Sweet F.A.

I have had the sweetest of days today.

First I awoke to the morning radio discussion about the F.A. Cup, whilst getting ready to walk down into town to the Farmer's market.

My lover and I cruised around looking for goodies to purchase in readiness for the afternoon's extravaganza. Organic, free range Scotch eggs (mine a veggie version of course). Olives. Fresh bread. Strawberries. And an almond croissant.

A trip in the car to Aldi followed, listening to more F.A. Cup build up. More goodies purchased. Some vintage cider and white chocolate.

We were ready.

Quarter to three, We're on the settee with our feet up, tucking in to the eggs and other savouries, washed down with a glass of cider.

1 - 0. Half time.

Sharing the almond croissant with strawberries as garnish. Accompanied by a coffee.

1 0. Full time. Up Pompey!

A little after match celebration.

And now posting whilst my lover prepares crayfish tails and salad sandwiches.

Followed by one of these.

So that's what they mean by Sweet F.A.

Geek Tragedy

I like to think of myself as a pretty cool chick who is interested in a whole range of things.

But I have to confess I also have a geeky side that finds facts and figures absolutely compelling.

So when I came across this I thought I had died and gone to heaven. 10 minutes of complete joy!

Geeks get a bad press in my view. In the right circumstances they can be very useful.

I don't think I'll ever rate highly enough on the "geekometer" to qualify for this list though.

According to this assessment I am 57.5% geeky.

Do let me know how you score.

A Whisper In The Cacophony

In amongst the noise of Avram Grant shrieking that referees favour The ManUre, the furore following the behaviour of a small minority of Glasgow Rangers fans last night and the whoops of delight from Hull fans after their victory against Watford last night - in amongst all that, a football legend quietly slipped away.

Tommy Burns sadly lost his battle against skin cancer at the tender age of 51. 6 years older than me, which is a sobering thought.

He was originally diagnosed with the disease in 2006 but things took a downward turn a few weeks ago.

May he never walk alone.

Bathing In Porridge

Inspired by yesterday's post I decided to seek ways to immerse myself in Scottishness to get in the mood for tonight's match.

First I drove to work listening to the gorgeous voice of Alan Brazil. Mmm don't you just love that man's vocal chords.

Then I talked football on and off all day with my colleague Sandy. Who happens to be Glaswegian.

After work I met up with my brother and we went out for supper. The man who served me at the bar was a Scot (I concluded this because he spoke with a Scottish accent. No flies on me!)

Thinks: "Shall I try a football conversation with him? Of course he could be a Celtic fan. Ah what the heck - let's go for it anyway!"

Georgina: You must be the only Scot outside of Manchester.
McBarman: Grrrowl! I'm on the other side

Thinks: "Chance for a quick quip here. What about 'Oh I didn't realise you were Russian'? Mmm - perhaps not"

Georgina: Oh, a Celtic fan.
McBarman: I'd rather be anywhere else in the world than Manchester today
Georgina: I have this vision that the whole of Glasgow is empty tonight
McBarman: No - it's full of us lot, glad the rest of them are out of the way
Georgina: Can I order some food please. I'd like the vegetarian rissotto.
McBarman: Certainly. That will be nine thousand pounds please.

And now I plan to end my day with my feet up, sipping a glass of whisky, nibbling a piece of shortbread and fiddling with my lover's kilt.

See you tomorrow.

Awae Tae Eenvade Tha Sasanacks

I haven't ventured north of the border at all since I began my foray into football.

But with Glasgow Rangers playing in the UEFA cup final tomorrow night I thought it was about time I donned my kilt, ran my fingers through my sporran and rolled in porridge oats (yes well we all have different ways of expressing ourselves!)

Walter Smith their manger is something of a controversial character it would seem from my reading on the subject. For example his team has been accused of playing "anti-football", an accusation that has also previously been levelled at our very own Mr Capello.

Doesn't seem to phase the Rangers supporters though, who despite only having an allocation of 13,000 tickets for tomorrow's match are taking 100,000 down to Manchester.

And if that doesn't give you a measure of the Scottish passion for the beautiful game, the Scottish Qualification Authority has issued a warning to school pupils not to sacrifice taking their exams on Wednesday and Thursday to go on the pilgrimage.

Well if any of those scholars are reading this I may be able to help with a bit of revision. And for the rest of us what better way to end than with a few wise Scottish saying, with translation for those less familiar with the tongue;

A bheil telebhisean agad?
We’re from the Wee Free and are hunting down God-forsaking heathens.

Ilka body disna hae the like o that.
He seems to have contracted H5N1 Bird Flu.

