So, the Royal Wedding tomorrow. It would be interesting to see what happens. The tradition, the grandeur, the sheer number of people who travel to get a glimpse of the future King. Given that there is a lot of procedue to go through, I suppose the ceremony will be early afternoon? .... 11am?! No chance. Forget you.
Given that it is an unorthodox day in the British calendar, there will be many a street party going on and guess what? I'll be asleep! Just how it should be. However, even today, after the craziness of the morning, I decided even I am bored with the day-to-day nothingness that life has to offer at the moment, of which I thought I just couldn't get enough of, (close). and I need a dollar desperately. So, I went on a job hunt that ended up in Connexions, which proved to be completely pointless. I said 'Hello', picked up a few pieces of paper, said 'Goodbye' and walked out again. Still, I have acted on those little pieces of paper, and await reply from said companies, of which I will probably get none. Then we're back at square one. On the floor.
There was a bit of socialising today. I went to the park to meet a few people, but to be greeted with a group of people, sat in a circle, not saying anything in particular and the social awkwardness surrounding the place, meant a swift exit to the one and only McDonalds. I really do need to stop going there... A burger in a black and yellow box, and a few fries? Maybe it's the Monopoly game...Still, me and Ridgway travelled in my "fast car", to meet Natalie and Lucy for a spot of lunch. How lahdy-dah! Then I decided upon my trip to Connexions and then decided I might aswell make a beeline towards the park to see if things had improved. They were nowhere to be seen however, so I presumed they had called it a day. Never mind, beautiful people!
Not sure what the rest of the week holds to be honest, until the weekend anyway. I highly doubt it will be a box of diamonds, but that is how it is at the mur-ment. (Did you like my Mark Lawrenson impression, no?) I am just a lazy song at the moment.. I was probably born this way...
(As for the title, there is a special prize if you can find the amount of current top 40 hits hidden in this post... Time for a little game!) Answers on a postcard to Mitten! (or text...)
Thursday 28 April 2011
Losing Enthusiasm
I did mention briefly in the last post how, after much anticipation and excitement for the past 3-4 months about the up coming cricket season, that I'm not as excited as I should be about Sunday. I think I know what it is.
Last season, I was working. Work was so bad, that cricket seemed like the only escape from work and therefore it was worth looking forward to. Now? I have nothing. Nothing to reflect off, and nothing to work off, leaving cricket to be the average past-time for the week. This, plus the gaping fact that, despite it being the first week of a highly anticipated season, we are left struggling to make 11, which leaves me with the nagging thought in the back of my mind, that cricket at Bedford may disintegrate into nothingness. There are other options, mainly being Southill, but I have my reasons for not going there either. I have never liked batting at Southill. I can't work out what it is, I just don't. I am also fairly certain I wouldn't get that good a game there either. I like opening the batting, not coming in with 6 overs left, and expected to give it a slog... It's noy my style.
(Ok Billie, you can wake up from your coma now!)
It's not just cricket I'm losing enthusiasm for either. I lost enthusiasm for playing football months ago, (despite that now being finished), and I STILL can't work out whether continuing to referee the game is doing more good than bad for me at the moment. I can't help but think this stage of abandonment and pure and utter laziness is ruining me as a person. Even I, hard as it may be to imagine, am getting fed up with waking up in the middle of the afternoon, and literally doing nothing with my days. This, matched with the probable shocked look on my face as I looked at my bank balance earlier, means I need to try harder on the job front. Will I do anything about it? That's a different question altogether.
Only a 'lil post today. Just to vent my frustrations slightly. I'm awake at 12 tomorrow for a "Get Together", which is frankly early morning for me these days. I didn't make it last time, so I really should go to this one. Time to create a storm I think.
Last season, I was working. Work was so bad, that cricket seemed like the only escape from work and therefore it was worth looking forward to. Now? I have nothing. Nothing to reflect off, and nothing to work off, leaving cricket to be the average past-time for the week. This, plus the gaping fact that, despite it being the first week of a highly anticipated season, we are left struggling to make 11, which leaves me with the nagging thought in the back of my mind, that cricket at Bedford may disintegrate into nothingness. There are other options, mainly being Southill, but I have my reasons for not going there either. I have never liked batting at Southill. I can't work out what it is, I just don't. I am also fairly certain I wouldn't get that good a game there either. I like opening the batting, not coming in with 6 overs left, and expected to give it a slog... It's noy my style.
(Ok Billie, you can wake up from your coma now!)
It's not just cricket I'm losing enthusiasm for either. I lost enthusiasm for playing football months ago, (despite that now being finished), and I STILL can't work out whether continuing to referee the game is doing more good than bad for me at the moment. I can't help but think this stage of abandonment and pure and utter laziness is ruining me as a person. Even I, hard as it may be to imagine, am getting fed up with waking up in the middle of the afternoon, and literally doing nothing with my days. This, matched with the probable shocked look on my face as I looked at my bank balance earlier, means I need to try harder on the job front. Will I do anything about it? That's a different question altogether.
Only a 'lil post today. Just to vent my frustrations slightly. I'm awake at 12 tomorrow for a "Get Together", which is frankly early morning for me these days. I didn't make it last time, so I really should go to this one. Time to create a storm I think.
Wednesday 27 April 2011
Gossip
We've all been there. We've all spoken behind someone's back and helped spread rumour in some way or another. Or maybe you're the unlucky one to be the subject. I know I have. I've seen many a case of gossiping and rumour-spreading in my time, and tonight was another example.
It was the regular Tuesday night pub quiz, and despite having a maximum of 6 in any one team, someone decided to invite as many as they liked. 9 in the end I think we had, so we split into 2 teams. Now, with no names being mentioned, one team comprised of the usual bunch and the other team was the lot who had been invited. Including "the girl from Saturday". Despite being rather good-looking, and an interesting twang in her accent, I don't really like her that much. I get the impression she think she's the bees knees, probably because of the ridiculous amount of attention she gets from most guys surrounding her. Many a joke was cracked tonight about her and her friends that had come along for the crack, including our team name which was later posted on Facebook for all to see. Everyone is acting like it's a joke, which it is. But I know, secretly, somewhere, someone is seething.
I've just read that paragraph again, and I know it sounds stupid. But this is the business of whispering, and gossiping etcetera. No one really knows what the other party is thinking, and they probably never will, which makes it automatically pointless, cruel and wrong. Yet we all, me included, do it anyway. Whatever. I try not to think about it too much. Too many people have been the victim of vicious rumour spreading. A childish game won't blind me. I've witnessed too much of it to one particular person, who has had it bad, to bother with anyone else.
Moving on, and I can't remember where I got up to. So I shall start with Sunday morning where I DID make it to football fairly successful despite a sultry 3 hour kip. My performance in goal, for my last ever Mowsbury Athletic game, was fairly poor if I'm honest, and we lost 5-4. Still, because of other results, we still got promoted for the 3rd season in a row, so everyone was happy enough. Amazingly, I managed to stay awake rather successfully for the rest of the day and made it to the quiz. Easter Sunday was a good day.
Easter Monday, wasn't. It should have been. The first cricket match of the season, albeit for Southill and batting at a rather lower position than I'm used to, including getting a duck after playing a ridiculous shot and then fielding for 40 overs. It wasn't wholly enjoyable. I got the feeling no one could be bothered, most probably after playing all weekend, and my enthusiasm at the beginning was extinguished rather quickly as I was presented with half-arsed team-mates and a clueless captain. I made a quick-ish getaway afterwards and enjoyed the drive home more than I did the entire match.
Not a lot happened today. Apart from tonight's antics. Tomorrow and Thursday, and Friday for that matter are non-events, (apart from some Picnic thing on Thursday!), before refereeing the final game of the season before the start of the proper cricket season come Sunday. Why am I not excited? There is a reason....
It was the regular Tuesday night pub quiz, and despite having a maximum of 6 in any one team, someone decided to invite as many as they liked. 9 in the end I think we had, so we split into 2 teams. Now, with no names being mentioned, one team comprised of the usual bunch and the other team was the lot who had been invited. Including "the girl from Saturday". Despite being rather good-looking, and an interesting twang in her accent, I don't really like her that much. I get the impression she think she's the bees knees, probably because of the ridiculous amount of attention she gets from most guys surrounding her. Many a joke was cracked tonight about her and her friends that had come along for the crack, including our team name which was later posted on Facebook for all to see. Everyone is acting like it's a joke, which it is. But I know, secretly, somewhere, someone is seething.
I've just read that paragraph again, and I know it sounds stupid. But this is the business of whispering, and gossiping etcetera. No one really knows what the other party is thinking, and they probably never will, which makes it automatically pointless, cruel and wrong. Yet we all, me included, do it anyway. Whatever. I try not to think about it too much. Too many people have been the victim of vicious rumour spreading. A childish game won't blind me. I've witnessed too much of it to one particular person, who has had it bad, to bother with anyone else.
Moving on, and I can't remember where I got up to. So I shall start with Sunday morning where I DID make it to football fairly successful despite a sultry 3 hour kip. My performance in goal, for my last ever Mowsbury Athletic game, was fairly poor if I'm honest, and we lost 5-4. Still, because of other results, we still got promoted for the 3rd season in a row, so everyone was happy enough. Amazingly, I managed to stay awake rather successfully for the rest of the day and made it to the quiz. Easter Sunday was a good day.
Easter Monday, wasn't. It should have been. The first cricket match of the season, albeit for Southill and batting at a rather lower position than I'm used to, including getting a duck after playing a ridiculous shot and then fielding for 40 overs. It wasn't wholly enjoyable. I got the feeling no one could be bothered, most probably after playing all weekend, and my enthusiasm at the beginning was extinguished rather quickly as I was presented with half-arsed team-mates and a clueless captain. I made a quick-ish getaway afterwards and enjoyed the drive home more than I did the entire match.
