Monday, July 25, 2005
Merry Christmas in July
Soundtrack: "The Bends" by Radiohead
Good arvo this arvo but not really because of the cricket. I knew it was going to happen. I bloody knew it was going to happen, and still I'm depressed and moping because that's just what you do when you're an England supporter. When they were 80-0 on Saturday night, I really thought we even had a shot at the highest ever winning run-chase. Fat bloody chance. Our batting is as solid as a hammer made of jelly (lime jelly, Toby, not lemon), apart from Kevin Pietersen, who I want to marry, despite the nasty hair, lame three lions tatoo and earring. I'm not sure about Ian Bell at all, and now that Graham Thorpe has now left us in the lurch (though to be fair, the selectors left him in the lurch first), we really need somebody similar to replace him, cue Paul Collingwood AKA The Quiet Ginger One. It's not going to happen, though, because Michael Vaughan was all "No, we're not panicking" when Mike Atherton interviewed him at the presentation ceremony.
I think I'd better try to do this in some sort of semblance of order, even though my head's still in a mess. I've had scant little sleep these past four nights due to cricket, but I still punished myself because I'm an idiot.
On Friday, I met up with Jez Coates, a chap who used to go to my church in Trowbridge. Him and his wife Laura upped their family and left to come and live in Cleveland, an east-side suburb of Brisbane that's right next to the Pacific Ocean. When I contacted them to let them know that I was in town, they kindly invited me to spend Christmas in July with them. How could I turn down an offer like that? So, on Saturday, I was treated to a Christmas lunch, complete with random drunk ex-pats with screaming children. Oh yes, and not content with Stormy the cat, when Jez and Laura were taking the fridge to be repaired on Saturday morning, they got sidetracked and ended up buying a puppy (urgh - smelly and requires more attention that I could be arsed). They named him Boomer, short for Boomerang, but I thought that it was a crap name and decided to try to give the dog an identity crisis. Therefore, he now answers to Doggie, Rang, Snowdrop (he's dark brown) and Wee Jimmy. I just can't understand why people want pets. We had fish, but when Ludwig, the last one, died, my mother got so depressed that she said we weren't allowed any more pets because she couldn't take the heartache. My brother and I stood at the kitchen windown laughing at her as she buried Ludwig in the back garden.
Because it was Christmas in July, I ended up watching a whole bunch of films that I'd normally never even dream of watching, and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." Honestly: "Love Actually" (again - gah!), "Shark Tale," the remake of "The Italian Job," "National Treasure." Oh dear oh dear oh dear. And I think I'm going to go and see "Monster-In-Law" tomorrow or Wednesday, because even though I know for a fact that it's going to be excruciatingly bad, I can't turn down the opportunity to see Michael Vartan on a 25m IMAX screen for only $6. Come on, the popcorn's more expensive.
So, the cricket, then. You know, I watched it intently for those four nights, and I only found out that Thorpey had retired when I read Toby's comment on my last post. Shocked, I decided to check it out on a cricket site, and it turns out that the announcement came on Friday. Nobody on Sky said anything about it, not even Nasser Hussain, and Thorpey was his best buddy on the team, along with Athers. I'm not sad and depressed like I was for Nass's retirement, though: when Nass's announcement came, I sat and listened to the entire press conference on Five Live and cried the whole way through, but I knew that Thorpey's retirement was coming. Oh well. Come on, The Quiet Ginger One.
Good arvo this arvo but not really because of the cricket. I knew it was going to happen. I bloody knew it was going to happen, and still I'm depressed and moping because that's just what you do when you're an England supporter. When they were 80-0 on Saturday night, I really thought we even had a shot at the highest ever winning run-chase. Fat bloody chance. Our batting is as solid as a hammer made of jelly (lime jelly, Toby, not lemon), apart from Kevin Pietersen, who I want to marry, despite the nasty hair, lame three lions tatoo and earring. I'm not sure about Ian Bell at all, and now that Graham Thorpe has now left us in the lurch (though to be fair, the selectors left him in the lurch first), we really need somebody similar to replace him, cue Paul Collingwood AKA The Quiet Ginger One. It's not going to happen, though, because Michael Vaughan was all "No, we're not panicking" when Mike Atherton interviewed him at the presentation ceremony.
I think I'd better try to do this in some sort of semblance of order, even though my head's still in a mess. I've had scant little sleep these past four nights due to cricket, but I still punished myself because I'm an idiot.
On Friday, I met up with Jez Coates, a chap who used to go to my church in Trowbridge. Him and his wife Laura upped their family and left to come and live in Cleveland, an east-side suburb of Brisbane that's right next to the Pacific Ocean. When I contacted them to let them know that I was in town, they kindly invited me to spend Christmas in July with them. How could I turn down an offer like that? So, on Saturday, I was treated to a Christmas lunch, complete with random drunk ex-pats with screaming children. Oh yes, and not content with Stormy the cat, when Jez and Laura were taking the fridge to be repaired on Saturday morning, they got sidetracked and ended up buying a puppy (urgh - smelly and requires more attention that I could be arsed). They named him Boomer, short for Boomerang, but I thought that it was a crap name and decided to try to give the dog an identity crisis. Therefore, he now answers to Doggie, Rang, Snowdrop (he's dark brown) and Wee Jimmy. I just can't understand why people want pets. We had fish, but when Ludwig, the last one, died, my mother got so depressed that she said we weren't allowed any more pets because she couldn't take the heartache. My brother and I stood at the kitchen windown laughing at her as she buried Ludwig in the back garden.
Because it was Christmas in July, I ended up watching a whole bunch of films that I'd normally never even dream of watching, and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." Honestly: "Love Actually" (again - gah!), "Shark Tale," the remake of "The Italian Job," "National Treasure." Oh dear oh dear oh dear. And I think I'm going to go and see "Monster-In-Law" tomorrow or Wednesday, because even though I know for a fact that it's going to be excruciatingly bad, I can't turn down the opportunity to see Michael Vartan on a 25m IMAX screen for only $6. Come on, the popcorn's more expensive.
So, the cricket, then. You know, I watched it intently for those four nights, and I only found out that Thorpey had retired when I read Toby's comment on my last post. Shocked, I decided to check it out on a cricket site, and it turns out that the announcement came on Friday. Nobody on Sky said anything about it, not even Nasser Hussain, and Thorpey was his best buddy on the team, along with Athers. I'm not sad and depressed like I was for Nass's retirement, though: when Nass's announcement came, I sat and listened to the entire press conference on Five Live and cried the whole way through, but I knew that Thorpey's retirement was coming. Oh well. Come on, The Quiet Ginger One.
