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Is it possible I'm blogged out? I've found recently after washing my hands with the world for the fourth or fifth time that I have no motivation to discuss anything. There's many many things occurring as we speak that just a few months ago would have had my blood angried up to boiling point, now I just sort of sigh and continue on with my sandwich.

Do blogs have a natural life span? Can you grow out of them, or recede from them even? Who cares. Perhaps it's like ditching a Sheila. When you press buttons and nothing occurs it's time to put your pants back on and just watch telly? Perhaps it's the humidity, but whatever the ins and outs of the situation, the long and short of it is I'm simply not interesting or interested anymore.

Take football for example, there's a nonsense rule they've introduced this season to limit the number of "foreign" players teams can include in their squads. They must have eight "home grown" players of a twenty-five man squad.

However..by home grown they don't mean wee English lads with wispy little tashes and silly haircuts. Home grown just means any player who's been registered with an English club for at least 36 months regardless of age or nationality. And it only applies to the Premier League games, not the FA Cup, Europe or the other thing, the Carling thing.

This helps the national team how? I've already discussed many times why England are shit. And this will encourage clubs to live within their means how? As Arsene Wenger pointed out - it's always Arsene Wenger who has to show these people what nonsenses their rules are - big clubs will now have a surplus of players, expensive players and the only way the smaller clubs will be able to claim them is to either over-stretch themselves financially or have their wages subisidised by the bigger club, which is undesirable for all concerned. Gay.


In other news, it appears this catastrophic environmental disaster in the Gulf of Mexico has been greatly exaggerated and so far only four sea otters have died and three dolphins were unwell for a few days. While Barrack Obama was busy telling the world that BP had poisoned the Gulf and the marine and bird life were all asphyxiating as we speak and this is somehow as epochal as 9/11 - science boffins were looking at this episode from an entirely indifferent perspective.

Oil, they pointed out for starters - is organic, it's not a chemical, it is leaking into the ocean, dispersing and evaporating all the time. The Gulf is warm water which also aids the dispersal and finally, there's no evidence anywhere that this is even remotely as devastating as the Exxon thing. Finally they point out, birds are awful creatures anyway and if there's less of them to wake us up at 6am then we can all find cause to rejoice.


You see that's exactly the sort of thing that would have me chuntering away at myself for hours, but now I just don't give a hoot. The only hoot I care about these days are the many loud ones coming from the owl in a tree near my bedroom window. Loud bastard. Why doesn't it fuck off? A small lady approached me earlier this week asking for donations for some sort of Wildlife Trust, I offered her £200 if she'd kill an owl for me. She backed off and hasn't been back. There's no pleasing some people.


It's the weekend now and of course once again I've considered going somewhere to play poker tomorrow, but of course I'll instead wake up in the afternoon, hopefully earlier enough to watch Jessica Ennis bending herself into positions that make a man forget to get old and forget to die.

The venue I usually can never be bothered to travel up to is of course DTD. They have some sort of bounty thing tomorrow where by you stump up £75 - £50 of which goes to the prize pool and the remainder is your bounty. Half hour clock, 10,00 chips, but it's a 3pm start though, I'd never make it. Blergh. It's become a routine of not doing anything.


I've nothing else to say. I'm empty. I'm done, I'm finished. That might be it for this blog. I think I might call it a day. Perhaps if I started a brand new one I might rediscover my blogging mojo? A nice new one with bright colours and a view of the beach?

I had an idea to host the TV weather girl World Cup, but I haven't been able to organise it, I'd search for footage of various weather girls and then just get too randied up to put all the fixtures together and have to do man's business instead*.


Perhaps if I had copy of the angling times handy to keep me calm I could get it organised? I'll give it some more thought. In the meantime though I think we've come to the end of this blog. It's not really been emotional, just something to do. The blog version 2.0 will be awesome beyond blogging beliefs, but until then some music..

Labels: End, Football, News, Nonsense

They may have just bought Harrods for a billion or so quid, but they're still not allowed to park their Lambourghini's outside it. That'll be £150 for the pair please your Majesties...and welcome to England.

