I'm 3 down, with 5 to go when it comes to my marathon set of shifts, and I have to say I'm not feeling any better on the illness front. I'm starting to sound a little bit like Chewbacca, coughing like a banshee and for an hour or two tonight, I was temporarily deaf, which wasn't handy when drunk people were attempting to tell me what they would like to kill themselves with, cigarette wise.
It's all gone haywire at the "berp" at the moment. For some reason, many, many people have been granted holiday, leaving the remaining servants, if that's a suitable word, to cover every shift. I did end up having last Thursday off, but I still have to do 8 nights out of 9, with a couple of other people doing similar shift patterns, and Legend Alex giving himself 10 duty manager shifts out of 10 to cover the workload. Many places are closed today, because of Her Majesty's Bank Holiday, but BP remains open, churning out fuel and other goods on a day-to-day basis, never ceasing. Never stopping. Never closing. The demands on that place are very high, and to be stuck there, on a full-time job, with very little option but to stay, must send you insane. I am pleased I am going to University soon.
Talking of which, I am starting to worry. Worrying that I don't really know how to prepare properly. Anxious that I might not really get the hang of going back into education, a few years after making a meal of the last time, and nervous that I might get landed with a group of morons who I will have no choice but to put up with. The negative side of things has come back to haunt me recently, and I'm afraid my brain can't really get out of the pessimistic method it uses to get by.
Cricket didn't happen again today. Probably a good thing, given my impending death. I didn't pull out this time, but the weather had other ideas, which means the season has ended on a very damp note. In review, I have had a poor season. Only two knocks of 119 and 80 are really worth talking about, although somehow I have finished with a higher average than last season. My fielding has probably lived up to it's high expectations, but I would honestly expect nothing less. It's time to avert attention, once more, on to football, and to concentrate on the ratio of playing to refereeing. I probably won't play when it comes to University, and I probably will end up refereeing down in Sussex, if I can sort it out. I'm not really certain how enthusiastic I am about it though, and whether I would want to wake up for 10.30am on a Sunday morning, after a Saturday night in Brighton...
Many questions, and not many answers at the moment. Will I make friends? Will I be able to get back into the education swing of things? Will I survive living on my own? Will I continue with the refereeing? Will I survive this acute case of the Black Plague and will the end of my marathon set of shifts ever come to an end? Only time will tell.
"Be who you are, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."
Monday 29 August 2011
Saturday 27 August 2011
Pandemic
There is a game on the interweb called 'Pandemic', (with sequels, Pandemic 2 and Pandemic 3). You are a disease and you have to earn enough points by contaminating large areas of the planet, so you can evolve, become more deadly and spread easier. You start with common symptoms, such as sneezing, coughing and sweating before building your way up to 'Tier IV', which includes things like kidney failure, Pneumonia and many other complicated words ending in 'ia', which is never good, and in the end, your disease kills off the entire planet. Except Madagascar, because on this game, Madagascar is somehow impossible to penetrate.
The point I'm trying to make is that I feel like Tier IV. No, I'm not physically about to die, but it damn well feels like it. I feel like I have SARS. This means I have been able to do nothing for the past week except sleep, work and go to Nando's, and this is never good. Eating delicious chicken, and paying for Beddoe to eat delicious chicken, is about as much as I could do this week. This illness is so bad, that I even had no choice but to pull out of cricket this morning, and that is almost unheard of. There are only 2 other times I have had to pull out. Once was my own fault, and I presume you can make your own conclusions on that one. And the other time, I played the day after and scored a ton, so hopefully the same recipe happens this weekend, the last weekend of the season.
Unfortunately, this mystery illness doesn't get me out of work. It could do, if I made it sound worse than it actually was, which is not what I'm doing at the moment, typing in here... *ahem*... I leave for work in roughly an hour, which I suppose is a good thing, as I will have other things to think about other than the impending death that will most certainly come my way if things carry on in the same vein..
Am I overhyping this a bit too much?
There is a good side to this illness however. If I hadn't of had this illness, I would of gone to work slightly unhappy, as the Hawkers Gang set off on another night out, dubbed 'The Last Night of Epicness 3', but seeing as I am dying, I would have not have been able to go out anyway. Instead, I will be going on what is now a fairly easy Saturday night in contrast to the "good ol' days", and earning money that will surely come in handy as I jet off down south to my new life. 1 shift down 7 to go, in my marathon set of night shifts, and given that the nurse on Friday told me to "get plenty of rest", doing night shifts followed by cricket isn't really the dictionary definition of that.
I shall be making an extra effort to play tomorrow though. The weather at the moment looks a bit American, but I see it should be good for tomorrow, and if that is the case, I shall don the whites, however well I am, and hope to make a contribution to the game. For now though, I will wish The Hawkers a good night, and get ready for a night of my own.
Cough.
The point I'm trying to make is that I feel like Tier IV. No, I'm not physically about to die, but it damn well feels like it. I feel like I have SARS. This means I have been able to do nothing for the past week except sleep, work and go to Nando's, and this is never good. Eating delicious chicken, and paying for Beddoe to eat delicious chicken, is about as much as I could do this week. This illness is so bad, that I even had no choice but to pull out of cricket this morning, and that is almost unheard of. There are only 2 other times I have had to pull out. Once was my own fault, and I presume you can make your own conclusions on that one. And the other time, I played the day after and scored a ton, so hopefully the same recipe happens this weekend, the last weekend of the season.
Unfortunately, this mystery illness doesn't get me out of work. It could do, if I made it sound worse than it actually was, which is not what I'm doing at the moment, typing in here... *ahem*... I leave for work in roughly an hour, which I suppose is a good thing, as I will have other things to think about other than the impending death that will most certainly come my way if things carry on in the same vein..
Am I overhyping this a bit too much?
There is a good side to this illness however. If I hadn't of had this illness, I would of gone to work slightly unhappy, as the Hawkers Gang set off on another night out, dubbed 'The Last Night of Epicness 3', but seeing as I am dying, I would have not have been able to go out anyway. Instead, I will be going on what is now a fairly easy Saturday night in contrast to the "good ol' days", and earning money that will surely come in handy as I jet off down south to my new life. 1 shift down 7 to go, in my marathon set of night shifts, and given that the nurse on Friday told me to "get plenty of rest", doing night shifts followed by cricket isn't really the dictionary definition of that.
I shall be making an extra effort to play tomorrow though. The weather at the moment looks a bit American, but I see it should be good for tomorrow, and if that is the case, I shall don the whites, however well I am, and hope to make a contribution to the game. For now though, I will wish The Hawkers a good night, and get ready for a night of my own.
Cough.
Friday 26 August 2011
A Mistimed Tweet
I have become addicted to Twitter recently. The last couple of months or so, I have tweeted constantly. Tweeted at my frustration at lack of form on the cricket field, tweeted at my frustration at being stuck at work at Nothing o'clock and tweeted my general frustration. Life is frustrating isn't it?
Twitter isn't though. Twitter is a tool I use to get rid of random thoughts that pop into my head every so often, and if you look through my 1,593 tweets so far, you will see moments of madness, boredom, happiness and annoyance. Occasionally though, it does bring me a bit of trouble. A controversial tweet here, a coincedental tweet there, and suddenly I'm on the Most Wanted list.
Bit of an exaggeration there, but tonight was a case of coincedental misfortune. It had seemed to Beddoe, that I had criticised him for going to Nandos despite having no money, but my tweet, "I think Mitten has been scammed", was more about how my colleague had screwed me over by not turning up for a shift I had given him. What Beddoe text me shall remain a secret, but I gathered he wasn't too happy at what he thought that tweet was about. In the end, I was left with a disgruntled friend, (but we have since kissed and made up!), and an even more disgruntled manager who was left rather short-staffed on what he said was a "stupidly busy" shift. I will, no doubt, be in trouble tomorrow for not turning up, despite not being expected, and we'll all get on with our dandy lives, with me beginning what will be 6 nights of unprecedented boredom. I shall probably sign some form that will go on my record as being AWOL, not care one jot, and get to work. I'm going to university in 29 days, 5 hours and 52 minutes, (not that I'm counting), so I don't care!
You can tell I'm waffling, because I'm trying to find things to do to fill up what has been a rather long night. I attempted to watch Series 7 of Red Dwarf, but fell 2 episodes short before moving on to watch gazillions of YouTube videos before starting a new game on Football Manager with Aston Villa. It is now 5:09am, with about another hour before I go to sleep, and I have resorted to listening to french radio, for the laughs. I can't really see what's funny about it, but its that time of morning where I really have given up trying to work out what my brain is trying to compute.
I start my marathon time at work tomorrow night, and have another full weekend of cricket coming up. It is the last weekend of the season this week, and we have zero to play for. My mind will most probably be elsewhere, (i.e. back in bed), and I will have to endure the ongoing tiredness wasting away at the "berp", but I suppose being kept busy is the best thing.
Sigh.
Twitter isn't though. Twitter is a tool I use to get rid of random thoughts that pop into my head every so often, and if you look through my 1,593 tweets so far, you will see moments of madness, boredom, happiness and annoyance. Occasionally though, it does bring me a bit of trouble. A controversial tweet here, a coincedental tweet there, and suddenly I'm on the Most Wanted list.
Bit of an exaggeration there, but tonight was a case of coincedental misfortune. It had seemed to Beddoe, that I had criticised him for going to Nandos despite having no money, but my tweet, "I think Mitten has been scammed", was more about how my colleague had screwed me over by not turning up for a shift I had given him. What Beddoe text me shall remain a secret, but I gathered he wasn't too happy at what he thought that tweet was about. In the end, I was left with a disgruntled friend, (but we have since kissed and made up!), and an even more disgruntled manager who was left rather short-staffed on what he said was a "stupidly busy" shift. I will, no doubt, be in trouble tomorrow for not turning up, despite not being expected, and we'll all get on with our dandy lives, with me beginning what will be 6 nights of unprecedented boredom. I shall probably sign some form that will go on my record as being AWOL, not care one jot, and get to work. I'm going to university in 29 days, 5 hours and 52 minutes, (not that I'm counting), so I don't care!
