.
I held it, knowing it was going home with me, and at just £4 I could afford it AND a paper.
So this afternoon, after I've sewn some lettuces, made a few Rock Cakes, and shaved my legs I shall, with the aforementioned smooth legs up on the pouffe, eat a sausage sandwich watching...
THE DAMNED UNITED!
A film about football:)
A film about the man who should have been England manager...:)
A film about a big head:)
Brian Clough:)
Here we go, here we go, here we gooooooo!
P.S. Last time I looked I think I was a girl
Ta Ta!
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
WE NEED ANOTHER WILLY!
It must be the homemade bread wot did it.
After toasting a couple of thick slices I logged on to the BBC's sports pages and got lost in the nets. Love it! I've left a couple of links in 'my fav sites' if you're interested.
The more I read the more I want it to, forgive the pun, kick off!
The Beeb aren't showing an England match till the 23rd June when we play our final Group C game against Slovenia. (Could be the Group of Death) And, depending on how we've been playing, it should either be a flags and pizza match or chewing nails and gin match. The former I hope...
All of England's games will be on BBC Radio Five Live and BBC sports online will do stuff aswell. So there's no excuse to miss anything.
But till then all eyes will be on ITV1 for our first fight against the USA in a few days time. This is bloggo waffle of the worst kind, I haven't rough drafted this post, deciding to let rip whilst the juices are steaming. Talking of steaming I woke in the middle of night screaming! I was enduring a nightmare of horrific proportions and woke up making an awful row.
Yuk!
Maybe it was the night time nuts wot did it.
But after cereals and tea and a brisk rub down with a soapy hand I felt much better.
I am in such an optimistic mood today that even the bathroom ceiling can't floor me, even the mountainous midge bites on my inner arm are nothing more than pin pricks, even the rain feels sweet.
I love my football!
P.S.
Whatever happened to 1966 World Cup Willy?
I expect he's dangling in some wardrobe with his stuffing hanging out yet still bearing kisses of the best kind...The kisses of relief!
I love Willy X
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!
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!
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
So Exciting!
With a bout of fine weather come bouts of inspiration and optimism. And the recent weather has had my heart a-bubbling in its cage.
No fewer than half a dozen exciting things are currently wrestling for position in my head.
And here they are.
1. The General Election.
A day and night when political groupies like me have a love-in with men in suits and swingometers. Needless to say I'll be zapping my remote from the BBC to Sky and back again. I love the hype, chat and what-ifs on the day, but most of all I adore the morning after when I tentatively switch on to find out if I'm in the red or feeling blue. Or, heaven forbid, swimming through a ghastly unworkable sludge of blue, red and yellow.. Talking of things being unworkable I see Cleggy is banging his smooth fists on his eco- friendly wooden table table saying he wouldn't work with a Brown controlled government. Ooooh!..... I think Mr Clegg is getting above his station, must be all the paparazzi following his every move and the thought that he could be the man who, come the 7th May, holds the nation's wealth and health in his tender unused hands. And I'm the Queen of Sheba.
2. The Eurovision Song Contest.
A pizza filled night when I sit cross legged waving my little flag whilst puzzling over the bonkersness of our fellow Europeans. They think that by singing a queer song in a bad outfit they'll somehow impress the judges. Sometimes they do and they win but I'm hoping that our Josh, our kid, with his homely good looks and great voice will melt the iron hearts of the judging panels. You never know they might even take pity on us if we have a new fella in Downing Street...
3. The Final of American Idol.
Providing Crystal Bowersox is in it. Last week the young woman with the 100 year old soul sang some gospel and, reaching the end, cried. That my dears is what I like. A stunningly pretty girl with golden pipes and heart to match. No-one else in this rather disappointing season of A.I. comes close to Mama Bowersox. Aaron is a kid who, like Crystal, is old before his time, and if Crystal doesn't win I hope he does.