Labels: Funny, Nonsense

Labels: Football, Funny

How's about this for a funny old bet then on July 30th; - Chivas v Manchester United - United's new signing Javier Hernández to score the first goal but Chivas to win 1-0. You'll probably not get a bookmaker to offer you a price on this, but why not stitch an unsuspecting friend up for a laugh.

Chicharito you see is expected to start the first half for United and play the second half for Chivas, assuming his fitness holds up. FUN! This should actually be a good game to watch. This will be the first game in Chivas' new stadium which is a freakin' amazing looking thing on the top of a hill.

Chivas ought to win as the Apertura has started and the English league is weeks away and as United showed against Kansas - they're either not even trying at the moment or will struggle to finish in the top half of the table.
In other Mexican news, Efrain Juarez gave an interview today in his Celtic shirt and gah bless him he still seems completely oblivious to what he's got himself into. His English is very good for someone who's only been there ten minutes, I doubt though he'll ever master Glaswegian.

Speaking of learning languages, the plan, when I can say more in Spanish than just "the bakery is in the town square" is to try and wangle some interviews with the Mexican players based in the UK.

Are Celtic in the Champion's League? I hope they get drawn against an English team so I don't have to travel up to Glasgow if they allow me access to Mr Juarez. I'm making slow progress with the language so I'll just have to hope Efrain is keen to locate the bakery. And hope there's one in the town square.

Labels: Football, Mexico

You dress up like twats, break the law, bust into the Queen's house and other such places and then wonder why the authorities won't let you spend time with your children?

Labels: Nonsense

Horse racing:

Football: The Mexican Premera Division has just started and it seems only right I should have a small interest. Thank you to my fellow Mexican football bloggers for their input - some differences of opinions, but I have settled on an 'Unders' Trixie;

Chivas v Pueblo (1.84), Jaguares v Necaxa (1.80) and Tigres v Queretaro (1.72)

Also, I'll be backing the draw in the Chivas game. Although this is the last game in their old stadium I'm informed they have no real goal scorers so I shall take the 3.7 for a draw and hope I'm wrong as they're my goats.

Labels: Betting, Football, Mexico

There was so much bullshit in the news today. Thank the lord I washed my hands with the world again and don't care, elsewise I'd have shit myself out of frustration. It baffles me why there's any able-bodied people left in this country. If I was ten years younger I'd move to Vancouver. I'd be working at an all girls college teaching home economics by day and resting by night.

David Cameron doesn't know when the Americans joined the second world war. Evidently he only knows what he learns from war films starring Clint Eastwood. This by the way is a fucking disgrace - for this air-headed pomade stinking fraud of a Prime Minister to be unaware that America remained "neutral" until all the heavy lifting had been done by us is inexcusable.

If Britain was ever a "junior partner" it was years later and to the Russians - who had about 8 billion soldiers in theatre - not the Americans. I think David Cameron should have to apologise personally to every single remaining soldier who fought in the second world war and then he should resign and then just fuck off to some PR company repurposing cross-media architectures and sunsetting ideas to incubate frictionless mindshare and other such bullshit.


Further motivation to move to Canada came in the awful shape of some stupid 60 year old woman who wants to sue Simon Cowell as she felt humiliated on one of his telly shows. I'm still not sure if I didn't dream that because correct me if I'm wrong crazy woman, but those shows exist purely to humiliate people, that is their purpose.

If you went on their believing it was a genuine talent show and that reality TV shows of this nature are a genuine career path then I'm afraid you deserve to humiliated. Personally, I think people like you should be chained to railings in the dankest darkest part of a mental institution, fed rotten meat and prodded twice a day with sharp sticks.


Finally Nick Griffin appears to be in the news again. Banned from meeting the Queen at a Palace garden party - as if he was ever likely to get even within half a mile of her majesty. Although I heard the Duke of Edinburgh was really rather looking forward to meeting him.

This man is no more relevant in British politics than Howling Laud Hope of the Monster Raving Loony Party yet we remain as obsessed by him and his silly little party as the various History channels are with Hitler and his hence men. Why might this be I wonder?


I'm off to listen to some country music and forget where I live. I suggest you do the same.

