Tuesday, June 29, 2010

So very, very cold.

Greetings loyal followers.

Today's post is brought to you by the number 10 (degrees celsius) and the letter 'F' for FROZEN.

I'm not making this up: I can't feel the second toe on my left foot. My nose is numb (not that I use it to feel my way anyway), and I'm having to re-type every sentence three times as my fingers have a mind of their own in this cold. Plus the internet cafe keyboard is typically dodgy.

Okay, firstly I'll molest you all with my latest World Cup rant:
No, it's not the vuvuzelas. I kind of like their incessant drone now. Like white noise in the womb it is strangely reassuring. When the BBC's noise limiter kicks in and everything goes eerily quiet a sense of panic sets in and
I start making the noise myself by blowing raspberries into my beer bottle. Strangely comforting. I wonder what I'll do after the World Cup? Will I be sitting in an otherwise silent tram and subconsciously start loudly 'BRRRRRRRRRRRRR'ing away? Will I be in the queue at the supermarket and start making trumpet sounds through empty toilet rolls? But I digress.
I hate the World Cup because it is not the ultimate showcase of the best of the World Game. Second rate referees from useless leagues the world over have turned this alleged spectacle into a debacle. Sepp Blatter's (is there a more despised man on the planet at the moment) insistance that video referees will not happen on his watch has made the greatest game on the planet into the world's laughing stock.
Germany gave England a right and proper towelling, make no mistake. But had Lampard's legitimate goal been allowed to stand at a point in the match where England were threatening to dominate it would have been 2-2 (at least) at the break. Germany would have nothing to show for their early effort, and the game certainly would have had a different complexion. England's more experienced heads may well have then prevailed (especially seeing as Germany's remaining two goals came from breaks after England were in goalscoring positions).
And Brasil this morning? I cannot abide that the poewrhouse of world football, the perennial favourites for these competitions, needs to be handed the advantage by referees paying them free kicks for absolutely nothing whilst they themselves are allowed to kick and push and dive. Why, for instance, wasn't Maicon penalised with at least a yellow card for his blatant dive immediately preceeding Brasil's first goal? FMD!
So we now see Argentina through after cheating at least twice, with Brasil who can do whatever the f@#k they like with impunity, and Germany the benificiaries of a ridiculous mistake.
This world cup just goes from bad to worse for me. You can stick it where the sun don't shine Blatter.

Okay, that's the World Cup done.

Last week I ventured against the cold and wet to watch St Kilda take on Melbourne in the Winter Lawn Bowls semi-finals at Richmond Union Bowls Club. Wonderful day for the Saints. Melbourne really looked, player for player, to have St Kilda's measure - however it was the mighty Saints who prevailed. Special mention must go to Steve Mooney, who bowled like a Demon against the Demons, and the curiously handsome George Matoulis, who can do no wrong with a pair of black balls in his hands.
Afterwards we retired to the club for a lazy couple, and then on the AFB's place for a couple more. He was kind enough to extend his hospitality to letting me stay overnight.
So I wake in the middle of the night dehydrated and disoriented. I figure a glass of water is in order. So I goes to the fridge to see if he has any filtered or bottled water and find a bottle of milk instead. Oh baby. I love my milk. It's practically a full litre. I check the date and in my disoriented barely awake haze I make out the '7th' on the bottle. Cool. It's the 26th now, so he must have just bought it. Ha!
So I put the bottle to my lips (okay, I concede it's pretty poor form to drink out of someone else's milk bottle) and take a giant swig of sweet, sweet milk. Only something's wrong. It's not sweet, sweet milk. It's very, very wrong. I re-check the expiry date and it's the 7th of MAY! Almost a month ago! What kind of degenerate batchelor keeps milk in the fridge for a month after it's expiration??!! BASTARD!!  EEEUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!! Disgusting.
But it gave Andrew a hell of a laugh the next morning. Why I ought to....

Well, that'll just about do for now. I hope you are all braced against the weather and keeping out of trouble.
Oh, and I'd appreciate a few more invites for dinner over these long cold winter months. Seriously!



Andrew said...

That was a strategically placed bottle of milk, to catch out filthy bastards who drink directly from the bottle, serves you right ya rat bastard!!!

Mitt McBradman said...

Dinner at our place anytime you like, a new BBQ is on it's way!

Anonymous said...

are you telling me that you can still get bottled milk? do you leave the bottles out for collection still? is there cream in the bottle neck? does the horse clip clop down the laneway early in the morning and is the milkman still rogering his way down the street?

Phoebe said...

hehehe you funny..