Talking of 'talent shows' I watched Britain's Got Talent and fell in love again, (that's twice in one week) the man is called Christopher. He sang like a man trapped by his parents and his job as an accountant. And as he broke into 'Maria' (lucky girl) my blood ran cold and hot his voice so sweet, so controlled, so filthily rich. I adored him. He of course went through to the next round...
4. Wimbledon.
Green grass, an electronic roof and Rafael Nadal. Heady afternoons where I might sip on a Pimms whilst my grass turns brown due to a hosepipe ban. I love the summer. The summer is my time to shine, mostly on the face where my nose sticks out like a giant strawberry. I love the summer. Hot days filled with green salad, and if I'm flushed, an avocado. Nights where the bed linen is shoved away likewise a snoozing Monty and where each and every morning I vow to put on sun protector nonsense grade nuclear and short socks. But instead I roll down the road getting scorched and wincing as the skin on my little toes gets rubbed away. Protection, protection all sensible gals should use protection.
5. And most importantly of all the start of the 2010 World Cup in South Africa.
I will not allow anything or anyone to interfere with me on any day when England is playing. Please take note now. If you turn up with presents or even promises you will not be allowed access to the bungalow. The beautiful game comes first.
6. My birthday.
I will be 54 not 18. And I can honestly say that being six years away from sixty doesn't bother me one jot.
I don't know what I'll be doing on the day, someone somewhere might have a little surprise planned but even if I'm left alone without even a card or box of Maltesers I will put on a brave face. I'll not fear the extra year, nor the fact that I'm a year nearer the grave, not even the idea that I'm edging towards younger men. And as I study my face looking for extra lines I'll refuse to be blighted by thoughts that it's only men with sticks and hair issues who want me. So on the 28th June (note the date) I will gladly take in all manner of gifts (you know the address) and gaily celebrate my very special day by laughing my stockings off!
(Do not turn up without texting me first alright?)
And on that gloriously subtle note I must say bye bye.
Today looks like it could be a good one.
Ta ta!
No fewer than half a dozen exciting things are currently wrestling for position in my head.
And here they are.
1. The General Election.
A day and night when political groupies like me have a love-in with men in suits and swingometers. Needless to say I'll be zapping my remote from the BBC to Sky and back again. I love the hype, chat and what-ifs on the day, but most of all I adore the morning after when I tentatively switch on to find out if I'm in the red or feeling blue. Or, heaven forbid, swimming through a ghastly unworkable sludge of blue, red and yellow.. Talking of things being unworkable I see Cleggy is banging his smooth fists on his eco- friendly wooden table table saying he wouldn't work with a Brown controlled government. Ooooh!..... I think Mr Clegg is getting above his station, must be all the paparazzi following his every move and the thought that he could be the man who, come the 7th May, holds the nation's wealth and health in his tender unused hands. And I'm the Queen of Sheba.
2. The Eurovision Song Contest.
A pizza filled night when I sit cross legged waving my little flag whilst puzzling over the bonkersness of our fellow Europeans. They think that by singing a queer song in a bad outfit they'll somehow impress the judges. Sometimes they do and they win but I'm hoping that our Josh, our kid, with his homely good looks and great voice will melt the iron hearts of the judging panels. You never know they might even take pity on us if we have a new fella in Downing Street...
3. The Final of American Idol.
Providing Crystal Bowersox is in it. Last week the young woman with the 100 year old soul sang some gospel and, reaching the end, cried. That my dears is what I like. A stunningly pretty girl with golden pipes and heart to match. No-one else in this rather disappointing season of A.I. comes close to Mama Bowersox. Aaron is a kid who, like Crystal, is old before his time, and if Crystal doesn't win I hope he does.
Talking of 'talent shows' I watched Britain's Got Talent and fell in love again, (that's twice in one week) the man is called Christopher. He sang like a man trapped by his parents and his job as an accountant. And as he broke into 'Maria' (lucky girl) my blood ran cold and hot his voice so sweet, so controlled, so filthily rich. I adored him. He of course went through to the next round...