You can tell I'm waffling, because I'm trying to find things to do to fill up what has been a rather long night. I attempted to watch Series 7 of Red Dwarf, but fell 2 episodes short before moving on to watch gazillions of YouTube videos before starting a new game on Football Manager with Aston Villa. It is now 5:09am, with about another hour before I go to sleep, and I have resorted to listening to french radio, for the laughs. I can't really see what's funny about it, but its that time of morning where I really have given up trying to work out what my brain is trying to compute.
I start my marathon time at work tomorrow night, and have another full weekend of cricket coming up. It is the last weekend of the season this week, and we have zero to play for. My mind will most probably be elsewhere, (i.e. back in bed), and I will have to endure the ongoing tiredness wasting away at the "berp", but I suppose being kept busy is the best thing.
Sigh.
Wednesday 24 August 2011
10 Days
Today is a Wednesday. I have today off, and after seeing the rota for the rest of this week and next week, one of those is a rarity as I have been inundated with 8.5 shifts in the next 10 days. I'm working my half shift on Thursday followed by night shifts on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. The money, which I will recieve 9 days before I leave to University, will be fantastically handy, but my mind in the short term will be in a state that is usually kept aside for horror movies. This blog then, will become a place where I will probably count down the days, whilst complaining of the misfortune that these nights will most probably bring me. No change there then...
In fairness, I have the alarm set for 3pm, (7.5 hours away), so I can have a round of golf with Master Beddoe before watching the brilliantly funny Inbetweeners movie, (again), before a Nando's which has yet to be confirmed. I don't know what it is about that place, but since I was introduced to it about a week ago, I have been a fair few times, because the chicken is simply devine. Oh dear, I sound like I should own a stately home or something. Like I actually have money in the bank. Like I am a posh boy.
I suffered tonight. It was a Tuesday night, so the custom was, shall we say, on the quiet side, which made the night drag on and on. I have felt rough all day, with the amount of Soothers wrappers in the bin ever increasing, I have developed a rather nasty cough that I hope will disappear sooner rather than later. Upon turning up at the "berp", I clearly had a face on that would make Mr.Depression blush, so the natural conclusion was that I was hungover. At 10pm on a Tuesday night. Am I really that much of a waster, that it wouldn't surprise anyone if this was the case?! I let them know, in no uncertain terms, that I was rather ill, but they were having none of it, before I turned the bullying on to another member of the team, who swiftly left to her bed as she left us night staff to "get on with it".
I suppose I'd better go to sleep. I would like to wake up comfortably at 3pm, so I can make the most of what will be a rare day off in the next couple of weeks. This blog is going to becoming awful, with much moaning and complaining that I am working too hard, but I suppose I'd better grit my teeth and get on with it. As Mother Mitten would say, (or Shane McMahon). Think of the money.
In fairness, I have the alarm set for 3pm, (7.5 hours away), so I can have a round of golf with Master Beddoe before watching the brilliantly funny Inbetweeners movie, (again), before a Nando's which has yet to be confirmed. I don't know what it is about that place, but since I was introduced to it about a week ago, I have been a fair few times, because the chicken is simply devine. Oh dear, I sound like I should own a stately home or something. Like I actually have money in the bank. Like I am a posh boy.
I suffered tonight. It was a Tuesday night, so the custom was, shall we say, on the quiet side, which made the night drag on and on. I have felt rough all day, with the amount of Soothers wrappers in the bin ever increasing, I have developed a rather nasty cough that I hope will disappear sooner rather than later. Upon turning up at the "berp", I clearly had a face on that would make Mr.Depression blush, so the natural conclusion was that I was hungover. At 10pm on a Tuesday night. Am I really that much of a waster, that it wouldn't surprise anyone if this was the case?! I let them know, in no uncertain terms, that I was rather ill, but they were having none of it, before I turned the bullying on to another member of the team, who swiftly left to her bed as she left us night staff to "get on with it".
I suppose I'd better go to sleep. I would like to wake up comfortably at 3pm, so I can make the most of what will be a rare day off in the next couple of weeks. This blog is going to becoming awful, with much moaning and complaining that I am working too hard, but I suppose I'd better grit my teeth and get on with it. As Mother Mitten would say, (or Shane McMahon). Think of the money.
Monday 22 August 2011
Time To Get Going
After yesterdays revelation that I really needed to get my arse in to gear regarding university preperation, I am pleased to announce that today, was the beginning. I went into town to buy a few new clothes, to boost the bland wardrobe that I currently own. The few garments I chose were positively garish, with a new pair of Hawaiian shorts that looks as though someone with an addiction to broccolli has vomited all over them, and a purple shirt with some yellow writing on. I did go for a couple of more conservative things aswell, but I felt that the awful looking stuff, (especially if worn together), deserved a special mention. As I wore the purple shirt and green shorts this afternoon, I was greeted with a, "You're not going out like that are you...?" from a clearly disturbed Sister Mitten. My fashion sense then, isn't great.
Aswell as this, I dropped in on the NatWest man, who had claimed I needed to bring my University acceptance letter in to change my account to a student one, (which comes with a 5-year railcard!), so I took the letter to him today. He then told me it had to be done online, so technically, he wasted 2 minutes of what could of been vital preperation time. Actually, he wasted about an hour of vital preperation time, as he made me travel to town, (via Sister Mitten's deathmobile), and then travel home again by bus.. In between, I had to buy a baguette and some cake aswell, so you can add another 20 minutes to that time. What a moron.
Clearly I'm babbling because I'm bored and trying to keep myself awake. I'm back on the ol' nights again for one night only tomorrow, so I have to change that sleeping pattern that gets a lot of mentions in this place, before reverting back to normality quicker than you can say 'Danny Welbeck'. Talking of football, Man United won this evening, 3-0 at home to Spurrrrrs, and I don't care. My interest in football has completely evaporated, and whether I am interesting in refereeing the game this season, is a question I don't yet have an answer to. How fun.
I suppose that's all. Life is quite boring at the moment, as if you didn't notice already!
Aswell as this, I dropped in on the NatWest man, who had claimed I needed to bring my University acceptance letter in to change my account to a student one, (which comes with a 5-year railcard!), so I took the letter to him today. He then told me it had to be done online, so technically, he wasted 2 minutes of what could of been vital preperation time. Actually, he wasted about an hour of vital preperation time, as he made me travel to town, (via Sister Mitten's deathmobile), and then travel home again by bus.. In between, I had to buy a baguette and some cake aswell, so you can add another 20 minutes to that time. What a moron.
Clearly I'm babbling because I'm bored and trying to keep myself awake. I'm back on the ol' nights again for one night only tomorrow, so I have to change that sleeping pattern that gets a lot of mentions in this place, before reverting back to normality quicker than you can say 'Danny Welbeck'. Talking of football, Man United won this evening, 3-0 at home to Spurrrrrs, and I don't care. My interest in football has completely evaporated, and whether I am interesting in refereeing the game this season, is a question I don't yet have an answer to. How fun.
I suppose that's all. Life is quite boring at the moment, as if you didn't notice already!
Distinctly Average
I saw the Mittenmobile earlier. The 26-year old man who bought it has completely destroyed it by putting a dirty-looking orange bodykit and an obese exhaust on it, which makes it look like the car was shat out of the arsehole of Michael Carroll. I do miss my car. The practicalities of it, the escape I could have to drive around the wonderful town of Bedford in it, to digest my thoughts and think about things. Even the sight of it sitting on the driveway, before an oversized bird relieves itself on it's shiny windscreen.. It was a love story... In fairness, I was expecting it to have blown up by now, but unfortunately, it hasn't.
On to more important matters, and this weekend, despite the mixture of work and cricket, it has actually been distinctly. After the disappointment of Thursday night, I went to play golf with Master Beddoe on Friday, playing adequately. The highlights of which were snorting my own divot on the 9th tee and playing in the dark which is nearly impossible. As soon as the ball leaves the 10 foot diameter of your personal bubble, it is out of sight. Guessing where it landed is like searching for invisible grenades, without the punishment. After finding our way to the clubhouse, which was lit up, I decided that we were going to go to Nandos. Beddoe had no choice in this matter, and after persuading Kettle to have a 2nd dinner, we convened at the popular restaurant in town and worked our way through ridiculous amounts of chicken, as we talked about innuendos and the lark, while watching people walk past, just starting their Friday nights out on Bedford town. Clearly, after the impracticalities of Thursday, it was safe to say me and Beddoe couldn't really stomach anymore alcohol, despite Colin's best efforts to persuade us.
I was in a good place that night. Eating very good food, looking forward to the "promotion decider" the following day, without having to worry about going to work at night or waking up at ridiculous o'clock was a good feeling. For once, I got a good night's kip in preperation for a big game. It didn't really live up to the hype of an even, top of the table clash as we chewed them up and spat them out, winning by 150 runs. Something strange happened in that match though.. After opening the batting, and hitting a good 49, (especially after my form of late), I walked back to the changing rooms, content with my performance when all of a sudden, I felt very feint. It was weird. I had to sit down for a while, choosing the floor as the most appropriate place, as all the benches were filled with kit and the like. It didn't last very long, but was certainly a strange sensation. We amassed a very good 256, with the now usual century from the Run Machine, before bowling them out for 100 odd. Of course, I got my customary slip catch, straight down my throat. Lovely.
Saturday night was not as good as Friday night. I wasn't going out, and the only thing I had to look forward to was what was surely going to be a very long shift at the "berp", whilst everyone else fought hard on the cricket pitch. What happened however, was a fairly nifty shift, where myself and Tic-Tak mucked about a lot, making stupid comments, and generally making the time pass quickly. Elsewhere, Bedford CC were being completely destroyed by what sounded like a nasty, stupidly-behaved team. I think, if I had to endure that, then go to work at night, I would be much less happy than I am now!
So in short, as I sit here, doing nothing in particular, I am a perfectly content Mitten. Strangely enough, my thoughts on going to University are exactly the same as they were in January. I haven't really thought about it much at all, despite leaving on the 24th September. Suppose now would be a good time to start.