Not a lot happened today. Apart from tonight's antics. Tomorrow and Thursday, and Friday for that matter are non-events, (apart from some Picnic thing on Thursday!), before refereeing the final game of the season before the start of the proper cricket season come Sunday. Why am I not excited? There is a reason....
Sunday 24 April 2011
Stories to Tell
The last few days have been particularly interesting. Full of football, alcohol and stories. I genuinely thought on Wednesday night, that this week was going to be a week of distinct averageness. Oh, how wrong I was.
It all started on Thursday I suppose. After waking up at a stupid hour in the afternoon, I got a text from Slim asking me to fill in at late notice at a game in Olney, to which I duly accepted as I felt I needed the money. It turned out, although I only realised at half-time, that it was a title decider, and there was me, on the line, witnessing a probable 0-0 draw before Pagey goes and gives an 88th minute penalty, winning the title for Brackley Town. To be fair, there were no complaints. Stonewall. I was complimented by Pagey for being a "brilliant" assistant and a complimentary text from Slim the next day. Thursday doesn't end there though.
There were (very) late plans to head out to town on Thursday night, just like the good ol' days, as it's the bank holiday and all. I made it back at around half 10, making it to town around 20 minutes later and enjoyed a night of drinking, dancing and making out with Rob. Bless him. 7 attempts to get photographic evidence and a probable embarrassment from Facebook a few days from now... I don't care. I reckon Rob is getting more stick from it.. Maybe, people expect such behaviour from me? (A.k.a PRO-Waster!) Why we walked home though, I have no idea, as we left town at around 2.30am, and I eventually walked in my front door at gone 4am. Many 'For Sale' signs were re-located, and the Conservative presence in Bedford is no more, thanks to Mitten.
However, despite sleeping for a ridiculous amount once again, I had a cup final to assist on come Friday night. The East Beds Charity Cup Final, and I think the insanely concrete-like pitches caught up with me. During a particularly lengthy sprint down my line made of concrete, I felt a twinge in the ol' calf muscle, and come half-time, handed over assisting duties to 4th official, Brian. I became 4th official in the 2nd half, and made a right meal of dealing with one half of a troublesome dugout. No matter. I felt I needed to come off my game on Saturday, as I was due to be assessed and didn't want to ruin it for myself, however, I am due to leave for football in under 5 hours. I have been forced to play, despite being slightly injured, in a possible promotion decider, and consequently, my last ever game for MAFC. I might not make it.
I might not make it, because we had another late-planned party to attend. A house party, in the "new estate". There wasn't many people there, but there were plenty of guys, (who will go un-named) who wanted a piece of the, admittedly, rather good-looking hostess. I wasn't gonna go there. She is Man United, whereas I am FC United of Manchester. Let's be honest here. However, many "private conversations" went on, and much creeping around, whilst countless shots disappeared aswell as the bottle of vodka that disappeared alarmingly fast...
It was a good night though. A late appearance from the one and only Saggers only made it better. If there are stories to tell, the night is never bad. I won't go any further, before I let slip. And besides, I've gotta be awake in 4 hours...
No. I don't think so either.
It all started on Thursday I suppose. After waking up at a stupid hour in the afternoon, I got a text from Slim asking me to fill in at late notice at a game in Olney, to which I duly accepted as I felt I needed the money. It turned out, although I only realised at half-time, that it was a title decider, and there was me, on the line, witnessing a probable 0-0 draw before Pagey goes and gives an 88th minute penalty, winning the title for Brackley Town. To be fair, there were no complaints. Stonewall. I was complimented by Pagey for being a "brilliant" assistant and a complimentary text from Slim the next day. Thursday doesn't end there though.
There were (very) late plans to head out to town on Thursday night, just like the good ol' days, as it's the bank holiday and all. I made it back at around half 10, making it to town around 20 minutes later and enjoyed a night of drinking, dancing and making out with Rob. Bless him. 7 attempts to get photographic evidence and a probable embarrassment from Facebook a few days from now... I don't care. I reckon Rob is getting more stick from it.. Maybe, people expect such behaviour from me? (A.k.a PRO-Waster!) Why we walked home though, I have no idea, as we left town at around 2.30am, and I eventually walked in my front door at gone 4am. Many 'For Sale' signs were re-located, and the Conservative presence in Bedford is no more, thanks to Mitten.
However, despite sleeping for a ridiculous amount once again, I had a cup final to assist on come Friday night. The East Beds Charity Cup Final, and I think the insanely concrete-like pitches caught up with me. During a particularly lengthy sprint down my line made of concrete, I felt a twinge in the ol' calf muscle, and come half-time, handed over assisting duties to 4th official, Brian. I became 4th official in the 2nd half, and made a right meal of dealing with one half of a troublesome dugout. No matter. I felt I needed to come off my game on Saturday, as I was due to be assessed and didn't want to ruin it for myself, however, I am due to leave for football in under 5 hours. I have been forced to play, despite being slightly injured, in a possible promotion decider, and consequently, my last ever game for MAFC. I might not make it.
I might not make it, because we had another late-planned party to attend. A house party, in the "new estate". There wasn't many people there, but there were plenty of guys, (who will go un-named) who wanted a piece of the, admittedly, rather good-looking hostess. I wasn't gonna go there. She is Man United, whereas I am FC United of Manchester. Let's be honest here. However, many "private conversations" went on, and much creeping around, whilst countless shots disappeared aswell as the bottle of vodka that disappeared alarmingly fast...
It was a good night though. A late appearance from the one and only Saggers only made it better. If there are stories to tell, the night is never bad. I won't go any further, before I let slip. And besides, I've gotta be awake in 4 hours...
No. I don't think so either.
Thursday 21 April 2011
Red Face Paint
Hayfever is a bastard. Straight up. I haven't exactly spoken about it on here much, due to the fact that for most of the year I am completely unaffected, but from roughly April to August, the eyes start looking like I've been through 12 rounds with David Haye, the rate of sneezing increases 100-fold and when I think I'm fine one second, relaxing and listening to my sister's stolen iPod, (shhh!), the next I look like The Joker.
It's currently half 3 am, and yes I know, I should be asleep. The amount of internet space used by me complaining and moaning about my ridiculous sleeping pattern is probably enough to crash Bedford's networks, but this just proves that having hayfever is a 24/7 business. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, trying to teach CC the ins and outs of Twitter whilst continuously searching for the most amazing 'Flash Mobs' the world has ever seen. Then, out of nowhere, a warm trickle runs down my nose and explodes on to my keyboard as I hurry to find a tissue to stem the face paint. Running to the toilet, trying not to wake the house up, is a challenge in itself. I have spent the last 20 minutes trying to stem the flow, using techniques built up over the years. It makes it sound like a marathon.
I should be happy that the Hayfever Gods were looking in my favour tonight. They are so cruel as to make blood gush out, but the places they've made it happen in, in the past, are not nice! I've had nosebleeds almost everywhere. In the middle of a cricket match, as the bowler was running up. I had to retire hurt, and come back only to get out first ball on my return! I've had a nosebleed on the 8th tee of Mowsbury Golf Course, and I had a choice to either use a dirty club-cleaning towel or a leaf to stem the flow. That was interesting. I had a nosebleed in the middle of the pub quiz on Sunday aswell. By far the most interesting however, was a nosebleed just as we were setting off on Corkscrew at Alton Towers! (R.I.P) I had to endure the twists, turns and loop-to-loops of the wooden rollercoaster, with blood flying out, showering myself and many others. When we came off, I looked like a Red Power Ranger and many others looked like they had stood next to a chainsaw massacre. We made a swift exit.
All of this is because we had a grass fight. All of the tablets, eye drops and nasal spray because of a 15-minute fight with freshly mown lawn. Life's biggest mistake!
As for today, it's fair to say I've had a bit of a shocker. I was SUPPOSED to be joining Beddoe, Kettle and co. for a lazy day in the park, but when it came down to it, I felt ill, (as I have done for the past week), and waking up when the clock still says 'AM' is a sprightly shock to the system. So instead, I went back to sleep and woke up again at the ugly side of 3am, which even in my books, is pretty bad. Hence the reason I'm awake at this stupid hour. Approaching 4am, and the only reason I'm looking to go to bed in a minute is to stop Mother Mitten being an angry Mother Mitten. Apparently, Sister Mitten is getting annoyed aswell, given I'm coughing like a banshee... I can never do anything right in this house...
Right, I'm going, before I get hung, drawn and quartered.
It's currently half 3 am, and yes I know, I should be asleep. The amount of internet space used by me complaining and moaning about my ridiculous sleeping pattern is probably enough to crash Bedford's networks, but this just proves that having hayfever is a 24/7 business. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, trying to teach CC the ins and outs of Twitter whilst continuously searching for the most amazing 'Flash Mobs' the world has ever seen. Then, out of nowhere, a warm trickle runs down my nose and explodes on to my keyboard as I hurry to find a tissue to stem the face paint. Running to the toilet, trying not to wake the house up, is a challenge in itself. I have spent the last 20 minutes trying to stem the flow, using techniques built up over the years. It makes it sound like a marathon.
I should be happy that the Hayfever Gods were looking in my favour tonight. They are so cruel as to make blood gush out, but the places they've made it happen in, in the past, are not nice! I've had nosebleeds almost everywhere. In the middle of a cricket match, as the bowler was running up. I had to retire hurt, and come back only to get out first ball on my return! I've had a nosebleed on the 8th tee of Mowsbury Golf Course, and I had a choice to either use a dirty club-cleaning towel or a leaf to stem the flow. That was interesting. I had a nosebleed in the middle of the pub quiz on Sunday aswell. By far the most interesting however, was a nosebleed just as we were setting off on Corkscrew at Alton Towers! (R.I.P) I had to endure the twists, turns and loop-to-loops of the wooden rollercoaster, with blood flying out, showering myself and many others. When we came off, I looked like a Red Power Ranger and many others looked like they had stood next to a chainsaw massacre. We made a swift exit.