Labels: Nonsense, Politics, TV

Labels: Awesome, Baseball

Labels: Nonsense, TV

I despair. I utterly utterly despair. I know I washed my hands with the world again last week, but something just caught my eye and I tried so very hard to look away but I just kept on reading, now I'm pissed off again.

Not satisfied with sending our armed forces to fight two pointless wars with less equipment than a cub scout troop take on a camping weekend, it appears the MoD are now about to Court Marshall a Gurkha just because he happened to do his job in a way that might have upset the enemy. Someone wake Joanna Lumley up cause this is just bullshit.

Until I read about this Gurkha I've always felt that Sgt. Barnes from Platoon was the most badass soldier of recent times. If you've seen the film you'll recall that the only thing that stopped Barnes from killing Charlie Sheen's character at the end in that monumental gun fight was when a Jet fighter screamed overhead and dropped napalm on his head and even that only stunned him for a few hours.

But back to our Gurkha friend. His unit were tasked with shooting some high ranking Taliban dude, but they also had to recover his body so they could prove they'd killed him.

So, they do indeed shoot the guy, but they come under such heavy fire that they can't drag his body back with them...so, using his initiative the Gurkha pulls out his kukri knife and cuts the man's head off so they can just take that back and identify him from that as he knows anecdotal evidence will not be sufficient. Job done as far as I'm concerned. Good thinking, thank you very much and fuck me I'm glad he's on our side surely?

Apparently though, and this is the thing that'll keep me awake tonight, he's been sent back to the UK to face a possible Court Martial because - desecrating a dead body in this way is...I can hardly bring myself to type the words....is offensive to Muslims!!

Offensive...so fucking what if it's offensive? What in the name of Christ in sandals has that got to do with anything? Those are their beliefs not ours. Do you want this man dead or don't you? Surely shooting him was quite offensive too, but that was OK? They find it offensive we're even in their country, but we're still there aren't we?

How in God's name are these people supposed to do their job if they have to fight according to a phone-book sized manual of bullshit rules and regulations...none of which are observed by the other side?

This Gurkha dude who isn't even English but has generously volunteered to fight our bullshit wars for us isn't allowed to remove some random dead punters head, meanwhile the Taliban - who don't wear uniforms - can shoot British soldiers and then just throw their weapons away, pick up a spade and claim to be farmers and there's nothing we can do about it. Then when they gets home they can have a cold glass of goats milk while and watch some poor woman being stoned to death because she showed a postage-stamp sized piece of skin to someone she wasn't related to.

I don't have enough space on this blog to list everything that offends me about Islam, but I very much doubt they'd stop doing any of them out of respect for my sensibilities. Now, I know the Ayatollah Ali Hoseyni Khamene reads my blog so I tell you what you smelly breathed, bearded goat fucker..I'll email in to the MoD and see if I can stop the Gurkha's from cutting the heads of your mates in Afghanistan if you admit that the sky fairy you worship is no more likely to exist than garden fairies and the Loch Ness Monster and the only real reason for your oppression of women is because you're gay and you're overcompensating. Deal?

Labels: Bastards, Nonsense, Politics, Religion

I had an horrific shock yesterday when I was flicking through the channels and came across T*ttenham playing a friendly against San Jose Earthquake on ESPN. They ought to have some sort of parental controls when they show Sp*rz games, like a warning or something and you have to punch in a PIN if you want to continue so you're not caught unawares by an utter shower of shit while you're eating.

I hear the game finished 0-0. Couple of things struck me funny. First of all, what the hell kind of kit is that the N17ers are sporting this year? It looks like something you can pick up from Paulie Two Thumbs' pound empire. And also why would you name your team "Earthquake"? A natural disaster, especially in a part of the world plagued by them? Is there a team in the Philippines called the Manilla Tsunamis? Or perhaps a team in Ethiopia called the Addis Ababa Famine? Very strange.

Meanwhile Arsenal gave the might of Barnet a sound 4-0 thrashing. Barnet being a similar standard to MLS in US of States. Jack Wilshire looked amazing. He's some how aged about 5 years over the summer and although I may get carried away sometimes with the cabillion of prospects Arsenal have in their ranks, I have a feeling in my testicles that this man will be something very special. It's about time someone called Jack rose to prominence in England. Good traditional football name is that. I think Arsenal have someone called Wilf too. Awesome.


