I have been hesitating over these few days as to whether to accept the “tag” that some interfering harridan from the antipodes tried to impose upon me.
After some careful consideration, I have decided that this is my bloody blog, and I will write what I want to write about, and not have my agenda dictated to by people who would like to life their lives vicariously through me. If I wanted someone to tell me what to do all the time, I would get married.
So sod off, I don’t do requests. I will not be telling you about the seven most embarrassing illnesses that have afflicted me in this life, nor will I list ten things not to swallow or eight most irritating correspondents. Unless and until I want to.
There’s a fence going up round this journal, and visiting hours will be published.
Six things most likely to make me give up watching sport on TV.
Trevor Brooking
John Motson
Nasser Hussain
That South African rugby commentator with the most monotonous voice in the universe
The phrase “Big Ask”
The phrase “to be honest”
24 comments:
Oh no! Not Trevor! He's my hero! I had his autograph once. And guess what? He leaves the G off when he writes his name, too! ~Sharon x
And does he sign it with that whiny voice and strangulated vowels?
Now you have to tag someone.
But I can tell you the thing most likely to stop me watching sport on TV is - well, sport.
Jeremy Guscott. My heart sinks because he's been the ultimate disappointment. Fine, fine player; probably rugby's answer to a Tom Graveney cover drive. But, to be honest it would be a big ask to get me to like him as a person. Arrogant twunt.
Oops, it's cliché hell up here.
Martha. Have you never been fascinating by a Dravid pull?
I thought Guscott was arrogant as a player, so reminded me more of Dexter. Certainly not St. Tom.
How can you leave out Lawrenson and Crooks and Barry Davies and...
What's a Big Ask, Vicus? Is it what you see if the camera points at the back of a scrum?
To be honest, I've never heard of it.
Now you're just being silly, Vicus. How can anybody possibly sign in a voice? Unless of course they're signing as in using sign language, but he wasn't. He was using pen and ink, plain and simple. ~Sharon
Geoff, you are requesting me to define something that does not make sense using the normal standards of English usage. That is a big ask.
And excuse me, cousin dear, but I am not "just being silly". I am being silly at levels seldom witnessed in the annals of human endeavour.
Barry Davies apparently once said of a footballer "he's an avuncular figure, like a character from a Chekhov play".
He also said "the Polish goalkeeper's hands are very big ... but perhaps that's just his gloves".
The gloves were obviously like the head of Mr Davies - too large for the contents.
My (very limited) knowledge of Chekhov is that his characters are unlikely to be anything other than confused people leading pointless existences, and even the eponymous Vanya is the kind of uncle who your mother tells you is about to visit, with warnings to behave yourself and prepared to be bored. None of my uncles looked reminded me of professional footballers. Uncle Walter was the spitting image of Virginia Wade, however.
How shall we continue this thread, dear readers, football or Chekhov?
Chetball would be my second choice.
Can we do football so that I can take part?
I will certainly take your preference into account, Tom. And if you are outvoted and we have to do Chekhov (he was a miserable bastard), then I will ensure that the Cherry Orchard is completely organic. (And I hear that the youngest of the "Three Sisters" is a bit of a goer)
I enjoyed rugby a lot when a drinking game was involved. Nobody seems to want to play rugby drinking games anymore.
I am enjoying the synchronised swimming. Now that is a classy sport.
Well excuse me for coming late to this merciless piss-take of moi.
To be honest I'm not too happy about it, I know it's a big ask but we all want to know so much about you Vicci.
And having read your (correct) discription of Chekhov characters I must assume they were all meme addicted bloggers, you useless deadbeat loser.
PS: your cousin is far too attractive, one assumes she was adopted.
Martha. Here is a tip. It's called the "Commonwealth Games", not the "Commonwealth Sports", hence the inclusion of synchronised swimming. And bingo, cluedo and snap.
Now, has anyone noticed that Ena Sharples has entered the building, with her sharpened nasal organ?
As for the cousin, I think I detect a hint of ginger. She will be bald and fat by the time she's 60, you mark my words.
Git.
Can we do football for a while so I can join in?
ekrxy. A little known medical condition bought on by an excess of interent tagging.
Ginger?
Must be something in the genes.
Vicus, you have made no effort to swing things towards the beautiful game. Who the fuck is Checkov anyway - did he play for Moscow Dynamo in the Kruschev era.
I'm sorry. I only understand football. My synapses are exploding. Bleep. Zibble. Dwee scrumblezizzy. Shut down now. Need for many martinis. Burp. Zzzzzzzzzz....
fade...
Mark. I have opened a soccer thread. Please come back.
Adam, in case you were wondering what synapses were, the definition is here: "the association of homologous chromosomes that is characteristic of the first meiotic prophase". You wouldn't want those to explode, would you?
potgj - biblically messy.
I haven't a pig in an shambles's chance of getting fat, dear cousin. I'm a bag of bones and will remain so until I'm carried out feet first. Bald...hmmm... possibly. My legs have already gone that way. ~Sharon x (<- not everybody gets one of those after insulting me!)
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