All of this is because we had a grass fight. All of the tablets, eye drops and nasal spray because of a 15-minute fight with freshly mown lawn. Life's biggest mistake!
As for today, it's fair to say I've had a bit of a shocker. I was SUPPOSED to be joining Beddoe, Kettle and co. for a lazy day in the park, but when it came down to it, I felt ill, (as I have done for the past week), and waking up when the clock still says 'AM' is a sprightly shock to the system. So instead, I went back to sleep and woke up again at the ugly side of 3am, which even in my books, is pretty bad. Hence the reason I'm awake at this stupid hour. Approaching 4am, and the only reason I'm looking to go to bed in a minute is to stop Mother Mitten being an angry Mother Mitten. Apparently, Sister Mitten is getting annoyed aswell, given I'm coughing like a banshee... I can never do anything right in this house...
Right, I'm going, before I get hung, drawn and quartered.
Wednesday 20 April 2011
We Won Something!
Ohhh, I'm not a huge fan of midweek football. Either refereeing or playing, because you are left with 2 problems. 1 - Kick off is usually around the 6pm mark, which means there is huge rush from your whole squad to get from work to football on time, (not that I have that problem...) and, 2 - Given these people will naturally turn up late, you end up playing the last 20 minutes or so in the dark. Seeing that I'm a goalkeeper, this is particularly hazardous, as you only see the ball just as it arrives in front of your own nose.
No, tonight wasn't that bad. We kicked off late as the referee didn't turn up, (despicable!), so there was a big hurrah over who would referee. One of their guys ended up doing it, to a very fair standard I have to admit, and we were eventually free to get going. Get going on a pitch that looked like it had been destroyed by the Top Gear team. Hardly a blade of grass on the damn thing, and diving on concrete does play havoc with skin and bones. We went 1-0 up after about 30 seconds, then fell asleep and conceded 2 within the next 5 minutes, but we eventually came through 5-2 and our "dreams" of promotion are now probable. Not that I give a flying fuck.
I did forget to mention that this game was in Dunton, which is a fair 35-40 minute trek from home. We ended up leaving the place at 8:10, and seeing as I wanted to get home for the weekly pub quiz, while also avoiding the devilishly-placed speed cameras along the A1, I was a frantic Mitten. But I got there in decent time, only missing a few questions, and joined in.
We were fantastic. Ok, we had a team of 8, although the limit is 6, and Ok, 1 of these was the ridiculously clever Mr.Adam Jones, for which we owe a lot of thanks, but we all chipped in at various points and at the 67th time of asking, (probably), we won something! We came a highly respectable joint 3rd, winning a total of £11, split between 8 of us! It worked out at a fantastic £1.38 each, but seeing as it was a matter of pennies, I nicked £2 and we called it quits.
Besides, all of this money was to go to Mr.McDonald. Unfortunately, the post-quiz trip to McDonalds is becoming a habit, and tonight was no different. Well, it was. We got our food, attempting to get as many Monopoly stickers as usual, and then Ridgway went mad. Giving Rob a tenner, he told him to buy 4 things with as many stickers as possible and bring them back. We ended up buying loads of chips, just for the stickers. No one ate the chips, they ended up going in the bin. We really need a life. Desperately!
Tomorrow awaits, and Beddoe has organised some lazy day in Mowsbury Park, given the weather forecast is set for "ridiculously good". Apparently, we're going to meet at 12, which is highly ambitious, given I haven't woken up in the morning, (apart from for football), for about a year! I will try my best though!
Here comes the Summer! (Oh yeah, I had a major nosebleed at the pub earlier aswell, thanks to Mr.Hayfever, but who wants to hear about that?!)
No, tonight wasn't that bad. We kicked off late as the referee didn't turn up, (despicable!), so there was a big hurrah over who would referee. One of their guys ended up doing it, to a very fair standard I have to admit, and we were eventually free to get going. Get going on a pitch that looked like it had been destroyed by the Top Gear team. Hardly a blade of grass on the damn thing, and diving on concrete does play havoc with skin and bones. We went 1-0 up after about 30 seconds, then fell asleep and conceded 2 within the next 5 minutes, but we eventually came through 5-2 and our "dreams" of promotion are now probable. Not that I give a flying fuck.
I did forget to mention that this game was in Dunton, which is a fair 35-40 minute trek from home. We ended up leaving the place at 8:10, and seeing as I wanted to get home for the weekly pub quiz, while also avoiding the devilishly-placed speed cameras along the A1, I was a frantic Mitten. But I got there in decent time, only missing a few questions, and joined in.
We were fantastic. Ok, we had a team of 8, although the limit is 6, and Ok, 1 of these was the ridiculously clever Mr.Adam Jones, for which we owe a lot of thanks, but we all chipped in at various points and at the 67th time of asking, (probably), we won something! We came a highly respectable joint 3rd, winning a total of £11, split between 8 of us! It worked out at a fantastic £1.38 each, but seeing as it was a matter of pennies, I nicked £2 and we called it quits.
Besides, all of this money was to go to Mr.McDonald. Unfortunately, the post-quiz trip to McDonalds is becoming a habit, and tonight was no different. Well, it was. We got our food, attempting to get as many Monopoly stickers as usual, and then Ridgway went mad. Giving Rob a tenner, he told him to buy 4 things with as many stickers as possible and bring them back. We ended up buying loads of chips, just for the stickers. No one ate the chips, they ended up going in the bin. We really need a life. Desperately!
Tomorrow awaits, and Beddoe has organised some lazy day in Mowsbury Park, given the weather forecast is set for "ridiculously good". Apparently, we're going to meet at 12, which is highly ambitious, given I haven't woken up in the morning, (apart from for football), for about a year! I will try my best though!
Here comes the Summer! (Oh yeah, I had a major nosebleed at the pub earlier aswell, thanks to Mr.Hayfever, but who wants to hear about that?!)
Sunday 17 April 2011
I Could Do With a Mayfair
If there was a God, why did he create the thing commonly known as, "a difficult day"? Or, if you want to let off some steam, "A f***ing brutal day!" If God was such a magnificent man, why did he create Rottweilers, Manchester City Football Club, petrol and most importantly, whinging bloody footballers! What sort of an off day was God having when he created some imbesiles? Seriously.
Come to say that, my day hasn't been that bad. Last night was awful. I was in an incredibly bad mood. I mean, levels of bad that are unprecedented in months that include warmth and sunshine. I was awake at 4am, discussing with fellow insomniacs whether or not I needed a break from refereeing, given my lack of enthusiasm in recent weeks. I really wasn't looking forward to today's game. Waking up was a serious struggle, and the wait for the 90 minutes to be over was as evident as it has been for the last 5-6 games. Constantly looking at your watch, and seeing that only a minute has passed since the last time you looked at it. It's no way to go. Before the match, I had a horrible feeling it was going to be a slobber knocker, but it really wasn't. It was a crap match, with the only disruption being nearly knocked out by the smell of cannabis from the sidelines and the dog that ran on and burst a match ball. Otherwise, just the 1 stupid yellow, and I was driving home listening to Yates. I can't say I enjoyed it too much though. Unfortunately.
Upon arrival back at the Mitten residence, I was invited round to Master Beddoe's for the Manchester Derby that was played in London, but had to leave at half-time due to a cosy, enjoyable and stomach-filling Mixed Grill at the Harvester. Turns out I missed a cracking challenge from Paul Scholes. Literally. Good on City though, even if you do have a manager who can't speak English and a striker as stroppy as a kid who doesn't get his daily dose of ice cream.. Still, I'm not so bothered these days. I forgot to mention the purhcase of petrol, that cost me 40 of the Great British Pounds I don't have.
MONEY-GRABBING, NON-CARING, SCANDALOUS BASTARDS!
Sorry about that. Seemed to lose control of my typing hands for a second.
An attempt to go out tonight duly failed as I figured I should really be heading home to sleep, given I'm up and about again at 9 for our 2nd match in 3 days. Given I walked in at 1am, and it's now 3am, of course, it just hasn't happened. It almost goes without saying. Has anyone got either a Mayfair or Marlborough Road from that McDonalds monopoly game? It's only a little sticker, but I'd pay good money! £500k for a Mayfair.. That'll do.
Once more, I will struggle to wake up and once more I will be non-enthusiastic about playing football in the morning. I do hope however, I get a late call-up for the cricket, as the start of the season is only 2 weeks away! 2 weeks! And, of course, there's the pub quiz. Has to be done. Would be rude not to!
Have a good Sunday people. I trust that you will. (Swanny, if you don't get a ton later, I won't be a happy Mitten!)
Come to say that, my day hasn't been that bad. Last night was awful. I was in an incredibly bad mood. I mean, levels of bad that are unprecedented in months that include warmth and sunshine. I was awake at 4am, discussing with fellow insomniacs whether or not I needed a break from refereeing, given my lack of enthusiasm in recent weeks. I really wasn't looking forward to today's game. Waking up was a serious struggle, and the wait for the 90 minutes to be over was as evident as it has been for the last 5-6 games. Constantly looking at your watch, and seeing that only a minute has passed since the last time you looked at it. It's no way to go. Before the match, I had a horrible feeling it was going to be a slobber knocker, but it really wasn't. It was a crap match, with the only disruption being nearly knocked out by the smell of cannabis from the sidelines and the dog that ran on and burst a match ball. Otherwise, just the 1 stupid yellow, and I was driving home listening to Yates. I can't say I enjoyed it too much though. Unfortunately.