In other news, as of the start of the new season, possibly sooner, you lucky lucky people will be able to digest my views and opinions of the various Mexican players now playing in the Premier League - and also to a lesser extent those playing in Europe at http://mexico.worldcupblog.org/

Thank you to Al for the invite. Hopefully Gio will be loaned out by T*ttenham so I won't have to discuss them, but I'm looking forward to watching Pablo Barrera, Carlos Vela and Chicharito and also God bless him Efrain Juarez who has for some reason agreed to play for Celtic. I can only assume his agent didn't mention what sort of places he'll be asked to play and how utterly shit Scottish football is. I know Mexico has it's problems, but will living in Scotland offer a more secure future? How will he cope with fried Mars bars? Let's hope for his sake a proper team picks him up as soon as possible.

Finally, obviously I wasn't even close to getting up in time to venture out to Nottingham for the Super 50 thing, but I feel I can manage to find the motivation to don some coordinated evening wear and head over to Abingdon for their 20/20/20 game. It feels like weeks and weeks since I last played poker, mostly because it has been so all things being even I should be home by about 8pm.

Labels: Football, Mexico, Poker

I can't watch the darts while Denis Ovens is on. His wig is tilting me. Why would you wear a wig if everyone knows it's a wig? If the syrup you're sporting is more ridiculous looking than just being bald surely that defeats the purpose? And being bald doesn't look bad anyway in fact.

And it must be a wig. Let's look at the evidence: It's always ALWAYS exactly the same length. You never see him with a really silly short haircut post-barbers, or with it looking in need of a cut.

He never ever ever touches it, clearly for fear of it slipping off. It gets very hot and sweaty on those TV stages and he's the only player that doesn't wipe his forehead with a towel for fear of dislodging his fake barnet.

Also, the parting - where the hair parts you cannot see any scalp. It's too thick, this is a clear sign of wiggage. Finally the colour, It's all the same colour. He's getting on a bit yet his hair shows no signs of greying and most people have lighter patches on their hair anyway through exposure to the sun no?

Denis, I know you read my blog. Get a grip. You look like a lego man.

Labels: Nonsense

Pensioner boots. Who on earth decided these monstrosities were an essential addition to a girl's wardrobe? These things are fine if you're a pensioner trying to keep warm in the winter. They're clearly comfortable, practical and warm so yes of course if you're surviving on a budget and suffer from painful arthritis they make perfect sense. And if you live in a place perpetually covered with ice, than fine they serve as great slippers, but if you're under 35..get the fuck out. Have a word with yourself, you look fucking stupid.

If you're still of an age where you have to pay to get on the bus and don't need to be lowered into the bath by a carer then the kind of boots you should be wearing are the kind that make Richie growl. Something like this for example..

Labels: Nonsense

Labels: Awesome, Movie

Since I washed my hands with the world again I've found I have nothing to say about anything and although I prefer it this way I'm afraid it means the blog will now be reduced to posts about what sort of sandwiches I've eaten recently and of course details on how I've thrown monies away indiscriminately on ill thought out wagers and 2am Ebay purchases.

Before we get to that I think this is as good a time as any to announce that as my birthday this year falls on the same day as the next £300 game at DTD (August 7th) - that I always consider playing, but ultimately end up missing in favour of mooching about at home in some coordinated lounge wear - I will definitely play it this time around.

It will be different not simply because I won't have to stump up the buy-in, but also cause I feel it'll be cheaper than going to the Fox and playing PLO as I did last year on my birthday playing under the influence of various lagers and Turkish whiskeys.

Sooooo, for those that both know me and enjoy the odd hand of poker, you're of course all welcome to join me. I believe they have a £50 game the same evening if the £300 does not appeal.

I am also considering playing the 6-Max APAT event at the end of August and in fact the £50 deepstack thing at DTD this Saturday and by "consider" I mean have genuine intentions of playing but again ultimately probably staying here and trying on all my hats or something instead.

At this point I have nothing else to say. I have a fish pie cooking as we speak so I shall excuse myself if you don't mind. I'll bid you good day.

