I used to be in a predictions league but I’m always nervous about committing to actual results so I’m not about to change the habit of a lifetime. However, I am prepared to give the winners a go…
I want the Germans to win this afternoon. The reasons:
- It’s always good to have the host nation go as far as possible
- England or Portugal probably have more chance of beating them than the Argentinians
- Maradona bouncing around like a stripey beach ball is not attractive TV
However, I think they’ll probably lose.
Italy vs. Ukraine - the Italians. I mean Ukraine are a bit shit and although the Italians completely fluked the Australia result, I think they’ll have got their act together for tonight.
Brazil vs. France. Who could want the French to win? Okay Thierry Henry does have va va voom (and no I don’t watch football for the attractive men content - with one notable exception). The ‘98 final needs to be avenged and Brazil had better go for it (plus it’s a great excuse to celebrate with a caipirihina).
So there’s my predictions…
What do you mean I’ve missed one?
Oh okay.
I cannot commit my prediction to my blog. Someone somewhere will be hurt. My family will be divided. Either the lovely Mr Figo (clue: the one footballer I fancy) will cry or Peter Crouch’s robot dance will be seen no more. I will sit at home with both flags trying not to will either team on too much. On the up side, at least I can celebrate no matter what the result. On the down side, one side of my family will no longer be speaking to me. Oh it was all so much easier when I refused to support England on the basis that I cannot stand Alan Shearer (we would have beaten the Argentinians if hadn’t have fouled in the goal mouth and Sol Campbell’s goal was disallowed).
Louis Figo - the fittest man in football
She is SO annoying. Okay, I’d admit it, I’m back on the Big B fest (although not my usual ardent viewing, more like when there’s nothing else on). Any way the girl in question is Aisleyne. She is such a bitch and I cannot believe she’s up for nomination the week when there will be no real evictions. Just get her out of that house, into a lads’ mag and off my television screen!
I haven’t been blogging much recently which is largely due to some icky personal circumstances which are far to dull to talk about, but every time I go to blog I feel overwhelmed by the yukkiness of the situation and get word paralysis.
However, I do feel like I’m really quite getting into this blogging malarkey and even attended a meeting in Paris on Monday about online communities and the blogosphere. All quite enlightening. The meeting was hosted by Guillaume Du Gardier and Steve Rubel was one of the key speakers. There is a whole world of untapped information out there and obviously it would be good to get into it so I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time on Technorati in the past couple of days. Love the charts!
The one thing the meeting did reveal was the cultural differences about blogging. Those folks (to coin a Bush-ism) over the pond are totally blogtastic. Now I doubt that everyone from Iowa to Alaska is blogging but a heck of a lot of people are (okay these are all obvious things to expert bloggers but - until recently - I was sitting in my own comfy little world thinking blogging was for geeks - no offence). In Europe though we’re a little slower to catch on and whilst the Germans may be addicted to youtube, they’re not necessarily contributing. (As an aside, the thing I learnt most through the whole day was that German people and UK are much more similar than we think.)
Pelle Sjoqvist shared a great case study about the Swedish curling team and their rock video. Hysterical stuff and some really clever marketing that took off like wildfire.
So the upshot is, I’m increasingly excited about the blogosphere and am likely to spend much more time in it than is healthy.
Portugal is obviously not in the same class of enemy as Argentina and Germany (for a start I don’t think we’ve ever been at war with them off the football pitch) however I sense of growing emnity which obviously is a bit tricky given my domestic situation. Fortuitously the Beloved is in another country at the moment and won’t actually be here on Saturday for the match but I sense a flurry of text messages.
The Portuguese do know how to celebrate though (check out Bjoern Hasse’s blog). I was in Paris on Sunday and happened upon the Champs Elysees about midnight - absolute standstill. What seemed like hundreds of Portuguese singing, waving flags and driving cars VERY slowly. Of course the French had a total sense of humour failure and the riot police were called in. Love ‘em.
Well they kept us waiting didn't they? 80 odd long goal-less and largely lacklustre minutes and then hurrah! my favourite (and ex Southampton so I'm claiming him remember?) scores. Quite disappointed we didn't have the Crouch robot dance but it was a GOAL!!! I would like all those horrid people who were calling him "freak" at stadia around the country at the beginning of the season to feel jolly ashamed as he will surely be awarded national hero status and given some gong shortly.
Tried to watch the game with my Dad (as I'm down in ye olde countryside this weekend) but that lasted about 5 minutes because he just shouts at the telly too much. I'm all for a bit of shouting but my Dad just focuses on all the bad bits and I'm more of a glass half full type of girl (well I try to be). So then went into the kitchen with my Mum (yes, I obviously come from a house of sterotypes) and turned on the little portable. The only thing I hadn't quite realised was that the portable is terrestrial and the telly in the lounge is digital so of course I was jumping about like a loon at the two goals (and groaning hideously at the T&T goal that wasn't) so my poor Dad's game got slightly spoilt. Ah well, them's the breaks. The lesson is not to be such a moaning minnie and watch the football like a jolly human being.