Upon arrival back at the Mitten residence, I was invited round to Master Beddoe's for the Manchester Derby that was played in London, but had to leave at half-time due to a cosy, enjoyable and stomach-filling Mixed Grill at the Harvester. Turns out I missed a cracking challenge from Paul Scholes. Literally. Good on City though, even if you do have a manager who can't speak English and a striker as stroppy as a kid who doesn't get his daily dose of ice cream.. Still, I'm not so bothered these days. I forgot to mention the purhcase of petrol, that cost me 40 of the Great British Pounds I don't have.
MONEY-GRABBING, NON-CARING, SCANDALOUS BASTARDS!
Sorry about that. Seemed to lose control of my typing hands for a second.
An attempt to go out tonight duly failed as I figured I should really be heading home to sleep, given I'm up and about again at 9 for our 2nd match in 3 days. Given I walked in at 1am, and it's now 3am, of course, it just hasn't happened. It almost goes without saying. Has anyone got either a Mayfair or Marlborough Road from that McDonalds monopoly game? It's only a little sticker, but I'd pay good money! £500k for a Mayfair.. That'll do.
Once more, I will struggle to wake up and once more I will be non-enthusiastic about playing football in the morning. I do hope however, I get a late call-up for the cricket, as the start of the season is only 2 weeks away! 2 weeks! And, of course, there's the pub quiz. Has to be done. Would be rude not to!
Have a good Sunday people. I trust that you will. (Swanny, if you don't get a ton later, I won't be a happy Mitten!)
Saturday 16 April 2011
Cup Final 2
Let's not beat about the bush. We lost.
But we didn't lose emphatically. On paper, we should have been thrashed but we more than held our own, against a team that didn't really have a lot to throw at us. They were just playing a Peter Crouch lookalike up front and getting him to hold it up for their left winger, (who was like Ryan Giggs in his heyday!) We marked him out the game though, so they didn't have a lot else.
I'm blabbering, because quite frankly, the best bits are from after the game. The game itself was very even, and we were maybe slightly unlucky to not get more out of it. The goal was a good finish, not a lot I could do about it, and despite a comical slip by myself in the 2nd half, that drew a lot of sarcastic cheering from the strong crowd and NEARLY gifting a 2nd goal to Kempston, I had a safe enough game. Didn't have a lot to do to be honest. To be fair, I wasn't wholly concentrated on the game, because Mr Brown and CC were behind my goal creating nuisance!
So, we lost 1-0, and after all the formalities, we went into the bar until around midnight. I spent most of the time talking to the referee for the evening about this, that and the other, re-living crazy memories from the UCL days and after being kicked out at about 11:45, we went home.
Well, I did. Everyone else from the squad, (bar a couple), went out on the town, and yes, that does involve Father Mitten. I wasn't feeling quite up to it, as I have been ill and I do have a match to referee later, and was slightly more reserved in being told that there might be trouble... Cheers mate! However, about 15 minutes ago, I hear that Father Mitten is, "finished" and "well drunk". I fear a role reversal from last year...
To be honest, there's not a lot more else to say. The game was played in a fantastic manner, (I don't think there was a single card shown!), and MOST people were happy enough after the game. You have to be a good loser aswell as a good winner, and like I said yesterday, I would be pleased, whatever the result, unless I had a mare. And I certainly didn't have one of those!
Bring on tomorrow, which I am just not thinking about to be honest. Apparently, as I found out tonight, the last time these 2 teams met there was a 21-man brawl, so should be all cosy! I should go to sleep... But I honestly think I may get a call asking to be a taxi...
Stay awake it is then.
But we didn't lose emphatically. On paper, we should have been thrashed but we more than held our own, against a team that didn't really have a lot to throw at us. They were just playing a Peter Crouch lookalike up front and getting him to hold it up for their left winger, (who was like Ryan Giggs in his heyday!) We marked him out the game though, so they didn't have a lot else.
I'm blabbering, because quite frankly, the best bits are from after the game. The game itself was very even, and we were maybe slightly unlucky to not get more out of it. The goal was a good finish, not a lot I could do about it, and despite a comical slip by myself in the 2nd half, that drew a lot of sarcastic cheering from the strong crowd and NEARLY gifting a 2nd goal to Kempston, I had a safe enough game. Didn't have a lot to do to be honest. To be fair, I wasn't wholly concentrated on the game, because Mr Brown and CC were behind my goal creating nuisance!
So, we lost 1-0, and after all the formalities, we went into the bar until around midnight. I spent most of the time talking to the referee for the evening about this, that and the other, re-living crazy memories from the UCL days and after being kicked out at about 11:45, we went home.
Well, I did. Everyone else from the squad, (bar a couple), went out on the town, and yes, that does involve Father Mitten. I wasn't feeling quite up to it, as I have been ill and I do have a match to referee later, and was slightly more reserved in being told that there might be trouble... Cheers mate! However, about 15 minutes ago, I hear that Father Mitten is, "finished" and "well drunk". I fear a role reversal from last year...
To be honest, there's not a lot more else to say. The game was played in a fantastic manner, (I don't think there was a single card shown!), and MOST people were happy enough after the game. You have to be a good loser aswell as a good winner, and like I said yesterday, I would be pleased, whatever the result, unless I had a mare. And I certainly didn't have one of those!
Bring on tomorrow, which I am just not thinking about to be honest. Apparently, as I found out tonight, the last time these 2 teams met there was a 21-man brawl, so should be all cosy! I should go to sleep... But I honestly think I may get a call asking to be a taxi...
Stay awake it is then.
Friday 15 April 2011
Where Have You Gone Joe Di Maggio?
Why? Why? Why? Why am I wide awake at 5am? I can't explain the frustration surrounding it. I got less hours sleepage yesterday to try and get back to some sort of normality, yet I find myself awake at stupid o'clock. I think I may know the reasoning behind it.
I don't do anything with my day. I mean, I had cricket training for a couple of hours, which involved a bit of half-hearted bowling, a couple of fielding exercises and a bat, (which is, let's face it, not overly exertive). That's it. Nothing else. Well, I went to the pub, but you can't exactly call that, "tiring yourself out" can you... I'm stuck like this until I can find something that will take my days up to a sufficient tiring standard and I can get to sleep before the change of day.
Unfortunately, we all know what's coming. Unfortunately, despite trying to kid myself and prove my parents wrong, I have no other choice but to admit I was wrong. I need a job. However much I dislike it, however much I desperately, desperately don't want to spend my days locked up in a dead-end space of nothingness, I also desperately, desperately want to get out of this vicious circle of nothingness, and there is only one route out.I suppose the money would come in handy aswell.. You see, I did try to get to sleep once again, but nothing happened. Tonight, my topic of thoughts based around Refereeing and University. Or a mixture of both. My thoughts on donning the black attire remain the same. I am still undecided. If I get a job, I may be more inclined to be more truthful to myself, but until that stage, I have no choice but to remain a referee. Whether I want to or not, is another matter. University? Well, there is so much to think about regarding that, I may never be able to sleep again, (God forbid!), but thankfully, I am trying to ignore the lure of university life until it becomes so close, I can smell it. At the moment, it's only in the horizon. Just like the Sun that is just about rising now...
Someone asked me earlier, "Do you ever sleep?", which I found quite comical, as I am quite possibly the laziest person on the planet. I do myself no favours, as discussed yesterday, but we won't go there again...
And for those of you who are wondering, I was listening to Simon & Garfunkel. And what?
I don't do anything with my day. I mean, I had cricket training for a couple of hours, which involved a bit of half-hearted bowling, a couple of fielding exercises and a bat, (which is, let's face it, not overly exertive). That's it. Nothing else. Well, I went to the pub, but you can't exactly call that, "tiring yourself out" can you... I'm stuck like this until I can find something that will take my days up to a sufficient tiring standard and I can get to sleep before the change of day.
Unfortunately, we all know what's coming. Unfortunately, despite trying to kid myself and prove my parents wrong, I have no other choice but to admit I was wrong. I need a job. However much I dislike it, however much I desperately, desperately don't want to spend my days locked up in a dead-end space of nothingness, I also desperately, desperately want to get out of this vicious circle of nothingness, and there is only one route out.I suppose the money would come in handy aswell.. You see, I did try to get to sleep once again, but nothing happened. Tonight, my topic of thoughts based around Refereeing and University. Or a mixture of both. My thoughts on donning the black attire remain the same. I am still undecided. If I get a job, I may be more inclined to be more truthful to myself, but until that stage, I have no choice but to remain a referee. Whether I want to or not, is another matter. University? Well, there is so much to think about regarding that, I may never be able to sleep again, (God forbid!), but thankfully, I am trying to ignore the lure of university life until it becomes so close, I can smell it. At the moment, it's only in the horizon. Just like the Sun that is just about rising now...
Someone asked me earlier, "Do you ever sleep?", which I found quite comical, as I am quite possibly the laziest person on the planet. I do myself no favours, as discussed yesterday, but we won't go there again...
And for those of you who are wondering, I was listening to Simon & Garfunkel. And what?
In Preperation
The day has come. Friday 15th April.
To be honest, my nerves are nothing compared to last year. Last year, same stage and same venue. The night before I seem to remember tearing my own eyes out and had a monstrous nightmare at doing a brilliant Massimo Taibi impression. The starting line-up has been distributed, with the obvious happy and sad faces no doubt distributed in equal measure.
