Normally I struggle with what to blog on a Monday but this one's going to be a long one, so if I was you I'd go put the kettle on before you start reading.
In car today. Instantly regret it.
Still not mentioning the cricket.
(See I'm keeping it nice and brief so far)
Gloating emails start to arrive as soon as I get in at work. Not surprisingly my player getting himself sent off giving my rival's player a penalty was the highlight of his weekend. He takes it all far too seriously... It is after all only a game...
Even so I still feel like tendering my resignation to my fantasy chairman. Would he give me a vote of confidence or just mutter something about closing the door on my way out.
I cheer up a touch, realising things could have been worse and I consider dropping Mr Faye an email, thanking him and telling him he’s playing up front for my team this week. It was his first goal this year but I bet he didn't realise just how important it was. My rival tell me he's already sent Mr Pearce at Fulham one, thanking him for the nice gift of the penalty and for having the good grace to leave the pitch at the same time.
We have midweek games this week but only six of them. This combined with injuries and suspensions means that at the moment I'm struggling to raise a six-a-side team. I have to decide whether to sign a goalkeeper or go in without one. I have that many other holes in my team that I need to try and plug. Think I might just send the midfield out on their own as apart from the lack of a keeper, my defence is shredded and I only have one striker, who I assume Ferguson will rest this week!
L checks in. By her own admission her mood is still foul, even she's tired of it. The dog was dreadful on their run; apparently they had words several times. Daughter was late leaving for school and was also in a black mood. So it'll be fun at home tonight! The good news is that she hasn't developed any bruises from her brush with the banisters last night.
Cycling Weekly recommends that all cyclists; who also have a desk job; should take up Pilates, as it’s good for restoring your posture. L offers to book me a place. I'm not convinced.
I receive another email from my favourite cloud; this time headed 'Black Clouds'. Oh dear, she's been reading the blog.
She seems grateful for her mood, as last night she was composing a complaining letter to the school. They are running a GCSE History trip but aren't taking all the pupils and Son is one of the ones being disadvantaged. Seemingly Black Clouds help when composing stroppy letters to teachers. She emails me a copy but it doesn't arrive. Presumably collared by our server for being too stroppy but then it arrives second post.
She worked her lunch, partly to keeps her away from the shops and hence the Dairy Milk, but also so that she can skip out early to go over to Derby. Some of her friends are running (a little), eating (a little), and drinking (perhaps a little more considering her mood). Then she reveals she reading the Times "Red Wine and Chocolate Diet" on the bus. Hmmmm. Doesn't bode well. Says she resisted the Daily Express's "Drop a Dress Size for Christmas" because it looked posher buying the Times.
Daughter has a detention until 3:45 for 'forgetting' to hand in her homework. So her mood isn't likely to have improved by the time I get home.
I get home and starting cooking tea for the kids and then leave the 'forgetful one' to finish off. Doggo and I head off to class, part one of my busy night.
Turns out Daughter actually enjoyed the detention, much more so than her ordinary lesson because they gave her more interesting stuff to do. They really know how to punish children these days. L suggests we write up to school and request more detentions.
Class goes well; Doggo is good but slower than he has been of late, probably because his least favourite Weimaraner is not there to wind him up. He settles for just barking manically at everyone instead.
After that we get home and I push Doggo out of the car; dump his tea in front of him; say hi to the 'forgetful one' and then head off to Rock City to see Dirty Pretty Things.
L's night out seems to have gone well, they served her a pint in the pub when she only wanted a half and only charged her for a half. Sounds good to me. L warns me not to throw my knickers at the band. This stems from the fact that apparently they are pin-ups boys in the teenage girl's mag Mizz. I promise to save my sweaty knickers for throwing at her.
Get there at 9.20, just in time as the band are due on at 9.30 but they don't appear until 9.45. Can't find my mate who I'm supposed to be meeting. Perhaps L is right, there does seem to be a lot of Mizz readers here. Most of the girls are far too dressed up for Rock City and all carrying the most ridiculously huge handbags. Most of them only look about 14. I check the ticket, yep it's an over 18's gig and I know they were doing the 'Challenge 21' thing and checking ID at the door because I saw them. Obviously the in thing now is for girls to dress to look underage! How things have changed! Rather handily hardly any of them appear to be over five-foot tall, which makes seeing the stage no problem at all. I text L and promise to duck the flying g-strings etc. She is now at home, in bed, with dog, tea and a book.
The band come on stage and I quickly move away from a group of drunk male students who seem to be intent on spending the entire gig taking photo's of each other with their mobile phones. Hello? You're supposed to point that at the stage! Not that you'll be able to tell if it’s Carl Barat or your Grandmother up there playing guitar on a typical poor quality mobile phone photo.
The band are pretty good although the set seems to lose its way in the middle. Things pick up again towards the end, as the more lively tunes are thrown in. During an energetic rendition of 'Gin and Milk', I get thumped in the chest several times by the enormous handbag that is slung over the shoulder of the four-foot tall Mizz reader, who is bopping in front of me. She staggers backwards and stands on my toe with her stiletto heels. Ouch! I stand corrected - judging by the length of those heels she's only a three-foot tall Mizz reader! She turns round and apologises to my naval. Thoughts of another of my friends, who isn't here, and his desire for a midget girlfriend with a flat head spring to mind (If you don't understand, I'll explain some other time). I fight the urge to peer over her handbag and check out the profile of the top of her skull, opting instead to move to safer view of the band behind another handily positioned, but less animated, midget.
I look across at the students, who are still taking photos of each other. I wonder if they know there's a band on.
The encores are excellent and start with a cover of The Jam's 'In the City', which they famously played in London with Paul Weller. No Weller tonight though, unless he's down in the mosh pit. They also play a few Libertines tracks and finish with a fantastic version of 'I Get Along'. During which one of the drunken students dives into the fray and manages to crowd surf to the front. Cue loud cheers from his friends, who are actually looking towards the stage for once, as security removes him from the stage. Then consternation in their ranks as they realise none of them got a photo of it.
Gig over, people start to disperse, I finally find my friend just as we are leaving.
The students are comparing phones to see if any of them has got any battery power left, so that they can call for a taxi. Enjoy the walk guys.