Labels: Nonsense, Poker

According to Paul the Octopus the worst World Cup in recent memory will be won by Spain on Sunday. I really would rather the Dutch won as I stand to win more, but in real terms I've found, just like the tournament in the USA in 1994 and the one hostaed by the aliens in 2002, I just want it to be over so we can all quickly forget it ever happened.

What will be the lasting memory of this World Cup? There hasn't been one and if the final is a typical one, there isn't going to be one. Just the irritating maddening resonance of those plastic trumpets. This is what happens when you stage the World Cup outside of Europe or South/Central America. Why don't they just always hold it in Mexico for crying out loud?

Everyone knows the World Cup should be held in unbearable temperatures and stamina sapping humidity so that at least one high profile player is caught on camera vomiting down his front. Heat causes poor judgment and mistakes and these all make for far better games.

World Cups are never about beautiful football, the best World Cups have been the ones with the most controversial incidents; Spain 1982 - Harold Schumacher almost taking Patrick Battiston head clean off his shoulders (above), Mexico 1986 - Diego Maradona cheating with every step he took, 1990 - Frank Rijkaard spitting deep into Rudi Völler's mullet (below), USA 1994 - er..Diana Ross missing a penalty? gay, France 1998 - David Beckham's petulance, 2002 South Korea/Japan - nothing, didn't happen and Germany 2006 - Zinedine Zidane's chestual headbutting of Marco Matorazzi.

This World Cup will be remembered for forgettable games and mind numbingly boringly punditry. If there had of been a stampede as I had predicted, it would have been caused by thousands of people desperately trying to flee from the stadiums before another freekick is ballooned into the Indian ocean from forty yards or another 1-0 game is played to a finish in freezing temperatures by players who so desperately want to be somewhere else.

In real terms I have to say I'd rather have spent the past few weeks in Rothbury.

Labels: Football, Nonsense

So I'm just now watching the News and it appears the police up north have finally cornered this Raoul Moat fella, but...and I'm laughing as I type this....they can't arrest him because he's holding a sawn-off shotgun to his own throat. Yes, the police cannot apprehend the man as he is holding himself hostage. He's using the tactic Sheriff Bart used in Blazing Saddles to get away from the imbred gun touting racist villagers who wanted to shoot him.

It's embarrassing really. I can't think of another country where the police would try and negotiate in a situation like this. I can't imagine the LAPD or the French Gendarmes being so considerate. What difference does it make if he shoots himself?

Surely the most gay gunman siege ever. A farce from start to finish. His name is Raoul for a start. He only shot that first bloke initially cause he thought he was a policeman.

Poor Raoul must have let out the biggest loudest D'oh ever when the police pointed out to him that the dude wasn't a copper after all....making his 50 page letter about how he's going to kill every policeman in the country seem a bit daft really.

Despite every armed policeman in the country joining the search as well as the SAS, Dog the Bounty Hunter and a friggin' Tornado! it's taken a week to find him and now they have found him hidden in a bush they don't know how to get him out, he's not a f*cking man eating lion!

Whatever happened to come out with your hands up or we'll shoot? Is that not in the manual anymore? Sigh..when we needed Marion Cabretti or Dirty Harry or Sledgehammer we got a woman called Sue who'd struggle to cope with a pack of unruly Brownies. F*cking suffragettes.

Labels: Gay, Nonsense, Not Awesome

It's been many years now since our police force were of any use to anyone in danger or in need of assistance, but this whole manhunt business in Northumberland is really quite pathetic all the same. It's not Bin Laden they're searching for after all.

They're all very impressive looking these armed police dudes with their big guns, police issue chewing gum and knee pads and I'm sure they can all shoot up paper targets with the best of them, but when it's a crazed Geordie they have to deal with who might actually shoot back, suddenly they don't seem quite so gung-ho.

Alarmingly it's clear that the police don't really have a clue what they're doing. The police can't solve a burglary these days yet they're expected to deal efficiently with massacres and potential massacres. Sadly, the good people of Rothbury and Whitehaven may has well have called the Avon Lady.

Just now a dude who appears to be in charge has announced in a press conference that he feels this Moat chap is hiding out in woodlands and in the very next sentence appeals to him to give himself up. How's he supposed to hear this appeal? Does Detective Chief Superintendent Neil Adamson think Moat has a flat screen TV in his tent?