On to more important matters, and this weekend, despite the mixture of work and cricket, it has actually been distinctly. After the disappointment of Thursday night, I went to play golf with Master Beddoe on Friday, playing adequately. The highlights of which were snorting my own divot on the 9th tee and playing in the dark which is nearly impossible. As soon as the ball leaves the 10 foot diameter of your personal bubble, it is out of sight. Guessing where it landed is like searching for invisible grenades, without the punishment. After finding our way to the clubhouse, which was lit up, I decided that we were going to go to Nandos. Beddoe had no choice in this matter, and after persuading Kettle to have a 2nd dinner, we convened at the popular restaurant in town and worked our way through ridiculous amounts of chicken, as we talked about innuendos and the lark, while watching people walk past, just starting their Friday nights out on Bedford town. Clearly, after the impracticalities of Thursday, it was safe to say me and Beddoe couldn't really stomach anymore alcohol, despite Colin's best efforts to persuade us.
I was in a good place that night. Eating very good food, looking forward to the "promotion decider" the following day, without having to worry about going to work at night or waking up at ridiculous o'clock was a good feeling. For once, I got a good night's kip in preperation for a big game. It didn't really live up to the hype of an even, top of the table clash as we chewed them up and spat them out, winning by 150 runs. Something strange happened in that match though.. After opening the batting, and hitting a good 49, (especially after my form of late), I walked back to the changing rooms, content with my performance when all of a sudden, I felt very feint. It was weird. I had to sit down for a while, choosing the floor as the most appropriate place, as all the benches were filled with kit and the like. It didn't last very long, but was certainly a strange sensation. We amassed a very good 256, with the now usual century from the Run Machine, before bowling them out for 100 odd. Of course, I got my customary slip catch, straight down my throat. Lovely.
Saturday night was not as good as Friday night. I wasn't going out, and the only thing I had to look forward to was what was surely going to be a very long shift at the "berp", whilst everyone else fought hard on the cricket pitch. What happened however, was a fairly nifty shift, where myself and Tic-Tak mucked about a lot, making stupid comments, and generally making the time pass quickly. Elsewhere, Bedford CC were being completely destroyed by what sounded like a nasty, stupidly-behaved team. I think, if I had to endure that, then go to work at night, I would be much less happy than I am now!
So in short, as I sit here, doing nothing in particular, I am a perfectly content Mitten. Strangely enough, my thoughts on going to University are exactly the same as they were in January. I haven't really thought about it much at all, despite leaving on the 24th September. Suppose now would be a good time to start.
Friday 19 August 2011
An Ironic Failure
'Results Night' nights have never been successful. For the 3 years I've been old enough to go "out on Bedford town", to celebrate, (or commiserate) either my or someone else's results, I've ended up going home in a rather disappointed/angry/tired state. Delete as appropriate.
Year 1, when I actually got my results, we ended up going to town quite late, and found out everywhere was full, rammed to the rafters, and consequently all the clubs were not letting in anymore punters. We ended up going for a Subway by midnight before getting a belated taxi home! I wasn't really "celebrating" my results that night. More like "digesting my rubbish attitude".
Year 2, I don't actually remember going out. I don't think it was a case of having too much to drink that I can't remember a thing, more, stuck at another boring night at the "berp". It must of been that. I do constitute this as a fail, as many, many people went out that night, and I believe it was a good one, but I was stuck, albeit with The Capable One, doing the same tasks I do now, at the beginning of another long working week.
Too many commas in that paragraph. Lucky, I never took English as a serious subject. I'm not sure anyone could take English seriously, when it was taught by an American..
So, we come to Year 3. Last night. Most people I know got their desired grades and the night was set up to be a cracker. We convened at Master Beddoe's where much vodka was consumed and we did our best impression of The Inbetweeners dance, in preperation for completely embarrassing ourselves later, amid a large group of stunned onlookers in Chameleon, with only a few knowing what on Earth we were actually doing. It was a laugh, and at that stage, I was really looking forward to the night ahead. I was happy.
Then we arrived at Saints. It had been billed as a 'UV Foam Party' so, naturally, we came more prepared than last time, with Colin and Beddoe sporting horrible-looking Hawaiian shorts, and me wearing a cheap-ish grey top and shorts. Better than destroying a $50 Abercrombie & Fitch shirt and jeans! Except it didn't really happen. You could tell a few people in the party were struggling, having had way too much at pre-drinks, and it all seemed to catch up with them. This, plus the absolutely, stupidly, ridiculously busy nature of Saints, meant that once people had got out of sight, they were gone. There was no way you were ever going to find them again. It was like looking for a needle in the world's supply of haystacks. Beddoe had disappeared, as had Billie and Ellie Goulding, Colin had gone to find some other friends, and Rob, Magic Man and Moo had gone to the bar, and had been there for about 40 minutes, before I gave up looking for everyone. I had just been told Beddoe had gone home, as he had "exceeded his Recommended Daily Allowance" of alcohol, to put it generously. Everyone had spread out, and I was left alone. I felt rather angry.
So I went home. I think in hindsight, this was probably the best thing to do, as drowning whilst very drunk sounds like a form of torture used by the CIA. The taxi driver tried talking to me, but I remember completely blanking him as he chauffered me, first to BP, of which I am thankful for right now as I tuck in to the Chicken Ceasar wrap and cheesecake I bought, before he shipped me home. I may have just chucked some money in the taxi driver's general direction before clambering inside the house, making a lot of noise, and collapsing on my bed. Before the inevitable happened. I won't go any further on that one!
I feel rather fragile this morning/afternoon, but I do feel a productive day coming up. I'm about to leave for a training event at work, where we are being taught how to avoid being stabbed, despite me only being there for another month or so, before I move on to town to sort out my student account for my upcoming adventure, before a possible round of golf this evening, in beautiful sunshine, as we, no doubt, analyse what was still an eventful night, despite its disappointments. I've just figured out, I need to use more full stops in this thing.
Also, before I forget, I would like to congratulate everyone on their results, and if things didn't go your way, just remember me. I turned up to my A-Level IT exam, still drunk from the night before, and I'm still going to university, albeit a bit late. All is not lost! And as I'm on the subject of praising, I would like to mention a certain short-leg fielder who took a fantastic Ian Bell-esque catch last Sunday before being knocked on the helmet! Good work Monty!
Year 1, when I actually got my results, we ended up going to town quite late, and found out everywhere was full, rammed to the rafters, and consequently all the clubs were not letting in anymore punters. We ended up going for a Subway by midnight before getting a belated taxi home! I wasn't really "celebrating" my results that night. More like "digesting my rubbish attitude".
Year 2, I don't actually remember going out. I don't think it was a case of having too much to drink that I can't remember a thing, more, stuck at another boring night at the "berp". It must of been that. I do constitute this as a fail, as many, many people went out that night, and I believe it was a good one, but I was stuck, albeit with The Capable One, doing the same tasks I do now, at the beginning of another long working week.
Too many commas in that paragraph. Lucky, I never took English as a serious subject. I'm not sure anyone could take English seriously, when it was taught by an American..
So, we come to Year 3. Last night. Most people I know got their desired grades and the night was set up to be a cracker. We convened at Master Beddoe's where much vodka was consumed and we did our best impression of The Inbetweeners dance, in preperation for completely embarrassing ourselves later, amid a large group of stunned onlookers in Chameleon, with only a few knowing what on Earth we were actually doing. It was a laugh, and at that stage, I was really looking forward to the night ahead. I was happy.
Then we arrived at Saints. It had been billed as a 'UV Foam Party' so, naturally, we came more prepared than last time, with Colin and Beddoe sporting horrible-looking Hawaiian shorts, and me wearing a cheap-ish grey top and shorts. Better than destroying a $50 Abercrombie & Fitch shirt and jeans! Except it didn't really happen. You could tell a few people in the party were struggling, having had way too much at pre-drinks, and it all seemed to catch up with them. This, plus the absolutely, stupidly, ridiculously busy nature of Saints, meant that once people had got out of sight, they were gone. There was no way you were ever going to find them again. It was like looking for a needle in the world's supply of haystacks. Beddoe had disappeared, as had Billie and Ellie Goulding, Colin had gone to find some other friends, and Rob, Magic Man and Moo had gone to the bar, and had been there for about 40 minutes, before I gave up looking for everyone. I had just been told Beddoe had gone home, as he had "exceeded his Recommended Daily Allowance" of alcohol, to put it generously. Everyone had spread out, and I was left alone. I felt rather angry.
So I went home. I think in hindsight, this was probably the best thing to do, as drowning whilst very drunk sounds like a form of torture used by the CIA. The taxi driver tried talking to me, but I remember completely blanking him as he chauffered me, first to BP, of which I am thankful for right now as I tuck in to the Chicken Ceasar wrap and cheesecake I bought, before he shipped me home. I may have just chucked some money in the taxi driver's general direction before clambering inside the house, making a lot of noise, and collapsing on my bed. Before the inevitable happened. I won't go any further on that one!
I feel rather fragile this morning/afternoon, but I do feel a productive day coming up. I'm about to leave for a training event at work, where we are being taught how to avoid being stabbed, despite me only being there for another month or so, before I move on to town to sort out my student account for my upcoming adventure, before a possible round of golf this evening, in beautiful sunshine, as we, no doubt, analyse what was still an eventful night, despite its disappointments. I've just figured out, I need to use more full stops in this thing.
Also, before I forget, I would like to congratulate everyone on their results, and if things didn't go your way, just remember me. I turned up to my A-Level IT exam, still drunk from the night before, and I'm still going to university, albeit a bit late. All is not lost! And as I'm on the subject of praising, I would like to mention a certain short-leg fielder who took a fantastic Ian Bell-esque catch last Sunday before being knocked on the helmet! Good work Monty!
Monday 15 August 2011
That Monday Morning Feeling
It's been a while since I've had to wake up to work on a Monday morning. The feeling that, despite it being completely untrue, you have a long and full week before the highs of the weekend. The truth of the matter is, I only have 2 night shifts to complete before a few days of well deserved rest that will most probably involve Jack Daniels, Jaegermeister and related drinks. I do think however, I have very much drawn the short straw when it came to creating the rota for this week. To wake up at 5.30am on one day, and to work a night shift the day after, is much more difficult than it sounds. It's tougher than sprinting 400 metres. It's more complicated than competing in the pole vault. It's as impossible as beating Usain Bolt. Note, not a deliberate Olympics reference.
