Due to the ever increasing the temperatures and the fact I simply wanted a change, I had my haircut this evening. Gone are the long locks, which were unusual for me, and back is the classic short haired look, traditionally associated with my head.
I now no longer have the hairstyle of Leeds United’s Luciano Becchio, instead sharing more similarities to the lead singer from The Arrangement from Britain’s Got Talent (thanks to Adam for pointing out that similarity).
Following the attack of the clippers, I had to clean up a considerable amount of hair from the carpet. I just hope the vacuum cleaner hasn’t died from overfeeding.
It does seem that when I am not moaning about football or telling tales of spider encounters, my blog is used to complain about the weather. Tonight will be no exception.
I am getting a little fed up with the heat. Ever since I returned from my holiday, the weather seems to have been hotter than the hottest places in Africa. This makes sleep difficult and the daytime uncomfortable, especially in an office filled with people and IT equipment.
I know many countries in the world have to endure such temperatures, but just like when it pisses it down with snow, those countries are prepared… unlike Britain.
I would give my right arm, or at least one of my small toes, for air conditioning, a siesta and an ice cold bottle of San Miguel. In the meantime, I will remain hot and sweaty, while drinking warm cans of Carling and complaining about the weather like a good Brit.
I wonder if there were similar scenes in the hotel of the current England team this morning…
YOU LET YOUR COUNTRY DOWN read the headlines of today’s Sun newspaper. I’m not a daily reader of the tabloid, nor do I tend to agree with a lot of the views expressed in their stories. However, there was absolutely no way I could disagree with that statement.
The back page displayed the heading TIME’S UP FAB GO AND TAKE THESE LOSERS WITH YOU, with a crudely drawn arrow pointing to England’s beaten players. While I am not jumping on the ‘manager out’ bandwagon, both Fabio Capello and the failures who had the nerve to put on the England shirt need to offer an explanation and an apology to the supporters. At least the Italians had the dignity to say ‘sorry’ for their terrible tournament.
In a side article, Joe Cole admits “There’s problems”. That bloke really should go on Mastermind. I can see it now…“Next up, is Joe Cole from London. Special subject – the bleedin’ obvious.”
As I delved further into the paper, there was yet more hate aimed at Capello and the players, the odd piece of anti-German xenophobia and a half naked Wayne Rooney on the inside pages – it certainly makes a change to the usual female supermodel that can be found on Page 3. I’m glad I wasn’t eating at the time of reading.
The ironic thing is, had we beaten The Germans, even by one goal, despite playing like utter shite, the papers would be totally different. There would be calls for Capello to be knighted, petitions for David Cameron to declare a national holiday and a free CD single from James Corden and Gazza, singing about the victory.
Well done England!
You played superb. You fully justified your multi-million pound wages. You are the pride of your country and were desperately unlucky to lose, having been by far the better side throughout the game and indeed the World Cup.
You are truly Gods among men.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