Give yourself up!? Is he taking the piss? You know the police have run out of ideas when they resort to actually asking the bloke to hand himself in. He might as well have just said, "we don't really know what to do..is there any chance you could just sort of..you know..just give up like?" Have we tried this with the Taliban in Afghanistan, "Alright lads, call it a draw and let's go home?"

Of course the real reason all these hundreds of armed police are completely redundant is that there's a very real chance Health and Safety regulations explicitly prevent them from engaging anyone who might actually shoot back at them as this would put their lives in danger.

Like life guards at swimming pools who aren't actually allowed to dive into the pool if someone's drowning as it might put their life in danger too - they just have to sort of stand at the side of the pool making swimming gestures with their arms and waving one of those lasso type poles at the hapless drowning swimmer.

This is effectively what the police seem to be doing up in Northumberland. Not actually trying to find the dude and shoot him in his horrible red face, just sort of standing on the side lines making gestures and hoping he'll do the decent thing and either surrender or shoot himself.

It's also pissing me off that they continue to refer to him as Mr Moat. Why so polite? He's been shooting people, he's proved he's an horrible c*nt..you don't have to be so civil. Why not call him fucko and see what happens. That's what Harvey Keitel would do.

Sigh, Moat might not want to give up, but I do. It's time I washed my hands with the world again. As of now I'm only interested in watching spaghetti westerns and eating sammiches that have spicy sausage in them.

Sport now and I'm backing Spain to win on penalties this evening. I'd love to see a Dutch v Jormans final, but alas I fancy Spain to ruin what could potentially have been a classic and violent contest. There's always the chance the Spanish will sleep in and not be quite ready for the game, but ultimately I have to side with Paul the Octopus on this one.

Labels: Football, Nonsense

Paul the Octopus has predicted a Spain win in their semi-final with Jerry. This is intriguing. I really wanted to see a Netherlands/Germany final. I felt that had much potential to descend into chaos on and off the pitch.

It's possible of course he is wrong, it's all good natured stuff isn't it, not to be taken seriously. Unless of course you're Argentinian. Apparently after he predicted Germany would beat them, a newspaper in Argentina gave a recipe for Paella and dared anyone to capture him and kill him. They really are fun people the Argies, it baffles me why no one likes them.

All is not lost for the Bosch. According to the Daily Telegraph the only time Paul got a prediction wrong in the 2008 European Championships was when he predicted Germany would beat Spain in the final. So perhaps he's wrong again this time just the other way round.

The end.

Labels: Football, Nonsense

Labels: Poker

The NHL's best ever enforcer big bad Bob Probert died today. This is very sad news. He was perhaps the perfectly balanced hockey player - half man, half cocktail or narcotics - so perhaps this is not a total shock, but at 45 that's still far too young ain't it?

I used to have a huge big portrait of Bob Probert on my wall. I know he spent one or two years with Detroit and did some stuff there for a few games or something, but surely his best years were in Chicago - certainly most of his best arrests and domestic disturbances were while he was a Blackhawk.

Very sad to hear this. I remember reading once in one of the Chicago papers before he was traded to Chicago that Hell would freeze over before he'd play for Chicago after being such a legend at Detroit - let's hope that's finally happened and he's down there now skating around dropping the gloves with some of history's biggest arse-holes.

Happy Independence day everyone. Can it really only be 234 years since we finally managed to separate ourselves from our rebellious progeny? Our bastard son of a thousand maniacs. How time flies. Bless them to this day they still think they actually defeated us in that war..haha. They remind me of a small boy playing football in the park with his father who reels off in celebration after scoring a goal as his Dad lies prostrate on the ground feigning disappointment.

Over two centuries have past and they still haven't cottoned on to the fact that the whole damn shooting match was a ruse to make the separation on our part look reluctant. I'm laughing at their naivety as I type this.

Yes America, we really fought hard in that war, pheeeeweeee we really really did try our very hardest to win, cause of course back then when our Empire spanned a quarter of the globe we always sent a bunch of peasants and freelance lazy French and Spanish mercenary types to fight our wars for us.