After the ridiculousness of the beginning of the weekend, I awoke from my 14 hour slumber at 5am on Sunday morning, positively refreshed and ready for what was probably going to be a long and mundane morning at the "berp". My mood had been improved however by a text the night before asking if I could play cricket, even if I would turn up an hour late. They were desperate apparently, which makes me sound like a last resort, like the last to be picked on the school playground. Walking to work at 5:15 on a Sunday morning sounds wrong aswell. It was eerie, strange and poetically silent, almost as if it shouldn't be happening. Like it was against your human rights to be working, at least this early, on a Sunday. It was a peaceful and serene walk, until I was forced to cross the road as I approached a group of late, late finishers, still drunk out of their minds and talking in a volume more associated with a football stadium. I felt like an old man, avoiding "hoodies".
That 7 hours went by at a rate of speed more commonly found in your average Corsa or Almera. Not fast, but not too slow either, and yes, it was 7 hours. The manager of the day, new man Mark, said I could leave at 1pm if everything had been done, and by 12, we were searching for things to do, so without even talking to him, I left at 1pm, and climbed into Father Mitten's new, new car and we made our way to the cricket. I would be on time, and play a full part! I say, "on time", I was a meer few minutes late, and missed out on opening the batting, but in terms of getting off to a good start, this was probably a good thing, as stand-in opener, Rajan, hit a quickfire 50. I came into bat at number 5, and largely struggled against the pair of spinners on a pitch that was ripping a mile. I hit a nice slog sweep but nicked behind for 9 next ball. I almost expect it these days!
We got 251, and they began their innings at about 6pm. We were done by 6.50, as they were bowled out for a lowly 56. A comprehensive victory then, and I was home in time to go to the pub to have dinner with my payday monies!
I was knackered though. I survived the meal and a couple of rounds of the quiz before calling it a night. I was almost falling asleep, and figured I would need all the rest I could get, preparing for what was surely going to be a viciously long shift the following morning. It turns out I was completely right, and when I was finally cycling home at 2pm, via a fight between a woman and a group of children playing 'Knock Knock Ginger', I was pleased to put my feet up and chill out. It's been a hectic weekend!
Ooooh, this is my 400th post! Good effort from me, if I say so myself!
After the ridiculousness of the beginning of the weekend, I awoke from my 14 hour slumber at 5am on Sunday morning, positively refreshed and ready for what was probably going to be a long and mundane morning at the "berp". My mood had been improved however by a text the night before asking if I could play cricket, even if I would turn up an hour late. They were desperate apparently, which makes me sound like a last resort, like the last to be picked on the school playground. Walking to work at 5:15 on a Sunday morning sounds wrong aswell. It was eerie, strange and poetically silent, almost as if it shouldn't be happening. Like it was against your human rights to be working, at least this early, on a Sunday. It was a peaceful and serene walk, until I was forced to cross the road as I approached a group of late, late finishers, still drunk out of their minds and talking in a volume more associated with a football stadium. I felt like an old man, avoiding "hoodies".
That 7 hours went by at a rate of speed more commonly found in your average Corsa or Almera. Not fast, but not too slow either, and yes, it was 7 hours. The manager of the day, new man Mark, said I could leave at 1pm if everything had been done, and by 12, we were searching for things to do, so without even talking to him, I left at 1pm, and climbed into Father Mitten's new, new car and we made our way to the cricket. I would be on time, and play a full part! I say, "on time", I was a meer few minutes late, and missed out on opening the batting, but in terms of getting off to a good start, this was probably a good thing, as stand-in opener, Rajan, hit a quickfire 50. I came into bat at number 5, and largely struggled against the pair of spinners on a pitch that was ripping a mile. I hit a nice slog sweep but nicked behind for 9 next ball. I almost expect it these days!
We got 251, and they began their innings at about 6pm. We were done by 6.50, as they were bowled out for a lowly 56. A comprehensive victory then, and I was home in time to go to the pub to have dinner with my payday monies!
I was knackered though. I survived the meal and a couple of rounds of the quiz before calling it a night. I was almost falling asleep, and figured I would need all the rest I could get, preparing for what was surely going to be a viciously long shift the following morning. It turns out I was completely right, and when I was finally cycling home at 2pm, via a fight between a woman and a group of children playing 'Knock Knock Ginger', I was pleased to put my feet up and chill out. It's been a hectic weekend!
Ooooh, this is my 400th post! Good effort from me, if I say so myself!
Saturday 13 August 2011
Someone Remind Me, Never Again!
I took the party highs to new lows yesterday, (or today, depending on how you look at things). A house party was happening at Lottie's, always a huge event with many laughs and good times, and I was determined to not miss out. A couple of weeks back however, after looking at the rota, and seeing a 06:00-14:00 next to my name, it certainly looked like the end of the dream. Not even I, "Pro Waster", would not risk turning up to work drunk and half-cut. It's professional suicide.
But this week, I had an epiphony. After finding out that Cool Will was the manager for this Saturday morning shift, (fabled for generally not giving a monkey's), and the meer fact that EVERYONE was going, I couldn't not go. After a few days off, catching up on lost sleep and certainly saving some for the reserves, I felt I could manage to play a full and interesting role in this house party, sober up by 6am, and struggle through 8 hours of mayhem and absolute torture before collapsing at home.
Friday then. After going for a spin in Father Mitten's new car, a sexy new-shape Astra, I found a brand new bottle of JD at the bottom of the cupboard, buried under strange looking, yellow-coloured Polish vodka and a few bottles of wine, which was certainly a result. It only meant spending £3 on a couple of bottles of coke, (for not even I, would drink Jack Daniels straight, all night), and before I could say 'torture' I was huddled in the back of Jessica, with Beddoe and co, heading for the house party.
May I point out at this moment in time, that 'Jessica' is the nickname that Rob gave his car. I wasn't ACTUALLY "huddled in the back" of a poor girl called Jessica, with Beddoe and company. Ahem...
Anyway, upon arrival, we sat around just talking, drinking our drinks in pretty good company. There were a fair few people I didn't know there, all looking rather Emo and Scene-Kid(ish), so the party was sort of split in 2. Hawkers and The Others. After the drink flowed more though, we integrated and had fun. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, unless you include Colin's Harry Potter innuendo line, and Cob walking out the front door to use the facilities, before being reminded by me, (who was just leaving for work at this point), that they were in fact inside the house, up the stairs.. Oh dear. Otherwise, it was your fairly average house party. I was drunk, but in the back of my mind, I knew I had to hold back at least a bit, if I had any chance of making it to work at Dreaded o'Clock.
Everyone seemed to drift home at 3am. By 3.30am, the only people left downstairs, awake, were me, Ash and the hostess. Otherwise, everyone had gone home in taxis or gone upstairs, (oi oi), or walked home. I figured this was going to be a very long and tiresome couple of hours, as I didn't want to go to sleep in fear of feeling worse come 6am. What actually happened, was a belated trip to BP to buy food, and going back to watch Red Dwarf IV! Awesome series, and although I missed the last episode because it was time to go, it certainly passed the time adequately, and all of a sudden it was 5.50am... Time for work.
I got changed into my work clothes, accidentally in front of some random girl who was actually awake... Awkward... And made my way to work. I was feeling OK at this point. A little jaded, yes, but I was confident I would survive. The first couple of hours flew by, as they usually do, but from around 8.30am onwards, I could describe it as Hell itself. It was horrible. I could not concentrate on anything at all. I think I might have shortchanged a few people, completely accidentally of course, and got shouted at by some customer for making him wait for his coffee, because I just completely forgot about him. It was a nightmare.
Surprisingly, the last hour or so was absolutely fine, but that was probably because I was passed the stupidly tired stage and at the giddy stage of no return. I was very happy to go home though, in Father Mitten's.... red Nissan Almera, (don't even start on that subject...), and here I am now. Still not asleep, and trying to delay it as much as I possibly can. I don't really want to wake up at 3am tomorrow morning... Even if I do have another 6am start... Sigh...
In conclusion, I am never doing that again. Ever. What a stupid idea!
But this week, I had an epiphony. After finding out that Cool Will was the manager for this Saturday morning shift, (fabled for generally not giving a monkey's), and the meer fact that EVERYONE was going, I couldn't not go. After a few days off, catching up on lost sleep and certainly saving some for the reserves, I felt I could manage to play a full and interesting role in this house party, sober up by 6am, and struggle through 8 hours of mayhem and absolute torture before collapsing at home.
Friday then. After going for a spin in Father Mitten's new car, a sexy new-shape Astra, I found a brand new bottle of JD at the bottom of the cupboard, buried under strange looking, yellow-coloured Polish vodka and a few bottles of wine, which was certainly a result. It only meant spending £3 on a couple of bottles of coke, (for not even I, would drink Jack Daniels straight, all night), and before I could say 'torture' I was huddled in the back of Jessica, with Beddoe and co, heading for the house party.
May I point out at this moment in time, that 'Jessica' is the nickname that Rob gave his car. I wasn't ACTUALLY "huddled in the back" of a poor girl called Jessica, with Beddoe and company. Ahem...
Anyway, upon arrival, we sat around just talking, drinking our drinks in pretty good company. There were a fair few people I didn't know there, all looking rather Emo and Scene-Kid(ish), so the party was sort of split in 2. Hawkers and The Others. After the drink flowed more though, we integrated and had fun. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, unless you include Colin's Harry Potter innuendo line, and Cob walking out the front door to use the facilities, before being reminded by me, (who was just leaving for work at this point), that they were in fact inside the house, up the stairs.. Oh dear. Otherwise, it was your fairly average house party. I was drunk, but in the back of my mind, I knew I had to hold back at least a bit, if I had any chance of making it to work at Dreaded o'Clock.
Everyone seemed to drift home at 3am. By 3.30am, the only people left downstairs, awake, were me, Ash and the hostess. Otherwise, everyone had gone home in taxis or gone upstairs, (oi oi), or walked home. I figured this was going to be a very long and tiresome couple of hours, as I didn't want to go to sleep in fear of feeling worse come 6am. What actually happened, was a belated trip to BP to buy food, and going back to watch Red Dwarf IV! Awesome series, and although I missed the last episode because it was time to go, it certainly passed the time adequately, and all of a sudden it was 5.50am... Time for work.