Oh and by the way, I've completely given up on Big B. They are too annoying.
We really can’t be pleased can we? Just a couple of weeks ago we were moaning it was too cold and then it was too hot and now the sun’s just disappeared.
On Monday I experienced (again) one of my least favourite things about London. You get up, have a shower, dry your hair, do the make up and attempt to look vaguely presentable (client meeting so made slightly more effort than usual). Got on the tube and within 30 seconds looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge - a very wet hedge - backwards. It was so steamy and disgusting. Ah well. Later I got absolutely drenched in Leeds so the look was virtually perfect, well for inspiring pity.
Talking of weather, it did rather mar my world cup viewing over the weekend. For a start I felt guilty about being in my living room with the curtains closed when it was quite clearly the only chance of summer we’re going to have this year (I could hear my mum saying “now why don’t you go outside and play?” all over again). Secondly the sunshine in Germany (or rather the shadows it created) rather spoilt the view of the England match and you spent most of the time squinting slightly sideways wondering who on earth had got the ball. Mind you it was a rather lacklustre performance and I’m not convinced we’re going to go very far if that was an indication of the best we can muster. Similarly Portugal’s performance was dismal. Required result but not really convincing on the football skills front (Figo is just so nice to look at though, even with the stupid, girly headband).
Extremely pissed off I’m missing the Trinidad match tomorrow. I will be in Luton in a meeting until 5.30 - I mean what muppet organised that? What’s worse not only will I be in a meeting, I then have to get round the M25 onto the M3 and drive down to the family homestead so I will see precisely none of the match, plus my car radio’s broken so I can’t even listen to it. Pah! The plan is to take a portable radio and put it on the passenger seat but I have a feeling that’s probably breaking several rules of the Highway Code.
Well I will be. There's no getting away from it, the football joy that is the World Cup is coming this way and - despite all my better intentions - I will end up watching Poland vs. Ecuador or similarly no interest matches (having said that Ecuador are one of my sweepstake teams, so I will obviously display rabid interest).
In my defence, I am a bit of a football fan and not just dazzled by the excitement of 22 sets of thighs on a pitch (well 25 if you count the officials but let's face it, they are a little old). I do understand the offside rule. I have supported Southampton for 20 odd years and therefore claim Peter Crouch and Theo Walcott as my own.
I'm making no predictions but as ever should England meet Portugal then the household will be divided (Euro 2004 they played on our wedding anniversary!). Until then I'm keeping my metatarsals crossed for Wayne (Shrek-a-like).
Well I'm back from my little trip and jolly good fun it was too although holidaying en famille at my age is possibly not quite as much fun as when buckets and spades were order of the day. We worked out that it's 17 years since our last family holiday and I think it should probably be 17 years till the next one! Not that I don't love my mum, dad and sister but I am a fully grown adult and - as far as I'm concerned - fully grown adults should not go on holiday together unless they are romantically attached.
So what did we do in Barcelona? Ate a lot of anchovies, tomato bread and ham (actually ate a lot full stop - the belt'll be going out another notch). Walked a lot (which should offset some of the large quantities of tapas and cava).
I did indeed go clubbing - crikey. It was actually quite good fun and Spanish clubs seem to have mastered the art of air-conditioning so you don't get ridiculously sweaty and look highly unattractive within the first 15 minutes. And obviously I didn't look too hot and sweaty because some random Spanish chap decided I was the love of his life. I was rather keen not to pursue this as I don't think the beloved would have been terribly impressed. Quite good fun getting chatted up when you're an old married woman - well it's good to know someone still might think you're worth a look! Anyway, all very exciting and didn't get back to my bed till 5am!!
This is where the family expectation sort of got in the way of "how to have most fun when you are on holiday" as parents decided they wanted to go to Sagrada Familia. I too wanted to go and have a looksy but not the day after I'd been clubbing for the first time in recent memory and I was feeling hugely sleep deprived. It's incredibly cool. However I would not recommend the spiral staircase in a dark tower surrounded by slightly stinky tourists when you are claustrophobic, ever-so-slightly hungover and your sister is getting hysterical that she's wearing the wrong shoes.
All in all a successful weekend although getting home proved entirely tiresome. I normally really like Easyjet. Yes I know that it's cool to knock them but I've always thought they're hugely efficient. So yesterday the problems started when the Europeans abandoned British queuing protocol and getting on the plane was an unholy mess. Then we taxied off (a bit late thanks to the boarding fiasco), tootled off down the runway and waited…and waited…and waited. Then the captain told us we had a computer problem and they needed to reboot. That didn't work. So we had to go back to the stand and get an engineer over, that took AGES. We spent two and a half hours waiting on the plane for it to be fixed (galling when the flight is only 2 hours to start off with). Okay, all fixed, off we go - hurrah! The powers that be at Gatwick then decided because we were late we couldn't have a stand. We waited in a field for about 45 minutes till some man with a coach found us so we could get off the plane. Then of course you just know your luggage is going to be taken to the terminal by donkey and if you're lucky you might get out some time before midnight. All a bit annoying.