4. Wimbledon.
Green grass, an electronic roof and Rafael Nadal. Heady afternoons where I might sip on a Pimms whilst my grass turns brown due to a hosepipe ban. I love the summer. The summer is my time to shine, mostly on the face where my nose sticks out like a giant strawberry. I love the summer. Hot days filled with green salad, and if I'm flushed, an avocado. Nights where the bed linen is shoved away likewise a snoozing Monty and where each and every morning I vow to put on sun protector nonsense grade nuclear and short socks. But instead I roll down the road getting scorched and wincing as the skin on my little toes gets rubbed away. Protection, protection all sensible gals should use protection.
5. And most importantly of all the start of the 2010 World Cup in South Africa.
I will not allow anything or anyone to interfere with me on any day when England is playing. Please take note now. If you turn up with presents or even promises you will not be allowed access to the bungalow. The beautiful game comes first.
6. My birthday.
I will be 54 not 18. And I can honestly say that being six years away from sixty doesn't bother me one jot.
I don't know what I'll be doing on the day, someone somewhere might have a little surprise planned but even if I'm left alone without even a card or box of Maltesers I will put on a brave face. I'll not fear the extra year, nor the fact that I'm a year nearer the grave, not even the idea that I'm edging towards younger men. And as I study my face looking for extra lines I'll refuse to be blighted by thoughts that it's only men with sticks and hair issues who want me. So on the 28th June (note the date) I will gladly take in all manner of gifts (you know the address) and gaily celebrate my very special day by laughing my stockings off!
(Do not turn up without texting me first alright?)
And on that gloriously subtle note I must say bye bye.
Today looks like it could be a good one.
Ta ta!
Thursday, 15 October 2009
We Won...!!!!
As I sipped some very sweet tea my beloved England doffed up Belarus. And very impressive they were too. Although after Crouchy's first goal the team appeared to take it a little easy and that had me chewing the duvet (I was in bed you see). I always chew things like nails, cat tails and bedding when England get ahead because I'm frightened in case they er..get complacent. But I needn't have worried last night because the Belarusians were rubbish.
So Crouchy put us ahead and I was happy/ecstatic/worried. All I wanted to hear was the final whistle but that wasn't a-coming for about a long time...So I stared at the screen thinking ahead to next summer and South Africa. All the matches will be played during the day, mostly around meal times so that's nice. I already have an England bear in the car, and I'm pondering whether or not to stick a flag in the window. Probably will.
So back to the game and Beckham's Beard.. Er ok....Becks is one of those annoying people who can fiddle with his hair, tattoos, underpants and still look gorgeous. I am like that too. Only I don't do tatts.
He came on and kind of set the field alight with his magnificence and ball skills, I knew absolutely that when he passed to whoever, the ball was heading straight to the back of the net. And it did.. He is, I suppose, one of those wonderful rallying players who just by setting foot on the turf instils in his fellow team mates the will to win. I love him for that.
I loved the game last night. Thank you my darling England boys. By the way the duvet is dry now.
So Crouchy put us ahead and I was happy/ecstatic/worried. All I wanted to hear was the final whistle but that wasn't a-coming for about a long time...So I stared at the screen thinking ahead to next summer and South Africa. All the matches will be played during the day, mostly around meal times so that's nice. I already have an England bear in the car, and I'm pondering whether or not to stick a flag in the window. Probably will.
So back to the game and Beckham's Beard.. Er ok....Becks is one of those annoying people who can fiddle with his hair, tattoos, underpants and still look gorgeous. I am like that too. Only I don't do tatts.
He came on and kind of set the field alight with his magnificence and ball skills, I knew absolutely that when he passed to whoever, the ball was heading straight to the back of the net. And it did.. He is, I suppose, one of those wonderful rallying players who just by setting foot on the turf instils in his fellow team mates the will to win. I love him for that.
I loved the game last night. Thank you my darling England boys. By the way the duvet is dry now.
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