I got changed into my work clothes, accidentally in front of some random girl who was actually awake... Awkward... And made my way to work. I was feeling OK at this point. A little jaded, yes, but I was confident I would survive. The first couple of hours flew by, as they usually do, but from around 8.30am onwards, I could describe it as Hell itself. It was horrible. I could not concentrate on anything at all. I think I might have shortchanged a few people, completely accidentally of course, and got shouted at by some customer for making him wait for his coffee, because I just completely forgot about him. It was a nightmare.
Surprisingly, the last hour or so was absolutely fine, but that was probably because I was passed the stupidly tired stage and at the giddy stage of no return. I was very happy to go home though, in Father Mitten's.... red Nissan Almera, (don't even start on that subject...), and here I am now. Still not asleep, and trying to delay it as much as I possibly can. I don't really want to wake up at 3am tomorrow morning... Even if I do have another 6am start... Sigh...
In conclusion, I am never doing that again. Ever. What a stupid idea!
Wednesday 10 August 2011
All Of A Sudden
With about a month to go until my new life begins, today was the first day in a long time where I have actually felt bad. 10th August 2011, could be the beginning of the "bad season". It is strange that I feel perfectly fine throughout the hot and bright Summer months, even positively happy, but as soon as the darkness starts to close in, the temperatures drop and the rain is more prominent, I shrink back into my shell and start to overthink the smallest things and feel incredibly tired despite sleeping copious amounts.
Jason Dawe came into the "berp" this afternoon. If you don't know who he is, Google him, and you may recognise him. He presents certain motoring shows, all over the TV. He's gained about 10 stone in weight from his TV days, with forearms like hams hanging from the roof of a French patisserie. I didn't recognise him at first, but after being reminded by Cool Will that he was a television star, (of sorts), I could see the similarity.
Anyway. Back to me, and today has been rather difficult. I stayed up all night, following the outrageous and sickening scenes in our major cities as youths ran riot, attempting to get back into a respectable sleeping pattern in time for the early mornings of the upcoming weekend. I know this is all going to end up in a haze though, as I plan to do the stupidest thing imaginable. New heights of wasted times will be reached this weekend, as I go to Lottie's house party on Friday night, knowing full well that I have to be at work by 5:45 the following morning. The only positive I can take from the situation is that her house is just over the road from the "berp", giving me as much time as possible to sober up to serve 8 hours worth of tired Saturday morning custom. Those 8 hours are going to be described as "hell" at a later date, but it might well be worth it.
I have nothing more to say. The whole of this week, I have been awake most of the night watching the rioting unfold, while sleeping in the day, as I have failed to escape the horrendous owl-like sleeping patterns. Maybe that is the reason I feel a bit shit?
Jason Dawe came into the "berp" this afternoon. If you don't know who he is, Google him, and you may recognise him. He presents certain motoring shows, all over the TV. He's gained about 10 stone in weight from his TV days, with forearms like hams hanging from the roof of a French patisserie. I didn't recognise him at first, but after being reminded by Cool Will that he was a television star, (of sorts), I could see the similarity.
Anyway. Back to me, and today has been rather difficult. I stayed up all night, following the outrageous and sickening scenes in our major cities as youths ran riot, attempting to get back into a respectable sleeping pattern in time for the early mornings of the upcoming weekend. I know this is all going to end up in a haze though, as I plan to do the stupidest thing imaginable. New heights of wasted times will be reached this weekend, as I go to Lottie's house party on Friday night, knowing full well that I have to be at work by 5:45 the following morning. The only positive I can take from the situation is that her house is just over the road from the "berp", giving me as much time as possible to sober up to serve 8 hours worth of tired Saturday morning custom. Those 8 hours are going to be described as "hell" at a later date, but it might well be worth it.
I have nothing more to say. The whole of this week, I have been awake most of the night watching the rioting unfold, while sleeping in the day, as I have failed to escape the horrendous owl-like sleeping patterns. Maybe that is the reason I feel a bit shit?
Monday 8 August 2011
All Alone
This weekend has been one of the longest of my living life so far. Just every minute of it, even the times not spent being at work at stupid o'clock seemed to drag on and on and on and on....
I wasn't in the best of moods on Friday night. I was facing a weekend that I thought was strictly behind me, but the old work, cricket, work, cricket, work combo was going to happen, and there was nothing I could do about it. Friday night was of the highly distinctly average variety, working with an 18-year old girl who moves as fast as a 98-year old, and it was highly frustrating. It was almost like being back in the dark days working with 'The Wall', except without the patronising, annoying nature. The fact that the short-lived days of the store closing were over also, meant that we were serving drunk after drunk after drunk... I couldn't help but think that should be me!
I was tired on Saturday. After a few months of doing this weekend routine last year, I sort of got used to it, going whole weekends without sleep, dosed up to the eyeballs on caffeine, but this year, one night of work followed by one cricket match, and I was on the floor. Our performance on Saturday, as a team, was generally poor, as we went down to the apparent top of the league by some 30-odd runs. We batted 2nd, and after I got out early, (seems to be a recurring pattern at the moment), I opted to go home, cowardly leaving the guys to try and grind a result out. I needed a few hours kip, because I genuinely didn't think I could make it through another night without it.
That kip helped. I woke up at 9pm in a strangely decent mood, despite knowing another busy and hectic night was on the cards, plus knowing that friends were going out on the town. I cycled the downhill stretch to work, wind in my hair, and arrived early. I started work early, as I figured I could get ahead. 10pm came however, and there was no sign of my slow co-worker. 15 minutes later, and there was still no sign, so Cool Will had no choice but to leave me on my own. Now, this isn't as bad as it sounds. The store closed completely, (not even serving through the night window), but I was left with the task of doing everything. On my own. On a Saturday night.
It was long. I looked at the clock at one stage, expecting it to be 5am, and saw the hands of the clock both pointing north, indicating it was midnight. It was very strange, surreal and eerie being in that place by myself. No customers, (although there nearly were), makes it a very empty place and with only the poor BP music playlist to keep you company, it becomes a lonely place. Despite the copious amounts of 'Closed' signs displayed however, drunken customers attempted to get in..
I am fairly convinced that some people have started to mate with vegetables. So many people were stood right next to the sign saying 'Closed' yet still wanted to be served. Some wouldn't budge for 10 minutes, banging repeatedly on the windows, demanding service. Some people, apparently, cannot read, and therefore don't know we were CLOSED. You get that? Closed! It's not as if people go banging on the windows of cafes, demanding a sandwich and a cup of tea when the 'Closed' sign is up, so why should this be any different? It got quite intimidating at times, as large groups gathered outside, waiting to be served, with me, inside, knowing full well they weren't going to be. One lady got so angry that she chucked something at the window, probably waking me up as I had dozed off, more out of boredom than tiredness. It sure was an interesting experience, but probably not one that I would like to repeat.
I got a few hours kip that morning, after making the painful bike journey home, up the hill, and woke up in time for the 2nd instalment of cricket. It sure was an interesting game yesterday afternoon. We bowled first, with me getting a slip catch in the process. I say 'Catch', I didn't use my hands at all. It flew at me at the pace of a leopard on speed, and me, being rather tired, reacted quite late and proceeded to let it hit me in the ribs before I sort of hugged it and somehow it stuck in my arms. Lucky, but they all count. They got 232. As usual, I opened the batting in our run chase, not expecting a lot of myself after my recent run of dreadful form. I felt a bit better though, despite falling to a decent catch on 16. We were looking very comfortable however, on 170-1, before a collapse sparked a phenomonal end to the match. What did we get? 232! The first ever game I've been involved in that's finished as a tie. Of course, people were annoyed/angry that we hadn't won, but I was too tired to care too much.
I came home, to be greeted by a new car in the driveway, (not mine, I hasten to add). Mother Mitten has purchased a Peugeot 306 in light blue, while Father Mitten bought a new Astra for himself! New cars galore! I was in a good mood going to work though, knowing this was the last one of a very long weekend.
I can't be bothered to go into details, but once again, it was impossibly long. I was working with a guy who doesn't usually work in our store, (covering for the absentee), and he was genuinely silent. It was like working with someone who was doing a sponsored silence. I was being greeted only with nods or shakes of the head, and by 6am, I was pleased to be.... walking home. Life without a Mittenmobile really is a pain in the backside.
And now, as I am really very tired, I am going to sleep. Apologies for the boring sound of chronological events, but my brain is too muddled to write enthusiastically. I'm sure you understand!
I wasn't in the best of moods on Friday night. I was facing a weekend that I thought was strictly behind me, but the old work, cricket, work, cricket, work combo was going to happen, and there was nothing I could do about it. Friday night was of the highly distinctly average variety, working with an 18-year old girl who moves as fast as a 98-year old, and it was highly frustrating. It was almost like being back in the dark days working with 'The Wall', except without the patronising, annoying nature. The fact that the short-lived days of the store closing were over also, meant that we were serving drunk after drunk after drunk... I couldn't help but think that should be me!
I was tired on Saturday. After a few months of doing this weekend routine last year, I sort of got used to it, going whole weekends without sleep, dosed up to the eyeballs on caffeine, but this year, one night of work followed by one cricket match, and I was on the floor. Our performance on Saturday, as a team, was generally poor, as we went down to the apparent top of the league by some 30-odd runs. We batted 2nd, and after I got out early, (seems to be a recurring pattern at the moment), I opted to go home, cowardly leaving the guys to try and grind a result out. I needed a few hours kip, because I genuinely didn't think I could make it through another night without it.
That kip helped. I woke up at 9pm in a strangely decent mood, despite knowing another busy and hectic night was on the cards, plus knowing that friends were going out on the town. I cycled the downhill stretch to work, wind in my hair, and arrived early. I started work early, as I figured I could get ahead. 10pm came however, and there was no sign of my slow co-worker. 15 minutes later, and there was still no sign, so Cool Will had no choice but to leave me on my own. Now, this isn't as bad as it sounds. The store closed completely, (not even serving through the night window), but I was left with the task of doing everything. On my own. On a Saturday night.
It was long. I looked at the clock at one stage, expecting it to be 5am, and saw the hands of the clock both pointing north, indicating it was midnight. It was very strange, surreal and eerie being in that place by myself. No customers, (although there nearly were), makes it a very empty place and with only the poor BP music playlist to keep you company, it becomes a lonely place. Despite the copious amounts of 'Closed' signs displayed however, drunken customers attempted to get in..
