England play Russia in their opening game of Euro 2016 tonight. Considering we have an impressive collection of Russian meerkats in our front room, I think it might be a good idea that we segregate them from Claire and myself.
Russian Ultras
The Euros start in just four days. I am very excited. Back in the day, Leeds United would send loads of their players to international tournaments. I remember feeling like a proud father, watching my team’s players representing their country.
Leeds don’t seem to provide many international players these days – mainly because they are rubbish and nobody has faith in a 36 year old, overweight carthorse bringing glory to their country.
Euro 2016 will see one player from Leeds United on the international stage. This player is not 36, overweight or a carthorse. He is a 25 year old, athletic, beast of a man, with a great big bushy beard. His name – Stuart Dallas. One of my favourite current Leeds players (as he is good, he’ll probably be sold next week).
You would be forgiven for thinking that with the skill and talent Stuart boasts, he would be playing for one of the European superpowers like Germany or Spain. He does, in fact, represent Northern Ireland.
So proud am I of Stuart’s callup to the Northern Ireland squad, that I have a Panini sticker of him on my desk at work.
Incidentally, I have also completed the Euro 2016 sticker album. I must admit, that I was tempted to fill every one of the 640 empty spaces in the album, with Stuart Dallas stickers. I didn’t.
Northern Ireland’s greatest every player – sorry, George Best
This is a photo of the wardrobe in my bedroom. There is something wrong with it – take a good look.
Can you see what the problem is?
How about now?
There is a huge spider web on the foot of the ITV Digital Monkey! There is only one place that huge spider webs come from, and that’s huge spiders. The thought of a spider in the bedroom terrifies me.
I really had to rid my bedroom of the spider. But how? I thought up the following solutions…
MORNING BUST
Catch the spider unaware. Come charging towards the wardrobe, tear the monkey from off the top, hopefully with the spider attached to it, and then stamp on the beast or spray it to death with Raid.
Risks: The spider may fall on my head or runaway.
Chances of success: Slim.
OUTSMART THE SPIDER
Outsmarting a spider is difficult. They are more intelligent than people give them credit for. Many a time I have been told “The spider is more scared of you, than you are of it”. This is an urban myth. Spiders are not scared of us. If they were, why would they stroll across our living rooms, flicking us the ‘V sign’, while we watch EastEnders? To follow this method, I would have to make a trap for the spider. Make the hunter become the hunted. To do this, I would catch a small woodlouse from the garden, to use as bait. The woodlouse would then be dropped onto the web. The spider, sensing a free breakfast, would run out of its hiding place, to devour the hero woodlouse. While it is doing this, I would spray it to death with Raid.
Risks: The spider would attack me as I dropped the woodlouse onto its bed. The spider would outsmart me. The spider would run away.
Chances of success: Slim
ASK MY DAD FOR HELP
Dads are great for helping to catch spiders. They are not scared of anything. This rule will change if I ever have a child. Claire’s Dad was the spider catcher when she lived with her parents, and whenever I needed a spider removed from my childhood home, my Dad would always be called upon. With my Dad paying a visit Saturday morning, he could be my hero and destroy the spider. NOTE: By calling my Dad a ‘hero’, I am not comparing him to a woodlouse, which I also referred to as a ‘hero’ in my earlier idea.
Risks: My Dad isn’t scared of spiders, so isn’t careful when catching the spider, and as a result, lets it run away.
Chances of success: Slim
IGNORE IT
While I hate spiders, I know that they are everywhere. Long before spotting the web, I am sure there are spiders in the bedroom. However, I have learnt to live with the philosophy “Out of sight, out of mind”. If I didn’t, I would be forced to live in a plastic bubble all my life. The spider is on top of the wardrobe. While up there, it isn’t going to run across the floor or crawl into bed with me. If I were to disturb it and the spider escaped, it could go anywhere.
In the end I went for the third idea – ASK MY DAD FOR HELP. My Dad is a tall man (so I have no idea why I am only 5 foot 5), but even he can’t see on top of the wardrobe. Using a stepladder, he observed the area, moved the monkey and cleaned up the web. No spider was found. This is kind of a relief, but I am still not convinced. As I said earlier, spiders are clever, not to mention fast. The spider almost certainly heard my Dad coming and made a run for it, long before he even made his ascent up the stepladder. I just hope it doesn’t attack me in the night, in a vicious act of revenge for destroying its web.
I thought it was about time I blogged about something non-football related, as I’m aware that over the last couple of weeks, all my blogs have been about Leeds United’s new manager crisis!
There is absolutely no excuse for my blogging laziness. I had a perfect blogworthy topic to write about last Friday. Claire picked me up from work, so we could go to The Village. This is our high street of shops, but all locals refer to it as “The Village”. Anyone who has seen the movie Hot Fuzz, will recall the residents of Sanford. Our “Village” is very similar – although there are no murderers and instead of a Somerfield, we have a Tesco Express.
After browsing all the aisles of Tesco and paying for our groceries, we noticed the weather outside. It was raining, but this was no ordinary rain, this was rain of a Biblical scale. People sometimes say it is raining buckets – it literally was. Standing outside for a few seconds would leave you soaked. The car was not parked near Tesco. We were stranded.
Showers like this don’t normally last long in England, so we decided to wait by the exit to the supermarket. The rain persisted. Feeling self-conscious about standing in the doorway, holding our bags of shopping, we braved the outside. It was just like standing under a bathroom shower, in your clothes! After walking for about 20 seconds, we realised our mistake and took cover under an estate agents. A river of water ran down the road. I am sure that I saw a salmon swimming past us. Then the thunder and lightning started. God was very angry.
This was getting ridiculous. The car was literally minutes away. We couldn’t stand around in the village forever. With the water levels rising, there was a serious risk we could drown. We decided to walk through the rain and the storm, knowing that the sanctuary of the car wasn’t far away. The car would then drive us home, where we would be able to change into dry clothes.
As we walked to the car, someone who can only be described as a massive cunt drove past me and through a puddle. As they were driving at speed, I got splashed. I shouted some expletives at the car, half expecting the driver to stop, get out of the car and knock me out. I didn’t get into a fight and made it make to the car undamaged, but very soggy.
Half an hour later, I was home and in warm pyjamas, where I ate cake and watched television with my wife. I think we earnt the cake. As for the driver who splashed me, I hope they ran over a nail and burst all their tyres.
So, Garry Monk is the new Leeds United manager. He must be mad!
You can see the fear in his eyes
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.