On paper, our challenge is much greater. Last year, the final was against a team a few places lower than us in the same division. This year, they are a few places higher but in the division above. About 15 places seperate us, and in Sunday morning football, that's a fair gap. I have heard many a rumour about how their strikers are less footballers, more giants, and I have seen their results over the season. Many 7's and 8's litter their scores like a dog litters the local park. I fear it may be a challenge, but a challenge that the inconsistent team we call, MAFC, can certainly overcome. We've just got to hope we turn up with our A-Game. Or maybe our A*-Game.. Or maybe Warner can dive again?
Still, I am a bit excited for the occasion. More so than I was last year, where nerves and apprehensiveness certainly took over. I know what it's going to be like this time. I know what to expect, and despite not playing since this time last week, I am fairly confident I will have a solid enough game. My expectations are exactly the same as last year, however. I don't mind if we win or lose, just as long as I don't lose it for us. As a goalkeeper, you ALWAYS feel awful, if you see your teammates putting their spleens on the line for a positive result, only for you to fumble an easy cross and gift the opposition victory on a silver platter. You don't do anything strenuous for the whole game, and then you go and give it to them anyway. There is nothing worse, and despite not really minding what the outcome will be, in front of what will be a big crowd, on a fairly big stage, you don't want that as a sportsman. You don't want that as a human being... All you want, is for the Devil to open up a portal into the Underworld so you can sink slowly into invisibility.
There is still something I am slightly nervous about, however. The fact that, if we win, I am going to have to venture into town to celebrate. And we all know what happened last time don't we, folks? I do have two options. I can either play it very safe, and not go out at all, (although I am told Father Mitten is even going to make an appearance if we do), or I can go out and take it very easy. If we lose, the choice is easy. Save money and move on, don't "drown your sorrows". If we win, I might lose control. Who knows! I am refereeing on Saturday however, and pulling off the game on Saturday morning due to "illness", (incidentally, talking to the same man who will referee tomorrow's cup final), isn't really going to work. We'll see.
Back to the present, (or very near past), this evening was rather interesting. The topic of 'karaoke' has popped up on many an occasion, and after a little bit of deliberation, me and Ridgway decided to go and kidnap a few people and go down to the pub. What we found on arrival however, was a very quiet local with no singing. It's tomorrow... Oh well. It saved us the embarrassment, and we instead spent a fair few quid on the quiz machine, (in fairness, winning half of it back!), and went home via the obvious place, and decided it was actually a success after all. Can't complain.
Watch out for tomorrow evening's post, where I will probably be explaining how I lost us the cup final.
To be honest, my nerves are nothing compared to last year. Last year, same stage and same venue. The night before I seem to remember tearing my own eyes out and had a monstrous nightmare at doing a brilliant Massimo Taibi impression. The starting line-up has been distributed, with the obvious happy and sad faces no doubt distributed in equal measure.
On paper, our challenge is much greater. Last year, the final was against a team a few places lower than us in the same division. This year, they are a few places higher but in the division above. About 15 places seperate us, and in Sunday morning football, that's a fair gap. I have heard many a rumour about how their strikers are less footballers, more giants, and I have seen their results over the season. Many 7's and 8's litter their scores like a dog litters the local park. I fear it may be a challenge, but a challenge that the inconsistent team we call, MAFC, can certainly overcome. We've just got to hope we turn up with our A-Game. Or maybe our A*-Game.. Or maybe Warner can dive again?
Still, I am a bit excited for the occasion. More so than I was last year, where nerves and apprehensiveness certainly took over. I know what it's going to be like this time. I know what to expect, and despite not playing since this time last week, I am fairly confident I will have a solid enough game. My expectations are exactly the same as last year, however. I don't mind if we win or lose, just as long as I don't lose it for us. As a goalkeeper, you ALWAYS feel awful, if you see your teammates putting their spleens on the line for a positive result, only for you to fumble an easy cross and gift the opposition victory on a silver platter. You don't do anything strenuous for the whole game, and then you go and give it to them anyway. There is nothing worse, and despite not really minding what the outcome will be, in front of what will be a big crowd, on a fairly big stage, you don't want that as a sportsman. You don't want that as a human being... All you want, is for the Devil to open up a portal into the Underworld so you can sink slowly into invisibility.
There is still something I am slightly nervous about, however. The fact that, if we win, I am going to have to venture into town to celebrate. And we all know what happened last time don't we, folks? I do have two options. I can either play it very safe, and not go out at all, (although I am told Father Mitten is even going to make an appearance if we do), or I can go out and take it very easy. If we lose, the choice is easy. Save money and move on, don't "drown your sorrows". If we win, I might lose control. Who knows! I am refereeing on Saturday however, and pulling off the game on Saturday morning due to "illness", (incidentally, talking to the same man who will referee tomorrow's cup final), isn't really going to work. We'll see.
Back to the present, (or very near past), this evening was rather interesting. The topic of 'karaoke' has popped up on many an occasion, and after a little bit of deliberation, me and Ridgway decided to go and kidnap a few people and go down to the pub. What we found on arrival however, was a very quiet local with no singing. It's tomorrow... Oh well. It saved us the embarrassment, and we instead spent a fair few quid on the quiz machine, (in fairness, winning half of it back!), and went home via the obvious place, and decided it was actually a success after all. Can't complain.
Watch out for tomorrow evening's post, where I will probably be explaining how I lost us the cup final.
Thursday 14 April 2011
Dreams
Oh yes. The time has come again, ladies and gents. Nocturnality has occurred and now it's gotten so far out of hand that I reckon today is going to be another day that needs to be chased. I spent most of yesterday asleep, after that weird, short-lived, head-ruining illness that seems to have evaporated with the sunshine. Now, I am left with that difficult decision. Try and sleep and stay an owl. Or stay awake for as long as possible.
There are factors that decide this fate. 1) I have already tried to sleep for about 2 hours, with no success and very considerable interruption, which I may, or may not get into. 2) I have activity during the day to consider for this weekend and 3) Everything has suddenly revolved around the Cup Final. And yes, I do mean, everything.
To be fair, I don't do myself any favours whilst trying to get to sleep. I did sleep for 17 hours yesterday, (give or take a few due to weird shivering), and only awoke at the dizzy heights of 5pm, still with a headache. Given this, I was never expecting to go straight back to sleep but dreams of ambition and glory don't improve matters. I decided to TRY and get back to sleep at around 3.30am, as I reckoned this was late, (or early) enough. After wishing fellow insomniacs a good morning, I did nothing but lay there. For the first hour, I lay staring at the dark ceiling imagining that I was going to score the winning goal in this week's cup final. Obviously, given I am a keeper, this is near impossible. But the goal I was imagining was outrageous. It was a goal that Roberto Carlos would say, "Woah" to, and for those of you who are thinking, "Who?", just imagine greatness, concealed in a 5ft 5 bald Brazilian. Come 04.30, I may have just been drifting off, only to be half-awoken by the vibration of my old, 20th century mobile. There is only one person who can text me at this time, but it wasn't him. It was a number I did not know. I opened it...
No. I am not going to put it on here. This text was the height of awkwardness, of an Autumn episode that was long and drawn out and almost pointless, but to bring it back up now is almost unfair. Going to sleep with this monkey on my back is now nearly impossible. Sigh...
So, I am now subjecting myself to what should be a Nato approved form of torture. The worst thing to happen to any human, a day full of tiredness and fighting the urge to sleep. I will give in however, as with most things, at around 2pm, and probably make my nocturnal habit dip to a new level of low. I might well fall asleep in time for kick off come Friday.. Talking of the Cup Final, the anticipation, and more particularly, nervousness, isn't even coming close to last years. Last year, I was counting down the hours from about 3 weeks before, throwing up before, (and after), the match through nerves, (and maybe a bit of alcohol), and spent most of the match worried I was going to "do a Gomes". This year, (although there is still time for it to change), I am more worried about my back foot batting technique and the fact I still need to apply for University accommodation. Some would argue the latter is more important, but try telling that to an ever-enthusiastic Father Mitten!
I say all this, but my eyes still feel as if they are in need of a rest... I am going to have to make a decision of whether to go to sleep and wake up after a few hours or stay up for ever and ever. Knowing me, I'll choose, "Sleep now, and sleep forever"... Yep.
There are factors that decide this fate. 1) I have already tried to sleep for about 2 hours, with no success and very considerable interruption, which I may, or may not get into. 2) I have activity during the day to consider for this weekend and 3) Everything has suddenly revolved around the Cup Final. And yes, I do mean, everything.
To be fair, I don't do myself any favours whilst trying to get to sleep. I did sleep for 17 hours yesterday, (give or take a few due to weird shivering), and only awoke at the dizzy heights of 5pm, still with a headache. Given this, I was never expecting to go straight back to sleep but dreams of ambition and glory don't improve matters. I decided to TRY and get back to sleep at around 3.30am, as I reckoned this was late, (or early) enough. After wishing fellow insomniacs a good morning, I did nothing but lay there. For the first hour, I lay staring at the dark ceiling imagining that I was going to score the winning goal in this week's cup final. Obviously, given I am a keeper, this is near impossible. But the goal I was imagining was outrageous. It was a goal that Roberto Carlos would say, "Woah" to, and for those of you who are thinking, "Who?", just imagine greatness, concealed in a 5ft 5 bald Brazilian. Come 04.30, I may have just been drifting off, only to be half-awoken by the vibration of my old, 20th century mobile. There is only one person who can text me at this time, but it wasn't him. It was a number I did not know. I opened it...
No. I am not going to put it on here. This text was the height of awkwardness, of an Autumn episode that was long and drawn out and almost pointless, but to bring it back up now is almost unfair. Going to sleep with this monkey on my back is now nearly impossible. Sigh...