I am fairly convinced that some people have started to mate with vegetables. So many people were stood right next to the sign saying 'Closed' yet still wanted to be served. Some wouldn't budge for 10 minutes, banging repeatedly on the windows, demanding service. Some people, apparently, cannot read, and therefore don't know we were CLOSED. You get that? Closed! It's not as if people go banging on the windows of cafes, demanding a sandwich and a cup of tea when the 'Closed' sign is up, so why should this be any different? It got quite intimidating at times, as large groups gathered outside, waiting to be served, with me, inside, knowing full well they weren't going to be. One lady got so angry that she chucked something at the window, probably waking me up as I had dozed off, more out of boredom than tiredness. It sure was an interesting experience, but probably not one that I would like to repeat.
I got a few hours kip that morning, after making the painful bike journey home, up the hill, and woke up in time for the 2nd instalment of cricket. It sure was an interesting game yesterday afternoon. We bowled first, with me getting a slip catch in the process. I say 'Catch', I didn't use my hands at all. It flew at me at the pace of a leopard on speed, and me, being rather tired, reacted quite late and proceeded to let it hit me in the ribs before I sort of hugged it and somehow it stuck in my arms. Lucky, but they all count. They got 232. As usual, I opened the batting in our run chase, not expecting a lot of myself after my recent run of dreadful form. I felt a bit better though, despite falling to a decent catch on 16. We were looking very comfortable however, on 170-1, before a collapse sparked a phenomonal end to the match. What did we get? 232! The first ever game I've been involved in that's finished as a tie. Of course, people were annoyed/angry that we hadn't won, but I was too tired to care too much.
I came home, to be greeted by a new car in the driveway, (not mine, I hasten to add). Mother Mitten has purchased a Peugeot 306 in light blue, while Father Mitten bought a new Astra for himself! New cars galore! I was in a good mood going to work though, knowing this was the last one of a very long weekend.
I can't be bothered to go into details, but once again, it was impossibly long. I was working with a guy who doesn't usually work in our store, (covering for the absentee), and he was genuinely silent. It was like working with someone who was doing a sponsored silence. I was being greeted only with nods or shakes of the head, and by 6am, I was pleased to be.... walking home. Life without a Mittenmobile really is a pain in the backside.
And now, as I am really very tired, I am going to sleep. Apologies for the boring sound of chronological events, but my brain is too muddled to write enthusiastically. I'm sure you understand!
Friday 5 August 2011
Should Killers Be Killed?
In the last couple of days, the argument of, 'Should the death penalty be reinstated in the UK?', and the argument for and against, has risen the news heirarchy. Moral, social and financial factors, (moral being the most discussed), are just a few of the factors that make this particular issue incredibly hard to discuss. This sort of thing is usually left to my other blog, (which has been left untouched for many months), but my personal views on this have fluctuated from one to the other as certain arguments have presented themselves.
I can see why people want the death penalty, or capital punishment, to be used in the UK. Certain sentences do not justify the crime that some people have committed. My own belief, is that crimes that are so horrible, so atrocious, so frightful that the fear in the country rises ten-fold, should be credited with capital punishment. The 7/7 bombers, should have received the death penalty. If Anders Behring Breivik did what he did in the UK, I believe he should receive the death penalty. The meer fact that Breivik may only receive the maximum of 21 years in prison, (under Norwegian law), for the crime he committed, is just unthinkable. However, it isn't in the UK, so the UK can do nothing about it.
Until 2008, the only crime that could receive a possible death penalty sentence, is high treason, (for example, trying to kill or overthrow the Monarchy). Under today's law, that crime holds a set punishment of 'life imprisonment'... However, under the subject of 'life imprisonment', we all know that "Life" never means LIFE. The generic meaning of 'life imprisonment' is that the criminal receives a sentence of around 25-30 years maximum, with the distinct probability that they will be released earlier. Only 44 people in the UK hold the 'whole life imprisonment' tarriff at the moment. If a friend or family member was murdered and you saw the murderer, roaming the streets in 25 years time, a completely free man, what would you think...? If a man murdered your wife or husband, mother or father, brother or sister, you would never want to see him again.
Is the death penalty seen as a method of deterrant? Well, clearly it is self evident that that criminal would not commit further crimes, obviously, but it is completely unproven that the death penalty deters people from murder. Maybe the justice system should contemplate the amount of time taken to commit the murder. For example, if the murder was a long, calculated plot to kill one or many people, where the criminal had time to consider the consequences, and they knew exactly what they were doing, then the death penalty may be the right route to go down. If the murder was an act in "the heat of the moment", then maybe not so. The concept of "degrees of murder", such as in the USA, would decipher this.
On the other side of the coin, there is the very real and regrettable circumstance that genuinely innocent people may be executed, and there is no compensation scheme or apology that can make up for the miscarriage of justice. You must also consider the welfare of the murderer's family in every episode. No one can deny the suffering that the victim's family and friends go through, having to accept that their loved one is gone thanks to a murder, but the fact that the murderer's family will not just have to come to terms with the fact their loved one is guilty of a heinous crime, but also grieving their upcoming loss.
It must also be remembered that criminals are real people too who have life and with it the capacity to feel pain, fear and the loss of their loved ones, and all the other emotions that the rest of us are capable of feeling. It is easier to put this thought to one side when discussing the most awful multiple murderers. There is no such thing as a humane method of putting a person to death. Every form of execution causes the prisoner suffering, some methods perhaps cause less than others, but surely being executed is a terrifying ordeal for the criminal? What is also often overlooked is the mental suffering that the criminal suffers in the time leading up to the execution. How would you feel knowing that you were going to die tomorrow morning at 8am?
Of course, some would argue that having committed such a crime, it is tough. You made your bed, so you have to lie in it.
The alternatives? People who are against capital punishment are more in favour of 'Life Without Parole', or in easier terms, a 'whole life sentence', but the counter-argument to this is that it is worse than the death penalty. What is the point in locking a person up until the day they die? The fact of the matter is, putting the psychology and dangers of the criminal aside, it is a much more expensive route to go down. With this, there is a much higher chance of that person re-committing crimes in jail, or plotting an escape, seeing as they have nothing to lose. However good the security of a prison, someone will always try to make off, and you cannot deny that sometimes it may be successful. If you have an unlimited time to plan an escape, with nothing to lose, it can be a very strong incentive.
However, there are 3 main questions to ask here:
1) Can the justice system be trusted to get every decision correct, given that the result is literally life or death? They haven't in the past... If the death sentence was still around, Barry George, (convicted of the 1999 murder of journalist and presenter, Jill Dando), would have been unjustly killed.
2) Will juries be willing to pass a guilty verdict knowing the punishment will be death? Would you be able to say 'Guilty' with the eyes of the person in the dock on you?
3) Will execution be a worthy deterrent for future cases?
In my opinion, they are all unanswerable questions. It is literally a matter of personal opinion, which, for the time being at least, means that nothing will change on the matter. I think this is a good thing. I am a believer that life sentences should not be 25 years long, but instead take up a greater quantity of the criminal's life. To take a criminal's life for their crime however, I think, would make the State as much of a monster.
Only unspeakably awful crimes should bring the possibilty of the death sentence. The murder of 52 Londoners on the Underground in July 2005, the brutal murder of 76 young politicians on the island of Utoya and the bombing beforehand, the shooting of innocent people in Cumbria, (even if the criminal did shoot himself). All of these should have the death penalty considered, I think.
But the big 2 words in that paragraph are, "I think". It is all a matter of personal opinion, and seeing as I am one non-important young adult living in the industrial town of Bedford, my opinion means nothing. Contrasting opinions will only create controversy, and as we all know, the people we vote to govern us, do not like that word.
I can see why people want the death penalty, or capital punishment, to be used in the UK. Certain sentences do not justify the crime that some people have committed. My own belief, is that crimes that are so horrible, so atrocious, so frightful that the fear in the country rises ten-fold, should be credited with capital punishment. The 7/7 bombers, should have received the death penalty. If Anders Behring Breivik did what he did in the UK, I believe he should receive the death penalty. The meer fact that Breivik may only receive the maximum of 21 years in prison, (under Norwegian law), for the crime he committed, is just unthinkable. However, it isn't in the UK, so the UK can do nothing about it.
Until 2008, the only crime that could receive a possible death penalty sentence, is high treason, (for example, trying to kill or overthrow the Monarchy). Under today's law, that crime holds a set punishment of 'life imprisonment'... However, under the subject of 'life imprisonment', we all know that "Life" never means LIFE. The generic meaning of 'life imprisonment' is that the criminal receives a sentence of around 25-30 years maximum, with the distinct probability that they will be released earlier. Only 44 people in the UK hold the 'whole life imprisonment' tarriff at the moment. If a friend or family member was murdered and you saw the murderer, roaming the streets in 25 years time, a completely free man, what would you think...? If a man murdered your wife or husband, mother or father, brother or sister, you would never want to see him again.
Is the death penalty seen as a method of deterrant? Well, clearly it is self evident that that criminal would not commit further crimes, obviously, but it is completely unproven that the death penalty deters people from murder. Maybe the justice system should contemplate the amount of time taken to commit the murder. For example, if the murder was a long, calculated plot to kill one or many people, where the criminal had time to consider the consequences, and they knew exactly what they were doing, then the death penalty may be the right route to go down. If the murder was an act in "the heat of the moment", then maybe not so. The concept of "degrees of murder", such as in the USA, would decipher this.
On the other side of the coin, there is the very real and regrettable circumstance that genuinely innocent people may be executed, and there is no compensation scheme or apology that can make up for the miscarriage of justice. You must also consider the welfare of the murderer's family in every episode. No one can deny the suffering that the victim's family and friends go through, having to accept that their loved one is gone thanks to a murder, but the fact that the murderer's family will not just have to come to terms with the fact their loved one is guilty of a heinous crime, but also grieving their upcoming loss.
It must also be remembered that criminals are real people too who have life and with it the capacity to feel pain, fear and the loss of their loved ones, and all the other emotions that the rest of us are capable of feeling. It is easier to put this thought to one side when discussing the most awful multiple murderers. There is no such thing as a humane method of putting a person to death. Every form of execution causes the prisoner suffering, some methods perhaps cause less than others, but surely being executed is a terrifying ordeal for the criminal? What is also often overlooked is the mental suffering that the criminal suffers in the time leading up to the execution. How would you feel knowing that you were going to die tomorrow morning at 8am?