It's in fact how we managed to build our Empire in the first place. Not sending in Professionally trained troops with stiff upper British lips and a Henry-Martin - no no - we sent in a bunch of Frenchy types who spent most of the afternoon eating onions or chasing after native girls shouting "Voulez-vous voir la malle de mon éléphant" ...do you want to see my Elephant's trunk.

Bless our ignorant progeny. Perhaps they know the truth and just refuse to accept it so they can still light up a load of fireworks every July 4th. I'll just let them get on with it. Telling them would be like telling a four year old that Father Christmas didn't exist.

Labels: Funny, USA

All together now....

Labels: Football, Funny

Labels: Betting, Football

Urrrghhh...So now Ghana v Uruguay - with two minutes left in Extra-Time I have a feeling in my bones it's not going to penalties - I swiftly leap to my computron and fire up Betfair. I deposit £10 with the intention of having a cheeky £5 on each team to win in Extra-Time.

Uruguay is matched. Ghana I only get £3.04 matched leaving my balance at £1.96, which I can't now have on Ghana as I've clicked cancel unmatched bets and it's less than the £2 minimum. Meanwhile the prices are rising and Ooooooh penalty to Ghana. Fuck my life. I stand only to win £28 when I could have won much more if I could have had the last remaining £1.96 on.

But though but....they miss it anyway! I don't even get my measly £28. Awful game silly bollocks tits.

Labels: Betting, Football

Just thought I'd make it clear to silly English Andy Murray fans that if you're going to adopt someone as one of your own despite them being from a different country purely on the strength of thier country being in a Union with England, then you may as well adopt Rafael Nadal as he's from Spain and they're members of the European Union - which is unfortunately a far greater Union than the UK.

Labels: Nonsense, Sport

So today was all rather arduous in all fairness. I know I'm going to struggle stamina wise when I have to get up in the morning. My feet feel a good 3 or 4 kilos heavier before about 4pm.

It was the second part of my annual review at the big house. After knocking out a comparitively awesome lung-function test last week - the best one since Mexico were cheated out of a quarter final place in 2006 by Argentina as it goes (I'm seeing a pattern here) - today however it was shit again. It was nice while it lasted.

They sent me off to have an ultra-sound. While I was sat in the very very quiet waiting room I was desperate to fart, but didn't want to offend anyone - I must stop eating jalepeno peppers before I go to bed. In fact I should not have been so concerned with my fellow Ultra-Soundees' sensibilities as the gas within me made it rather tricky for the Doctor dude to see my innards clearly. I think there's a lesson in this for us all.

In other news I'll be campaigning to have those little hats nurses used to wear re-instated. I think all of this country's social ills can be regressed back to when they decided to ditch those little caps. Why did they?

Probably some silly PC bullshit as male nurses didn't have to wear them. Male nurses - bah - what's the matter, too stupid to become a Doctor? Get a man's job and leave all the fondling and bed sheet folding to the womenfolk that's what I always say.


Sport now and the mini World Cup drought ends tomorrow with the first two quarter finals. Over on Paulie Two Thumbs' blog he appears to be pulling for a Brazil win as he has the most invested in them having backed the Dutch and Brazil pre-tournament. I myself am in the opposite situation. I also backed the Dutch and Brazil, but the Brazilians were my saver as it were. I have £530 monies coming my way if the Dutch can finally lose their tag as the best country never to win the World Cup and £68 if the Brazilians win.

I'm very disappointed they have to play each other. I fear for the Dutch. It's about this time of the World Cup when they start to argue amongst each other and put cigars in each others eyes. I was hoping that their unofficial "selection policy" may have allowed them to circumvent their inner squabbles, but I've heard tell of a Robin Van Persie temper tantrum so who knows. The Dutch are a funny nation - all clogs and funny accents on the outside, but when you take a closer look at the nation, they're actually quite unpleasant people. Still...who cares?

In the other quarter-final tomorrow I fancy some violence and a red-card. On Saturday it's been determined by Paul the Octopus that Germany will beat Argentina again and jolly good too. Paul has a 100% record in predicting Germany's World Cup results so far, even predicting their loss to Serbia! I shall be lumping on Germany and eating sausage in their honour.

Labels: Football, Nonsense