So, I am now subjecting myself to what should be a Nato approved form of torture. The worst thing to happen to any human, a day full of tiredness and fighting the urge to sleep. I will give in however, as with most things, at around 2pm, and probably make my nocturnal habit dip to a new level of low. I might well fall asleep in time for kick off come Friday.. Talking of the Cup Final, the anticipation, and more particularly, nervousness, isn't even coming close to last years. Last year, I was counting down the hours from about 3 weeks before, throwing up before, (and after), the match through nerves, (and maybe a bit of alcohol), and spent most of the match worried I was going to "do a Gomes". This year, (although there is still time for it to change), I am more worried about my back foot batting technique and the fact I still need to apply for University accommodation. Some would argue the latter is more important, but try telling that to an ever-enthusiastic Father Mitten!
I say all this, but my eyes still feel as if they are in need of a rest... I am going to have to make a decision of whether to go to sleep and wake up after a few hours or stay up for ever and ever. Knowing me, I'll choose, "Sleep now, and sleep forever"... Yep.
Wednesday 13 April 2011
Big Week Down the Metaphorical Drain?
This week is a fairly big week. After the heroics of last weekend, this week had a lot of pressure to live up to expectations. Despite not going close, the best is yet to come. Or is it?
It's Wednesday morning. It's 5:40am. I'm shivering whilst burning up at the same time, my head feels as if it's been pummelled to the floor with a particularly large sledgehammer and someone may have set fire to my throat during the very few hours I managed to get to sleep, with the sneezes that are now appearing due to the Devil Illness that is Hayfever, it's safe to say I'm not in the best of ways. So, why am I on a laptop in the ridiculously early hours of the morning you may ask? Nope. I don't know either. But it's a distraction, and talking to you lot and listening to The Jam, is better than staring into space, trying to decide if your limbs are situated in the Sahara or the Arctic Circle.
It would of been much better if I had been ill this time last night. Then, I wouldn't of had to attend the most pointless session ever devised by mankind. Seetec meetings are meetings for the unemployed. Meetings for people on Jobseekers and meetings to help people find work. At least I think it was, as the fat, balding man sat at a desk and inundated our brains with pointless facts about the Jeremy Kyle watching, Beer drinking, lazy idiots that were, us. He didn't tell us a single thing that I didn't already know and spent the whole 90 minutes talking in a monotonous tone that was enough to send the most workaholiced man to sleep. It nearly even made me late for golf, although in the end it didn't, and I shot a modest 85. Beddoe hit an eagle on the 4th. I nearly hit a swan on the 16th. Don't ask.
So, I was fine yesterday. No hint of an illness, although I did have a bit of a sore throat but nothing too life threatening. After the pub quiz, which was definitely a case of So Near Yet so Yen, me and Ridgway drove home, (via McDonalds, of course!), and it was at this point where I didn't feel too well. I even went to sleep before midnight, which is most certainly a rarity these days, and I awoke 5 hours later, to find my senses had deserted me. Ruined.
And just as the week was starting to get interesting. I was due to referee tonight at Biggleswade Utd, earning what would be some very useful bucks, and getting back on the game for the final stretch before the close season. However, I reckon I might have to make some awkward phone calls to a few people. Friday, of course, is the date to remember. 15th April, means another MAFC Cup Final. If I am not well for that, our already slim chance of pulling off a shock win, will be cut even further and then I'm refereeing your bog standard league come Saturday. If I stay like this, I might make a few people a bit unhappy. But what can you do?
Well, given my head is exploding just looking at the screen, I suppose it might be a good idea to go back to bed.. My bad!
It's Wednesday morning. It's 5:40am. I'm shivering whilst burning up at the same time, my head feels as if it's been pummelled to the floor with a particularly large sledgehammer and someone may have set fire to my throat during the very few hours I managed to get to sleep, with the sneezes that are now appearing due to the Devil Illness that is Hayfever, it's safe to say I'm not in the best of ways. So, why am I on a laptop in the ridiculously early hours of the morning you may ask? Nope. I don't know either. But it's a distraction, and talking to you lot and listening to The Jam, is better than staring into space, trying to decide if your limbs are situated in the Sahara or the Arctic Circle.
It would of been much better if I had been ill this time last night. Then, I wouldn't of had to attend the most pointless session ever devised by mankind. Seetec meetings are meetings for the unemployed. Meetings for people on Jobseekers and meetings to help people find work. At least I think it was, as the fat, balding man sat at a desk and inundated our brains with pointless facts about the Jeremy Kyle watching, Beer drinking, lazy idiots that were, us. He didn't tell us a single thing that I didn't already know and spent the whole 90 minutes talking in a monotonous tone that was enough to send the most workaholiced man to sleep. It nearly even made me late for golf, although in the end it didn't, and I shot a modest 85. Beddoe hit an eagle on the 4th. I nearly hit a swan on the 16th. Don't ask.
So, I was fine yesterday. No hint of an illness, although I did have a bit of a sore throat but nothing too life threatening. After the pub quiz, which was definitely a case of So Near Yet so Yen, me and Ridgway drove home, (via McDonalds, of course!), and it was at this point where I didn't feel too well. I even went to sleep before midnight, which is most certainly a rarity these days, and I awoke 5 hours later, to find my senses had deserted me. Ruined.
And just as the week was starting to get interesting. I was due to referee tonight at Biggleswade Utd, earning what would be some very useful bucks, and getting back on the game for the final stretch before the close season. However, I reckon I might have to make some awkward phone calls to a few people. Friday, of course, is the date to remember. 15th April, means another MAFC Cup Final. If I am not well for that, our already slim chance of pulling off a shock win, will be cut even further and then I'm refereeing your bog standard league come Saturday. If I stay like this, I might make a few people a bit unhappy. But what can you do?
Well, given my head is exploding just looking at the screen, I suppose it might be a good idea to go back to bed.. My bad!
Monday 11 April 2011
Top Banana
This weekend has been of the most epic of proportions. Beautiful weather, great friends, wasted and ridiculous times and a lil bit of sport. What more can you ask for?
I had a free weekend from football as the planned trip didn't really materialise as planned, so had time to fill, and filled it with comparative ease. Time was spent getting drunk, soaking up the rays and attempting to throw Beddoe in the lake. All in a weekend's worth of fun and "hawkward" antics.
The weekend started with a night in good old classic B-Town, with all of the returning University people plus the usual Bedford crowd. Probably 20 of us in total, and it has to rank up there as one of the best. The pre-drinks were a bit quiet, with a couple of newcomers to the ranks. Taiwanese Tina and Ellie Goulding taking it particularly easy, resisting the pressure from the professional wasters that myself and Beddoe definitely are. Lili however, was racing ahead of the crowd, seeing off whole glasses of straight vodka with the ease of a trotting horse. (It was only water...) After we got our minibus to town, trying to not to put the cabbie in an uncompromising position, we made our way to Chameleon to meet the rest of the gang and proceeded to sink slowly into our drinking trousers. Many attempted rapes from Fallis were just about escaped from, although Eddy failed to escape being tipped on his head, and many a photo were taken to add to what I will now call, Taiwanese Tina's Tourist Tally. After what seemed like forever, we made our way to Saints and despite more attempts from Fallis to gain attention and a definite rape from everyone on me, because, apparently, it's now a "rule" for a guy to end up without his shirt for the rest of the night, and that night was my turn! Great. I didn't let it get out of hand however. I reckon Beddoe and co. may have just got jealous of my superior physique. Ahem... Anyway, including the now famous photos for the TTTT, the night itself was adjudged by all to be fantastic. Saints has strange stages of music, where they play popular Indie and Dance tracks to just ... well... it was noise, quite frankly. During these, "noises", we went to fill up our stomachs with alcohol and came back for the good stuff. After a dodgy cardboard-tasting burger from Marrrrrrio's, we got a minibus home via Kenya, (a.k.a Renhold), and after half-a-revelation from Fallis, made it home and after some compulsory half-intoxicated Facebooking, went to sleep.
But not for long. Nope. I was awake at 1.30pm, (Practically an early morning start nowadays!), for a planned trip to Bedford Park to enjoy the evident Sun. Despite it being only 20 degrees, it was apparently a Heatwave? Anyway, we spent a fantastic day lazing around, playing football, finding out that Kettle is a more talented actor than footballer, nearly throwing Beddoe in the lake and retrieving the football from said lake. I won't mention my teams humiliating loss in the Rounders match, but luckily, everyone had seemed to forgotten what the forfeit was for the losing captain, so remained silent. I think Mother Mitten would have been seething to find me coming home soaking wet and smelling of lake water, which may include anything from duck faeces to anaconda skin. After even more photos to the TTTT, we made our way to Bankers for a sort of late dinner, then made our way home before being inticed on a night out, even if we were wearing shorts, flip-flops and all other sorts of summer gear!
Once again, I didn't get to sleep until the very late morning, and woke up today to find we were playing golf. A late idea, but none the less, a successful one. My last game was... well, it was last Summer, so I wasn't expecting to be fantastic. I started slow but a strong finish, (plus a professional looking chip-in on the 3rd!), saw me land with a solid enough 85, and we all went home happy. After tonight's pub quiz, in which our team should have just been called 'Adam Jones' instead of 'Quizzie Rascal', (due to his superior intelligence), and nearly being killed by speed bumps on the way home that make Becher's Brook look tiny, I have just one thing to say.
This weekend, as Reggie Yates would say ... Top Banana!
I had a free weekend from football as the planned trip didn't really materialise as planned, so had time to fill, and filled it with comparative ease. Time was spent getting drunk, soaking up the rays and attempting to throw Beddoe in the lake. All in a weekend's worth of fun and "hawkward" antics.