Of course, some would argue that having committed such a crime, it is tough. You made your bed, so you have to lie in it.
The alternatives? People who are against capital punishment are more in favour of 'Life Without Parole', or in easier terms, a 'whole life sentence', but the counter-argument to this is that it is worse than the death penalty. What is the point in locking a person up until the day they die? The fact of the matter is, putting the psychology and dangers of the criminal aside, it is a much more expensive route to go down. With this, there is a much higher chance of that person re-committing crimes in jail, or plotting an escape, seeing as they have nothing to lose. However good the security of a prison, someone will always try to make off, and you cannot deny that sometimes it may be successful. If you have an unlimited time to plan an escape, with nothing to lose, it can be a very strong incentive.
However, there are 3 main questions to ask here:
1) Can the justice system be trusted to get every decision correct, given that the result is literally life or death? They haven't in the past... If the death sentence was still around, Barry George, (convicted of the 1999 murder of journalist and presenter, Jill Dando), would have been unjustly killed.
2) Will juries be willing to pass a guilty verdict knowing the punishment will be death? Would you be able to say 'Guilty' with the eyes of the person in the dock on you?
3) Will execution be a worthy deterrent for future cases?
In my opinion, they are all unanswerable questions. It is literally a matter of personal opinion, which, for the time being at least, means that nothing will change on the matter. I think this is a good thing. I am a believer that life sentences should not be 25 years long, but instead take up a greater quantity of the criminal's life. To take a criminal's life for their crime however, I think, would make the State as much of a monster.
Only unspeakably awful crimes should bring the possibilty of the death sentence. The murder of 52 Londoners on the Underground in July 2005, the brutal murder of 76 young politicians on the island of Utoya and the bombing beforehand, the shooting of innocent people in Cumbria, (even if the criminal did shoot himself). All of these should have the death penalty considered, I think.
But the big 2 words in that paragraph are, "I think". It is all a matter of personal opinion, and seeing as I am one non-important young adult living in the industrial town of Bedford, my opinion means nothing. Contrasting opinions will only create controversy, and as we all know, the people we vote to govern us, do not like that word.
Wednesday 3 August 2011
All Systems Go
It's August, which means it is, nearest makes no difference, 1 month until my University adventure begins. Moving away from the place I have called home for 20 years, to start out on the road to true independance, on the road to major life-changing qualifications and the start of a journey to the rest of my life. And I'm not ready.
I haven't even thought about preperation, about what I need to take and what I need or have to leave behind. Anything, from pots and pans to new clothes and sporting equipment, I have literally just realised at this second, I am massively underprepared for what will be a massive step in the Life of Mitten. And you know what they say. Failing to Prepare is Preparing to Fail. Or maybe I'm taking it all a bit too far?
I have a place to live. My accommodation confirmation e-mail came through last week, stating I will be living in Welkin Halls in the seaside town of Eastbourne, which is amazingly about 20 minutes from Brighton, and will be paying a mountaneous amount of money for the privilege. I have thought about the whole University experience since that e-mail more than I have ever done, ever since that day back in January or February, (I think), when I knew I would be heading down south.
I have thought about the accommodation, where I have had dreams that I would be staying with a group of law-abiding, bookworms who have no concept of, "Being a Fresher" and me, having no choice, but to stay camped inside my room for all eternity as my flatmates slaved away under lights, actually working. I have thought about the course, where I have daydreamed about being inundated under books and research and notes, which is probably my worst nightmare, then having to tell myself that this course is described as, "vocational". I have also had a dream about passing out on the Brighton seafront after too much Wray and Nephews, but I imagine the few hours preceding that would have been pretty amazing, so I'll by the by and take that as a good omen. However, I can't help but feel like I'm sat in a huge cooking pot of emotions. Nervousness, excitement, apprehension. All rolled into one. I imagine everyone going to University this year, and have started out in previous years, have felt this. But I can't help but feel that this is still the huge gamble I anticipated that it would be.
Back in the real world, and once again, just like most of last year, I find myself awake at Impossible O'Clock, waiting to feel tired, as I have failed to get out of "that" sleeping pattern. I don't have the willpower to stay awake all night and all day, and find myself falling asleep at around 5am, officially making me an owl. This is probably because I know I have nothing to do during the day. No car, very little money and friends who are either working or on holiday, means that I would only be sitting around doing nothing until 5-6pm anyway, waiting for everyone to come to me. Just like last year. The only difference today, being that I might be able to go to sleep at 5am, when it isn't 1,000 degrees. It's excruciatingly warm.
At least in Eastbourne, you can go and sleep in the sea if it's muggy. Only to find yourself in Northern France by daybreak. Or drowned.
Ok, now I'm babbling. So I'll leave you to get on with your day in peace.
I haven't even thought about preperation, about what I need to take and what I need or have to leave behind. Anything, from pots and pans to new clothes and sporting equipment, I have literally just realised at this second, I am massively underprepared for what will be a massive step in the Life of Mitten. And you know what they say. Failing to Prepare is Preparing to Fail. Or maybe I'm taking it all a bit too far?
I have a place to live. My accommodation confirmation e-mail came through last week, stating I will be living in Welkin Halls in the seaside town of Eastbourne, which is amazingly about 20 minutes from Brighton, and will be paying a mountaneous amount of money for the privilege. I have thought about the whole University experience since that e-mail more than I have ever done, ever since that day back in January or February, (I think), when I knew I would be heading down south.
I have thought about the accommodation, where I have had dreams that I would be staying with a group of law-abiding, bookworms who have no concept of, "Being a Fresher" and me, having no choice, but to stay camped inside my room for all eternity as my flatmates slaved away under lights, actually working. I have thought about the course, where I have daydreamed about being inundated under books and research and notes, which is probably my worst nightmare, then having to tell myself that this course is described as, "vocational". I have also had a dream about passing out on the Brighton seafront after too much Wray and Nephews, but I imagine the few hours preceding that would have been pretty amazing, so I'll by the by and take that as a good omen. However, I can't help but feel like I'm sat in a huge cooking pot of emotions. Nervousness, excitement, apprehension. All rolled into one. I imagine everyone going to University this year, and have started out in previous years, have felt this. But I can't help but feel that this is still the huge gamble I anticipated that it would be.
Back in the real world, and once again, just like most of last year, I find myself awake at Impossible O'Clock, waiting to feel tired, as I have failed to get out of "that" sleeping pattern. I don't have the willpower to stay awake all night and all day, and find myself falling asleep at around 5am, officially making me an owl. This is probably because I know I have nothing to do during the day. No car, very little money and friends who are either working or on holiday, means that I would only be sitting around doing nothing until 5-6pm anyway, waiting for everyone to come to me. Just like last year. The only difference today, being that I might be able to go to sleep at 5am, when it isn't 1,000 degrees. It's excruciatingly warm.
At least in Eastbourne, you can go and sleep in the sea if it's muggy. Only to find yourself in Northern France by daybreak. Or drowned.
Ok, now I'm babbling. So I'll leave you to get on with your day in peace.
Monday 1 August 2011
It's All Gone Wrong!
Have you been hit in the gentleman's vegetables by a cricket ball recently? Have you been shouted at through glass for not opening a box? Have you been ridiculed for being rubbish at a sport you claim to be at least 'average' at? Have you been called a cheat by a group of arrogant, big-headed imbesiles? No?
This weekend had so much promise. So much to offer, yet it turned out to be a damp squib of a couple of days. What with a couple of night shifts and then a couple of cricket matches, my head right now is somewhere between The Land of Nod and death itself. How I managed this for all of last Summer is just beyond me. I can almost taste the tiredness..
We shall start with Saturday where, after a full(ish) nights sleep, we had a friendly match against a poor village team. It was seen by most as a fantastic opportunity to build confidence ahead of the huge game the following day. Some people took that opportunity. Some, did not. I'm afraid to say, I was very much in the 'did not' camp. On a rather warm day, and a pancake of wicket, we chose to bat first and I was confident. Confident of scoring some big, big runs and find my touch in time for the big game. As I walked out to bat, with Andy "Run Machine" Collins, I envisaged 45 overs of untouched strokeplay and a massive partnership. I took my guard, on middle stump, and looked around the field, making a mental note of the placings. I look down at my feet once more, to check I am on my guard, and then I was out. What the hell just happened? I'll tell you what happened. The bowler, more eager than an 18-year old virgin on his first night into the wilderness, had run up and bowled, and as I looked up, the ball was shooting towards my thigh area. Natural human reactions meant I put something in the way. Unfortunately, it was my bat, and as the ball shot up into the bright blue sky, amid cries of 'Catch it!', I was suddenly walking back to the pavilion, after a brief pause to take in the horrificness of the situation, with a diamond quacker next to my name. I was so angry, that I wasn't angry. It was honestly laughable. My chance to find some form had been ruined by an over eager kid, (who I later found out was usually their wicket keeper.. As if the embarrassment wasn't enough..)
Apart from telling a couple of people, I mainly kept quiet on the "not being ready" part. I cannot imagine the abuse I would of got from the umpire for claiming, "I wasn't ready".. It's almost straight from the Year 3 playground. I mainly took it all in good spirit, despite deep, deep down, being rather annoyed, and watched on as my teammates amassed a huge 340, with the 'Run Machine' hitting a new high score of 158 not out. Needless to say, we won by over 200 runs, with Boony getting 5 wickets, and at least I got a catch, so I can say I contributed to the result!
Work that night was long. It was to be my first Saturday night in over 6 months, and I soon learnt that I hadn't missed them one bit. The fact that the store was closed from 1am, meant a lot of drunks trying to speak through a pretty soundproof window, which made me look like I was a deaf pensioner and the drunks getting increasingly annoyed at their requests not being granted. When 6am came, I was pleased to be leaving, looking forward, (sort of), to the huge game that was to commence later, despite having to cycle home. I probably didn't mention this, but some mug bought the Mittenmobile from me for a good amount of money. I am now car-less, which means the MitCycle is now getting a run out, which means more hard work for my thighs. To be fair, I could do with the exercise.
