How boring art thou?

There is a man in the hostel where I work who is unimagineably dull. He is so boring it is hard to believe although he isn't the most boring resident that has ever spent time here. No, about a year ago a man moved out and back into society who was astoundingly boring. There are no words that could ever describe or explain just how monotone this man really was. A serial criminal, his crimes were horrendous and he should never have been freed as he will undoubtedly reoffend. But he should never be allowed to walk the streets anyway in case you, dear reader, have the misfortune of bumping into him. A conversation with this most tedious individual is a breach of your human rights, and should never be allowed to happen. 

These two boring undesirables have got me thinking about a World Cup for boring people. The idea is simply to bore your opponent until they can take it no more. The two men I have mentioned would surely be challenging for the crown of Most boring man on the planet. I picture them contesting the final in a scene reminiscent of the famous chess matches of the seventies between Fischer and Kasparov. The tension would be unbearable, and the pressure intense. The winner would surely be the second man I mentioned, a man with no superiors in the boredom stakes. I can imagine him lifting the winning trophy, (a gold-plated tin of paint) high above his head in a deserted stadium. The spectators, all life-long bores themselves, would have well gone, unable to handle just how boring this man really is . And the sad thing is,the lack of acclaim  wouldn't bother him at all. He would already be thinking of defending his title, and ways of improving his performance. To think he could become even more boring is a frightening prospect for us all. 

Wonder if I will get in?

The personal statement is almost completed,  and the form will be electronically dispatched within 24 hours. After that it is simply a waiting game. Am I going to become a student again?. At 38. Or will it be tears, and plan B?. One can only wait. I am hopeful, but not overly so. I'm filled with a mixture of excitement and dread. The excitement comes from learning Journalistic skills; Shorthand, Podcasting, writing for radio etc... The dread comes from the fact that I will, (if I get in) be sharing a classroom with a number of spotty students. They will be revelling in student life whilst I will be shuffling nervously nearby, staying away from the throng as often as possible. Not the best way of looking at life for the next 3-4 years, but realistic nonetheless. And I will have to give up meat. Obviously. And I will have to write a cheque for a packet of crisps.

Wooden balls in a velvet bag

Some things should never change, no matter what. Watching the draw for the FA cup quarter finals earlier on made me think back to a time when the draw was so much better, and was one of the few things the bumbling English Football Association always got right. The sound of the wooden balls banging together in the velvet bag was a joy in itself, as was the placement of the drawn ball onto the ball holder. Superbly managed by Ted Croker, the draw was an event in itself, and the perfect precursor to the games that followed.  The cup draw of the present day is a sterile affair, and must surely revert back to it's former glory. Poorly managed, (see todays offering) and with 2 FA cup 'Legends' on hand to offer expert drivel, it drives me to distraction on so many levels. The velvet bag has gone, as has the beautiful sound of the wooden balls, to be  replaced by a Bingo-style monstrosity that fails to capture the magic of the cup. You can even see the balls as a hand fishes around for one so the element of surprise has disappeared. The only thing missing is a voice-over from the National Lottery. 

If it ain't broken, don't fix it, (too late now.) It is broken now so fix it. Please. Before the magic disappears forever.

The joy of football

3 games, 2 wins, 1 defeat, and little enjoyment. The question that has to be asked is quite simple; WHY? 

An answer will be provided when I have stopped sulking.

Back to normal

My 3 days of 13 hour shifts are finally over. I can now start living my life again. Saturday's agenda includes 2 junior soccer matches before midday, an open-age match at 2pm, and an evening trip to the cinema, (possibly.) Nice to just be easing myself back in.

The birthday boy.....

...with his new wig on!. He is burning 9 candles today. Happy birthday Pip.

This time 9 years ago...

...he, (above) was getting ready to make an appearance. When he finally arrived, after much stubborn resistance, he looked as if he had been baked in an oven for 30 minutes on a low light. When the redness subsided a most beautiful baby boy was left. And he has remained beautiful to this day in more ways than one. He went to bed 30 minutes ago in a state of enhanced excitement. We fully expect a visitor in our room well before dawn. I remember the feeling vividly and it doesn't get much better than that. I hope the day is all he expects,  and more.