The weekend started with a night in good old classic B-Town, with all of the returning University people plus the usual Bedford crowd. Probably 20 of us in total, and it has to rank up there as one of the best. The pre-drinks were a bit quiet, with a couple of newcomers to the ranks. Taiwanese Tina and Ellie Goulding taking it particularly easy, resisting the pressure from the professional wasters that myself and Beddoe definitely are. Lili however, was racing ahead of the crowd, seeing off whole glasses of straight vodka with the ease of a trotting horse. (It was only water...) After we got our minibus to town, trying to not to put the cabbie in an uncompromising position, we made our way to Chameleon to meet the rest of the gang and proceeded to sink slowly into our drinking trousers. Many attempted rapes from Fallis were just about escaped from, although Eddy failed to escape being tipped on his head, and many a photo were taken to add to what I will now call, Taiwanese Tina's Tourist Tally. After what seemed like forever, we made our way to Saints and despite more attempts from Fallis to gain attention and a definite rape from everyone on me, because, apparently, it's now a "rule" for a guy to end up without his shirt for the rest of the night, and that night was my turn! Great. I didn't let it get out of hand however. I reckon Beddoe and co. may have just got jealous of my superior physique. Ahem... Anyway, including the now famous photos for the TTTT, the night itself was adjudged by all to be fantastic. Saints has strange stages of music, where they play popular Indie and Dance tracks to just ... well... it was noise, quite frankly. During these, "noises", we went to fill up our stomachs with alcohol and came back for the good stuff. After a dodgy cardboard-tasting burger from Marrrrrrio's, we got a minibus home via Kenya, (a.k.a Renhold), and after half-a-revelation from Fallis, made it home and after some compulsory half-intoxicated Facebooking, went to sleep.
But not for long. Nope. I was awake at 1.30pm, (Practically an early morning start nowadays!), for a planned trip to Bedford Park to enjoy the evident Sun. Despite it being only 20 degrees, it was apparently a Heatwave? Anyway, we spent a fantastic day lazing around, playing football, finding out that Kettle is a more talented actor than footballer, nearly throwing Beddoe in the lake and retrieving the football from said lake. I won't mention my teams humiliating loss in the Rounders match, but luckily, everyone had seemed to forgotten what the forfeit was for the losing captain, so remained silent. I think Mother Mitten would have been seething to find me coming home soaking wet and smelling of lake water, which may include anything from duck faeces to anaconda skin. After even more photos to the TTTT, we made our way to Bankers for a sort of late dinner, then made our way home before being inticed on a night out, even if we were wearing shorts, flip-flops and all other sorts of summer gear!
Once again, I didn't get to sleep until the very late morning, and woke up today to find we were playing golf. A late idea, but none the less, a successful one. My last game was... well, it was last Summer, so I wasn't expecting to be fantastic. I started slow but a strong finish, (plus a professional looking chip-in on the 3rd!), saw me land with a solid enough 85, and we all went home happy. After tonight's pub quiz, in which our team should have just been called 'Adam Jones' instead of 'Quizzie Rascal', (due to his superior intelligence), and nearly being killed by speed bumps on the way home that make Becher's Brook look tiny, I have just one thing to say.
This weekend, as Reggie Yates would say ... Top Banana!
Thursday 7 April 2011
April Fool for a Complete Fool
I cannot believe I forgot to mention this.
Myself, Kettle and Master Ridgway, (although Ridgway at a much later date), decided we should play some sort of April Fools joke on one of 'The Hawkers'. Many potentials were discussed with many potential targets deliberated, (ok, there wasn't). There was only one man who could believe such an elaborate story with grace and respect. Mr.Beddoe.
The story was devised fairly quickly by myself. We would convince Beddoe that he had been nominated for a ... for a... Haha! It sounds so ridiculous. For a, Prince's Trust "Friendship Award". That's right. Beddoe had been nominated, by myself, for being a best friend! Friend! Best friend! Friends forever and ever! He would be on a shortlist of 10 for the 'Michael Stephenson Award'. An award recognising friends who had helped others through a particularly difficult patch in their lives. Seeing as it was a sensitive subject, we figured that Beddoe, (already being massively gullible), would have no choice but to receive it graciously, with the full belief that he was in the running to receive an award from Prince Charlie himself, and a cheque for £500 to go with it! The stage was set.
I spent most of a night devising a professional letter, sent to Beddoe's address in Manchester, with a hand-written envelope from none other than Mother Mitten! The best part of the prank however, came courtesy of Kettle, who suggested we should, "Make him work for it". So, "Diane Carter, Communications Director for the National Office of the Prince's Trust", (a.k.a Mitten), told Beddoe that he had to write a 500 word essay on why he should be the recipient of this coveted award. Excellent.
This is where Ridgway comes in. Where would Beddoe send his passage? We couldn't exactly say, "send it to Mitten", because that's too obvious! So, with the massive help of Ridgway, we managed to buy an email address, (diane.carter@theprincestrust.org.uk .... highly convincing!), and get Beddoe to send it to that!
It worked. Beddoe, the gullible fool that he is, spent all night working out what to put with his 500 word limit and proceeded, after a fair few hours, to send it. To me. It was brilliant. Just brilliant.
Not long after however, Beddoe worked out it was a prank after running a few Google searches, to find there was no such person as 'Michael Stephenson' or 'Diane Carter' and there were no such awards. I suppose this is a good thing. What we had planned, was not only expensive for all of us, but even more brilliant. We had planned to tell Beddoe, via e-mail, as we now had his address, that he had won, and to send him to a posh hotel in London to collect his award. There was a slight hiccup when he announced he was in Scotland on the date of the ceremony, but we would of fought around it! The meer fact that we got Beddoe to work for his so-called, "award" however, and the reaction we got from a classic ANGRY BEDDOE, was enough to call the prank a success. I also hear he got ripped apart from his University housemates aswell, which added spice to the occasion! Oh Beddoe. We will never tire in embarrassing you! However, to avoid any further embarrassment, and JUST IN CASE, you were thinking of joining me as dressing up as a panda come Friday. Don't. You'll be alone in doing so. ;)
Myself, Kettle and Master Ridgway, (although Ridgway at a much later date), decided we should play some sort of April Fools joke on one of 'The Hawkers'. Many potentials were discussed with many potential targets deliberated, (ok, there wasn't). There was only one man who could believe such an elaborate story with grace and respect. Mr.Beddoe.
The story was devised fairly quickly by myself. We would convince Beddoe that he had been nominated for a ... for a... Haha! It sounds so ridiculous. For a, Prince's Trust "Friendship Award". That's right. Beddoe had been nominated, by myself, for being a best friend! Friend! Best friend! Friends forever and ever! He would be on a shortlist of 10 for the 'Michael Stephenson Award'. An award recognising friends who had helped others through a particularly difficult patch in their lives. Seeing as it was a sensitive subject, we figured that Beddoe, (already being massively gullible), would have no choice but to receive it graciously, with the full belief that he was in the running to receive an award from Prince Charlie himself, and a cheque for £500 to go with it! The stage was set.
I spent most of a night devising a professional letter, sent to Beddoe's address in Manchester, with a hand-written envelope from none other than Mother Mitten! The best part of the prank however, came courtesy of Kettle, who suggested we should, "Make him work for it". So, "Diane Carter, Communications Director for the National Office of the Prince's Trust", (a.k.a Mitten), told Beddoe that he had to write a 500 word essay on why he should be the recipient of this coveted award. Excellent.
This is where Ridgway comes in. Where would Beddoe send his passage? We couldn't exactly say, "send it to Mitten", because that's too obvious! So, with the massive help of Ridgway, we managed to buy an email address, (diane.carter@theprincestrust.org.uk .... highly convincing!), and get Beddoe to send it to that!
It worked. Beddoe, the gullible fool that he is, spent all night working out what to put with his 500 word limit and proceeded, after a fair few hours, to send it. To me. It was brilliant. Just brilliant.
Not long after however, Beddoe worked out it was a prank after running a few Google searches, to find there was no such person as 'Michael Stephenson' or 'Diane Carter' and there were no such awards. I suppose this is a good thing. What we had planned, was not only expensive for all of us, but even more brilliant. We had planned to tell Beddoe, via e-mail, as we now had his address, that he had won, and to send him to a posh hotel in London to collect his award. There was a slight hiccup when he announced he was in Scotland on the date of the ceremony, but we would of fought around it! The meer fact that we got Beddoe to work for his so-called, "award" however, and the reaction we got from a classic ANGRY BEDDOE, was enough to call the prank a success. I also hear he got ripped apart from his University housemates aswell, which added spice to the occasion! Oh Beddoe. We will never tire in embarrassing you! However, to avoid any further embarrassment, and JUST IN CASE, you were thinking of joining me as dressing up as a panda come Friday. Don't. You'll be alone in doing so. ;)
Monday 4 April 2011
That'll Teach Me to Underestimate!
So, another weekend of football has been and gone and it was another case of 'The Opposites'. The games I thought were going to be uneventful, were as eventful as an Attitude Era Wrestlemania Event, (Sorry, but they were amazing?), and the sole game I thought was going to be eventful, turned out to be less interesting than watching a cow graze.
We'll start with the cows. On Saturday afternoon, after a late change of plan, I was sent to Renhold to officiate a 4-0 victory for Renhold Village over their corner shop counterparts, with very little incident and I won't even bother explaining the finer details of the match, with the main reason being, there weren't any. Incidentally, my Saturday night was spent watching 'Inglorious Basterds' for the 7th time, and eating an Easter Egg or 4, before getting to bed at an amazingly early 1.30am, in time for good old Mothering Sunday.
