One always feels that the season's over, and it actually isn't. Here we are with an England game under our belt, and a goal for our new boy Barry. A sight better than the dismal display at Lords yesterday, I have to say. As I was buying my usual Saturday morning bread rolls at the corner shop this morning, the owner was lurking at the back, where he always has Radio 4 LW on at a barely audible volume whenever there's any cricket on.
"Did you see it?!" he asked me in urgent terms. Noticing my quizzical frown, he added: "The match. Holland beat England!" I was a bit spooked, to be honest, and in truth, I hadn't heard the result, assuming that the game would have been rained off, as I had been myself last night. "I went home especially to watch it," he went on, shaking his head. As we walked together towards the counter, I perused the back page in front of me, feeling slightly ashamed that I had let the result pass me by. England lost on the final ball, and are now at real risk of going out of the T20 competition altogether. What a to-do.Then there's the usual crap about the game in midweek supposedly cancelled as a result of the tube strike. Let's face it, Wembley's enough of a nightmare even when the tube is running, so without it, I couldn't even contemplate how a match could be played there. Whatever, it now looks almost certain that the lads will qualify for South Africa without any problems.
I am mesmerised by the goings-on in Westminster, along with everyone else, and enjoying the sight of Mr Brown (it's intriguing how few different pictures there are of the man in the first few pages of a Google search. Says it all about image in politics, I suppose, but there are about 20 different returns of the same shot) wriggling and writhing in his current hellish existence. What will come of it, I cannot say, but looks to be no more edifying than the prospect of that twat Cameron taking over. Only in this country could the result of a long-awaited overthrow of a discredited and despotic government be such a depressing prospect. We'll be turning out one bunch of tossers for an equally bad - or quite possibly worse - group. They should never have tried to stand up on their hind legs in the first place back in 1997.
Happy as I am that Jacqui Smith (BTW, how sterile was that debate - surfacing again after her resignation - about her low-cut tops? WTF?) is out on her ear, I am confused as to why Jack Straw and Alastair Darling are still in post, as clearly the rules of the 'Star Chamber' do not apply to all equally. The only solution is that Brown doesn't have anyone else who could possibly take their jobs. But why are the Fourth Estate not pushing this point further? Now that the Big Presbyterian is on the ropes, isn't the form to lay into him with increased venom? Perhaps they sense, as everyone does, that there really is no alternative. Apart from perhaps Lord Mandelson. And that chills the blood.
Well, Monday's another day, filled with news of the European elections, and I'm sure we ain't heard the last of this little story just yet. At least it's a bit of a distraction from the trials and tribulations of my own little job. Just a shame that I can't make an honourable and grand gesture and walk away with a wad of cash.