I went to sleep at about 7.30 on Sunday morning, and all too soon, 12:30 had come around and it was time to wake up again. All of a sudden, the memories of the lack of sleep came flooding back, and all of a sudden, I just didn't want to play cricket. It's the first time in a long time that I just wanted to stay in bed ahead of a game of cricket. The old me had returned slightly, with the beckoning prospect of a competitive, high-octane match against the side who were coasting on top of the league, and me, being tired and aching, just didn't feel like it. I went anyway, unlike some people, and found out upon arrival that we were fielding in the epic heat of a British Summer's day, with 9 fielders.. A couple of people just didn't turn up, (including the usual suspect), and at that point, I just thought it was going to be one of those days. These guys had pummelled us first game of the season, (with me getting one of those Diamond quackers.... I haven't had a good season...), so if we had 9 fielders, it may have turned embarrassing. Luckily, we got a couple of late replacements and restricted them to 216, on an OK wicket, which was a good effort considering these guys were the cockiest, most arrogant bastards I've ever come across.
Oh, they were infuriating. One guy especially, thought he was the next best thing, despite playing in Division 5 of the Bedfordshire League, and praised himself after every good shot he played. If God really did exist, then he wouldn't make pricks like that. I'm sorry, but it's true.
Anyway. It was our turn to bat, and despite my disastrous form of late, I was still opening the batting, looking to avoid the dreaded King Pair. For some reason, this team had an overseas Sri Lankan opening bowler playing for them, so naturally, he was pretty nippy. As he ran up to bowl his first ball, I could feel my heart pumping. Luckily, he bowled it quite wide, and I could play the most extravagent 'Leave' you're ever going to see. I relaxed from then on, and played this guy quite well. It was the other opening bowler I was having trouble with. He was one of these medium pacers, who you just can't get away. It doesn't help proceedings however, when one cuts in and hits you square in the family jewels. He wasn't that quick, but it doesn't really matter what pace it's at when it hits you there... It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The initial feeling of 'Oh, that didn't hurt too much', followed by the 'Crikey, Oh Riley, my bollocks are falling off', to the 'I feel very sick' stage, and that severely discomforted me. After I got out, for 7, playing a stupid shot, and after some much expected words of wisdom from the bastards who were sledging left, right and centre, (including a few references to my alleged lack of male genitalia), I was on my way back. Another failure.
We lost fairly comfortably in the end. Only the 'Run Machine' put up any sort of resistance with a solid 75, but this was after my short stint as umpiring. I replaced Sofee, and as he walked off he said, "Don't be intimidated by them", before I reminded him that I am a football referee. I am sort of used to it, on an officiating level. The 2nd ball I umpired, the whole team went up for an LBW shout, that I didn't think was out, so gave it not out. For the bowler and the constantly angry wicket keeper to call me a "cheat", just proves what a bunch of morons this lot were. Unlike football refereeing, where you have a small armoury to use such as cards and a whistle, cricket umpiring is very much a case of tell 'em where to stuff it! I had had enough of their stupid words, and every appeal they had I just waved away. They had already made it clear that they thought I was cheating, so I thought I'd give them something to be genuinely pissed off about. It was never going to matter anyway.
Yesterday's game was the sole reason I don't like Sunday cricket sometimes. We play too many teams who are made up of absolute clowns, and it's not fun. And despite my pre-match thoughts that I was going to be more competitive, I wasn't. I can't do it. I don't do competitiveness, especially against a team who think they're the next England. There's just no point.
Tonight's night shift was even longer than Saturday. Completely dead, and when 6am came around I was out of there quicker than you can say 'Ian Botham'. And now, I should really be going to sleep. I'm a bit disappointed this weekend has turned out the way it has, and I'm not really looking forward to next weekend either. 3 night shifts encapsulating 2 more cricket matches, and I sense a whole lot more tiredness coming my way. Yawn.
This weekend had so much promise. So much to offer, yet it turned out to be a damp squib of a couple of days. What with a couple of night shifts and then a couple of cricket matches, my head right now is somewhere between The Land of Nod and death itself. How I managed this for all of last Summer is just beyond me. I can almost taste the tiredness..
We shall start with Saturday where, after a full(ish) nights sleep, we had a friendly match against a poor village team. It was seen by most as a fantastic opportunity to build confidence ahead of the huge game the following day. Some people took that opportunity. Some, did not. I'm afraid to say, I was very much in the 'did not' camp. On a rather warm day, and a pancake of wicket, we chose to bat first and I was confident. Confident of scoring some big, big runs and find my touch in time for the big game. As I walked out to bat, with Andy "Run Machine" Collins, I envisaged 45 overs of untouched strokeplay and a massive partnership. I took my guard, on middle stump, and looked around the field, making a mental note of the placings. I look down at my feet once more, to check I am on my guard, and then I was out. What the hell just happened? I'll tell you what happened. The bowler, more eager than an 18-year old virgin on his first night into the wilderness, had run up and bowled, and as I looked up, the ball was shooting towards my thigh area. Natural human reactions meant I put something in the way. Unfortunately, it was my bat, and as the ball shot up into the bright blue sky, amid cries of 'Catch it!', I was suddenly walking back to the pavilion, after a brief pause to take in the horrificness of the situation, with a diamond quacker next to my name. I was so angry, that I wasn't angry. It was honestly laughable. My chance to find some form had been ruined by an over eager kid, (who I later found out was usually their wicket keeper.. As if the embarrassment wasn't enough..)
Apart from telling a couple of people, I mainly kept quiet on the "not being ready" part. I cannot imagine the abuse I would of got from the umpire for claiming, "I wasn't ready".. It's almost straight from the Year 3 playground. I mainly took it all in good spirit, despite deep, deep down, being rather annoyed, and watched on as my teammates amassed a huge 340, with the 'Run Machine' hitting a new high score of 158 not out. Needless to say, we won by over 200 runs, with Boony getting 5 wickets, and at least I got a catch, so I can say I contributed to the result!
Work that night was long. It was to be my first Saturday night in over 6 months, and I soon learnt that I hadn't missed them one bit. The fact that the store was closed from 1am, meant a lot of drunks trying to speak through a pretty soundproof window, which made me look like I was a deaf pensioner and the drunks getting increasingly annoyed at their requests not being granted. When 6am came, I was pleased to be leaving, looking forward, (sort of), to the huge game that was to commence later, despite having to cycle home. I probably didn't mention this, but some mug bought the Mittenmobile from me for a good amount of money. I am now car-less, which means the MitCycle is now getting a run out, which means more hard work for my thighs. To be fair, I could do with the exercise.
I went to sleep at about 7.30 on Sunday morning, and all too soon, 12:30 had come around and it was time to wake up again. All of a sudden, the memories of the lack of sleep came flooding back, and all of a sudden, I just didn't want to play cricket. It's the first time in a long time that I just wanted to stay in bed ahead of a game of cricket. The old me had returned slightly, with the beckoning prospect of a competitive, high-octane match against the side who were coasting on top of the league, and me, being tired and aching, just didn't feel like it. I went anyway, unlike some people, and found out upon arrival that we were fielding in the epic heat of a British Summer's day, with 9 fielders.. A couple of people just didn't turn up, (including the usual suspect), and at that point, I just thought it was going to be one of those days. These guys had pummelled us first game of the season, (with me getting one of those Diamond quackers.... I haven't had a good season...), so if we had 9 fielders, it may have turned embarrassing. Luckily, we got a couple of late replacements and restricted them to 216, on an OK wicket, which was a good effort considering these guys were the cockiest, most arrogant bastards I've ever come across.
Oh, they were infuriating. One guy especially, thought he was the next best thing, despite playing in Division 5 of the Bedfordshire League, and praised himself after every good shot he played. If God really did exist, then he wouldn't make pricks like that. I'm sorry, but it's true.
Anyway. It was our turn to bat, and despite my disastrous form of late, I was still opening the batting, looking to avoid the dreaded King Pair. For some reason, this team had an overseas Sri Lankan opening bowler playing for them, so naturally, he was pretty nippy. As he ran up to bowl his first ball, I could feel my heart pumping. Luckily, he bowled it quite wide, and I could play the most extravagent 'Leave' you're ever going to see. I relaxed from then on, and played this guy quite well. It was the other opening bowler I was having trouble with. He was one of these medium pacers, who you just can't get away. It doesn't help proceedings however, when one cuts in and hits you square in the family jewels. He wasn't that quick, but it doesn't really matter what pace it's at when it hits you there... It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The initial feeling of 'Oh, that didn't hurt too much', followed by the 'Crikey, Oh Riley, my bollocks are falling off', to the 'I feel very sick' stage, and that severely discomforted me. After I got out, for 7, playing a stupid shot, and after some much expected words of wisdom from the bastards who were sledging left, right and centre, (including a few references to my alleged lack of male genitalia), I was on my way back. Another failure.
We lost fairly comfortably in the end. Only the 'Run Machine' put up any sort of resistance with a solid 75, but this was after my short stint as umpiring. I replaced Sofee, and as he walked off he said, "Don't be intimidated by them", before I reminded him that I am a football referee. I am sort of used to it, on an officiating level. The 2nd ball I umpired, the whole team went up for an LBW shout, that I didn't think was out, so gave it not out. For the bowler and the constantly angry wicket keeper to call me a "cheat", just proves what a bunch of morons this lot were. Unlike football refereeing, where you have a small armoury to use such as cards and a whistle, cricket umpiring is very much a case of tell 'em where to stuff it! I had had enough of their stupid words, and every appeal they had I just waved away. They had already made it clear that they thought I was cheating, so I thought I'd give them something to be genuinely pissed off about. It was never going to matter anyway.
Yesterday's game was the sole reason I don't like Sunday cricket sometimes. We play too many teams who are made up of absolute clowns, and it's not fun. And despite my pre-match thoughts that I was going to be more competitive, I wasn't. I can't do it. I don't do competitiveness, especially against a team who think they're the next England. There's just no point.
Tonight's night shift was even longer than Saturday. Completely dead, and when 6am came around I was out of there quicker than you can say 'Ian Botham'. And now, I should really be going to sleep. I'm a bit disappointed this weekend has turned out the way it has, and I'm not really looking forward to next weekend either. 3 night shifts encapsulating 2 more cricket matches, and I sense a whole lot more tiredness coming my way. Yawn.
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