I have never really liked Mother's Day. The idea is good, and obviously I love my Mother very, very much, but as you've probably worked out by now, I don't do openly outbursts of affection very well. Given the trials and tribulations of the past couple of years, however, I do feel the need to let her know how much she means to me, and although every word of every card I write for her is absolutely truthful, I just KNOW that when time comes for the envelope to be thrown away, I KNOW I will sit down and think I've just written the worst drivel ever. Oh well.
Despite it being Mothering Sunday, the quota of football was still the same. Don't worry. Mum probably prefers it when she's on her own in the house for a bit, with no men around to distract her from the necessary activities. MAFC these days, not that I care, are languishing in mid-table, trying to ressurrect hopes of a promotion bid and we nearly came un-stuck against a side teetering towards relegation, but came out with a 2-1 victory with a, "gutsy" performance. Meh. I'm not bothered.
The real story of the weekend though rests deep into the afternoon of the Sunday, where I was refereeing your average, mid-table Under 15 clash. I saw this a good opportunity to iron out the technical issues of my refereeing that I had struggled with recently, but instead, it became a testosterone-filled, teenage slobber knocker, which finished with a grand total of 5 yellow cards and 2 reds. Not really what I was looking for, but considering I had gone into the game thinking that it was going to be much like the casual stroll in the park that last week was, it will certainly teach me not to underestimate the most simple of games. Even a few post final whistle words from both teams had to be stamped out by me, and with the manager's request of a red card for Violent Conduct to be downgraded to a yellow, briskly dismissed, I drove home.
After your usual ridiculously hard Sunday night pub quiz, I fell asleep particularly early, an unusual habit for a Sunday, and woke up today to get back into the same weekly routine of nothingness. A change for the weekend coming however, as I have cancelled all football as we await the return of 'The Hawkers'...
Oh dear....
We'll start with the cows. On Saturday afternoon, after a late change of plan, I was sent to Renhold to officiate a 4-0 victory for Renhold Village over their corner shop counterparts, with very little incident and I won't even bother explaining the finer details of the match, with the main reason being, there weren't any. Incidentally, my Saturday night was spent watching 'Inglorious Basterds' for the 7th time, and eating an Easter Egg or 4, before getting to bed at an amazingly early 1.30am, in time for good old Mothering Sunday.
I have never really liked Mother's Day. The idea is good, and obviously I love my Mother very, very much, but as you've probably worked out by now, I don't do openly outbursts of affection very well. Given the trials and tribulations of the past couple of years, however, I do feel the need to let her know how much she means to me, and although every word of every card I write for her is absolutely truthful, I just KNOW that when time comes for the envelope to be thrown away, I KNOW I will sit down and think I've just written the worst drivel ever. Oh well.
Despite it being Mothering Sunday, the quota of football was still the same. Don't worry. Mum probably prefers it when she's on her own in the house for a bit, with no men around to distract her from the necessary activities. MAFC these days, not that I care, are languishing in mid-table, trying to ressurrect hopes of a promotion bid and we nearly came un-stuck against a side teetering towards relegation, but came out with a 2-1 victory with a, "gutsy" performance. Meh. I'm not bothered.
The real story of the weekend though rests deep into the afternoon of the Sunday, where I was refereeing your average, mid-table Under 15 clash. I saw this a good opportunity to iron out the technical issues of my refereeing that I had struggled with recently, but instead, it became a testosterone-filled, teenage slobber knocker, which finished with a grand total of 5 yellow cards and 2 reds. Not really what I was looking for, but considering I had gone into the game thinking that it was going to be much like the casual stroll in the park that last week was, it will certainly teach me not to underestimate the most simple of games. Even a few post final whistle words from both teams had to be stamped out by me, and with the manager's request of a red card for Violent Conduct to be downgraded to a yellow, briskly dismissed, I drove home.
After your usual ridiculously hard Sunday night pub quiz, I fell asleep particularly early, an unusual habit for a Sunday, and woke up today to get back into the same weekly routine of nothingness. A change for the weekend coming however, as I have cancelled all football as we await the return of 'The Hawkers'...
Oh dear....
Saturday 2 April 2011
8 Ribena Lollies for £1
Someone told me the other day, "Working nights must have stuck with you". He said it as a joke, but I don't think he's that far off the mark. I've never been a morning person. I rarely go to bed early to wake up early, and I will be the first to admit that I like my sleep, a little too much. I never like waking up early, (let's face it, who does?), but I think I'm different. I will do ANYTHING to not wake up early. I will only wake up unless I really have to, or if I've had 12 hours of sleep preceeding it.
I've had a few cases of feigning illness to avoid school in the past. On a cold, wet, Monday morning, the last thing you want to do is leave your cosy, warm bed, so I didn't. I never did it for work though, because even I felt that was a bit childish, even if it looked like I did a couple of times. Coincedence. I never had to wake up that early for school either. I only live 5 minutes away, so I woke up at half 8 for a 9am start. Some people woke up at half 6! Half 6?! How?! This trait, or habit, has never really helped me. I've grown into a lazy, and some would say, idle, human being.
This is why I got a night shift job. I thought that, because I was definitely more of a night person, that I would find it easier. Sleep wise, I did. Socially, I almost became an outcast. Friends at university, and the people who stayed behind on a completely different sleeping pattern, matched with my habit of sleeping longer than I should, meant I became lonely. I thought, that when I quit, this would change.
It hasn't. The pattern of sleep is etched into my brain and with no structure or routine to work around, I gradually end up back to where I was for most of 2010. Sleeping away the mornings and staying awake with the owls. My weekdays become a classical version of the unemployed person and my weekends become a tiresome and exhausting journey as I pick myself up to do something, feeling massively lethargic along the way.
I figure that when University finally gets here, I will end up working at night and sleeping through the day, except for waking up early for the 2 full days of lectures I will have per week. This will be a challenge in itself. I do think I will work when I get there. I want to do the subject, and I think I know what I want to get out of it aswell, and this always helps. I'm starting to become conscious of what my peers think of me...
I had a dream last night. I say last night, it was probably around 10am. It was a simple dream. I dreamt I was at University, and I was sitting at my desk, researching the Development of Grassroots Football or whatever. I looked up at my wall, to see the words 'Make Them Proud' etched into the wallpaper. Then I woke up. That was it. And I haven't really stopped thinking about it since.
I attempted, and failed, to get back into what you would call a "normal" sleeping pattern, by going to sleep at 8pm, but I awoke at 12.30am, completely wide awake. The consequence of sleeping too much. A human being can only sleep so much, I suppose.
Which brings me to the title. Kettle was home from Coventry, so we had our belated trip to Tesco's at the ungodly hour of 3am. As I stepped out into the mild night air, I wondered what the hell we were doing, but we had a good catch up for an hour, going to Tesco's and buying 8 Ribena lollies for £1 and a bottle of Red Bull, driving around town laughing at drunk people falling over. Before the inevitable text from Mother Mitten asking where I was.
It's currently 05:18, and I suppose I should attempt another go at the whole sleep thing. Despite seeing off the whole stash of lollies, that will no doubt keep me awake. I have my usual game to referee tomorrow, adding 1 to my target of 20, and putting money into my wallet, but I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy it.. Same old story.
I've had a few cases of feigning illness to avoid school in the past. On a cold, wet, Monday morning, the last thing you want to do is leave your cosy, warm bed, so I didn't. I never did it for work though, because even I felt that was a bit childish, even if it looked like I did a couple of times. Coincedence. I never had to wake up that early for school either. I only live 5 minutes away, so I woke up at half 8 for a 9am start. Some people woke up at half 6! Half 6?! How?! This trait, or habit, has never really helped me. I've grown into a lazy, and some would say, idle, human being.
This is why I got a night shift job. I thought that, because I was definitely more of a night person, that I would find it easier. Sleep wise, I did. Socially, I almost became an outcast. Friends at university, and the people who stayed behind on a completely different sleeping pattern, matched with my habit of sleeping longer than I should, meant I became lonely. I thought, that when I quit, this would change.
It hasn't. The pattern of sleep is etched into my brain and with no structure or routine to work around, I gradually end up back to where I was for most of 2010. Sleeping away the mornings and staying awake with the owls. My weekdays become a classical version of the unemployed person and my weekends become a tiresome and exhausting journey as I pick myself up to do something, feeling massively lethargic along the way.
I figure that when University finally gets here, I will end up working at night and sleeping through the day, except for waking up early for the 2 full days of lectures I will have per week. This will be a challenge in itself. I do think I will work when I get there. I want to do the subject, and I think I know what I want to get out of it aswell, and this always helps. I'm starting to become conscious of what my peers think of me...
I had a dream last night. I say last night, it was probably around 10am. It was a simple dream. I dreamt I was at University, and I was sitting at my desk, researching the Development of Grassroots Football or whatever. I looked up at my wall, to see the words 'Make Them Proud' etched into the wallpaper. Then I woke up. That was it. And I haven't really stopped thinking about it since.
I attempted, and failed, to get back into what you would call a "normal" sleeping pattern, by going to sleep at 8pm, but I awoke at 12.30am, completely wide awake. The consequence of sleeping too much. A human being can only sleep so much, I suppose.
Which brings me to the title. Kettle was home from Coventry, so we had our belated trip to Tesco's at the ungodly hour of 3am. As I stepped out into the mild night air, I wondered what the hell we were doing, but we had a good catch up for an hour, going to Tesco's and buying 8 Ribena lollies for £1 and a bottle of Red Bull, driving around town laughing at drunk people falling over. Before the inevitable text from Mother Mitten asking where I was.
It's currently 05:18, and I suppose I should attempt another go at the whole sleep thing. Despite seeing off the whole stash of lollies, that will no doubt keep me awake. I have my usual game to referee tomorrow, adding 1 to my target of 20, and putting money into my wallet, but I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy it.. Same old story.
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