Better never begun than never ended.
Never do anything today that you can put off until tomorrow.

Better be freends at a distance than enemies at hame.
The perfect divorce is one that doesn't require a court restraining order.

Cast a cat ower the hoose an she'll faa on her feet.
A cat thrown over a house will land on her feet - but her screeching is sure to attract the RSPCA.

Him that keeks throu a keyhole micht see what will vex him.
Love does not stoop to spying - it hires a private detective.

Baked bread and brown ale winna bide lang.
Oh shit – I’m away tae the lavie again!

Mony a mickle maks a muckle.
Due to rampant inflation the muckle has been revalued – there are now 385 mickles to the muckle.

Don't tell me this blog is not a education all of it's own

Vive La Resurrection

I did a bit of gardening tonight when I got home from work.

There I was pulling up groundweed as I heard that worm in the shrubbery David Sullivan of Birmingham City blaming the players for all their problems, calling them a load of rubbish and even naming one of them, Franck Queudrue. Listening to the fans who rang in fed up as I upended the dandelions.

And for some odd reason the image of Martin Allen, the green fingered Maddog of 12 week Leicester fame, came into my head.

I wonder what he's been up to I thought.

Well I gather from my lover he was on Talk Sport the other day. Quite impressive too by all accounts. Knows his football apparently.

Maybe his impending radio appearence was the reason for him getting his hair done.

I'm sure it is pure coincidence that he has risen from the dead at just the time when clubs will be scanning the horizon for someone new to solve all their troubles within the first 10 games of next season.

And talking of rising from the dead, I gather there is currently no vacancy at Leicester City, who have a manager thank you very much.

Not "The Special One" admittedly. Just "The Precious One".

It'll do for now though.

Best Of Both Worlds

So here's my dilemma.

What should I devote my attention to this afternoon?

It's billed as the best end to a Premiership season ever. So much to be settled;

Who wins the Premiership?
Who will go down?

My predictions, for what they are worth, are The ManUre to win and Birmingham and Reading to do down (sorry lover!)
On the other hand my daughter is in a dance competition in about an hour and I would like to see her. Experience tells me that it will be a very hot sticky and crowded experience, although I do love watching her dance.

Shame I can't have the best of both worlds.

I think in the end maternal feelings will prevail.

And surely no-one will really notice the tiny lead trailing from my ear, under my hair to the little radio tucked in my thong...................................

No Way Out?

Big day for my lover's Royals tomorrow.

Hopefully, Kevin Dillon won't live to rue his undignified words about Derby.

If the worst happens and they are relegated, I think we'll have to put a red cross on our front door with a sign saying "Unclean". I mean two in one household. How shameful would that be?

Interesting too that Mr Coppell is being so coy about his future should Reading go down.

Lets hope they can follow in these footsteps.

Stevie does not have a track record of escapology though.

Maybe I should drop him a last minute email with details of this website.

I'm off now to practise on my lover and see just how good those Royals are at getting out of a fix.

Only The Flies Will Know

Oh to be a fly on the wall at a certain meeting on Monday.

How do you think it might go?

MM: Ah come in Ian old chap. You must be feeling as upset as the rest of us. Before we discuss anything else, you need to know that I don't blame you in any way. You came into an impossible situation and despite your best efforts couldn't save the club from relegation. I know though that you are the right man for the job and I look forward to working with you to rebuild this club.

Not convinced?

Well how about;

MM: Hello Ian. Do sit down. We have got a lot to talk about and I have some difficult decisions to make about the future here at Leicester City. One of those is whether you should form part of that future or not. I'd like to hear what you have to say about that and what your ideas are for making this club great again. I hope we can find a way forward together, although I can't make any promises at this stage.

Still not sure?

In which case;

MM: Holloway you t**t. You're fired!

We will get to know the outcome in due course.

But only the two protagonists and the flies will really know what happens in that room.

Tears Before Bedtime

Several stories in the news today have made me think of this song.

I can see a few tears being shed one way or another during the coming days and weeks.

Mr Hollow Way is no doubt dusting off his Kleenex as we speak.

Then there is Special K, who has apparently been 'summoned' to explain himself to his Board Chair, Mr Ashley.

And you have to feel sorry for Manchester City fans as Sven prepares to go off to pastures new.

Mark Hughes is taking his ball home following Michael Carrick's successful planning application to build a house opposite his (isn't that taking inter-club rivalry just a little too far?)

And Mr Capello is by no means out of the woods as investigations into his business affairs.

But all these are people who make their living out of football.

There are others with tears on their pillow.

Spare a thought for us.