Watched the Arsenal game at the Emirates stadium last night with Wise and Loey. O2 were doing an offer whereby if you texted a certain number you could win a free pair of tickets to watch a screening of the game in their ginormous bar.
The first fuck up occured on the journey down there. I was on the Met line, nicely tootling along, soaking up the sun by the window seat, making good progress. Until i got to Baker Street that is. The train was waiting for an awful long time, but i didn't think anything of it. Suddenly the doors closed and the train started going backwards! They'd obviously made an announcement that the Aldgate service had changed platforms, of which i was oblivious to because i had my music blaring out. For anyone who doesn't live in London, the distance between Baker Street and Finchley road is so long that you could photocopy 'War and Peace'...... and do it single sided.
From then on the trains were terminating left, right and centre; old dears were let on if they'd just missed the closing doors and the general slow pace was infuriating.
Eventually i got there and tucked into a hotdog and some slightly nervy banter ahead of the big game. For all of the football that i've watched i don't think i've ever experienced such a high followed by a real low in short succession as i did last night. The wild celebrations were completely cut dead by instant silence, like one of those arguments at the Vic in Eastenders when someone turns the jukebox off if there's an argument brewing.
So off everyone trudged into the night, but not before the competition winner had been announced. 'Ticket number 0086' the MC croaked. A glistening PS3 up for grabs. What were our tickets? 0084-0085. The git who entered the stadium a fraction of a second after after won it.
To top the evening off i got a call from Wise on the journey home to say that West Brom had scored 3 goals in the last 8 minutes to beat Blackpool, to make all the reuslts of our 4 fold bet we'd put on come through. The betting slip was left on the table. The £50 down the drain.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Friday, 4 April 2008
The Grand National
Well its that time of year again, where the Nation is gripped by the biggest Horse race of the calender year. A day where anyone who's anyone will study the form guide in the paper, picking a horse because of the colourful jockey jersey; its current form; what the going is like or because its got no hope in hell, but with the long odds you could win a bloody fortune!
Religiously as a kid i spent that Saturday morning scrutinizing the small print, reading who the so called experts like Richard Dunwoody and Peter Scudamore have tipped and finally backing a horse with a whole weeks pocket money. Its always interesting looking at the horses being paraded to the start to judge what they might be like. Some saunter, looking classy and stylish. Others looking restless, their heads lerching back and forth with their trainers hanging on for dear life.
And then the start. Fucking hell they've mucked that up in the past. Just a scraglly, waffer thin bit of string stopping these beasts from charging off into the distance. And low and behold it will be your horse facing the wrong way, queue the incesant, tetchy shouting from the starter for order. One thing that will always stick in my mind is the race that never was. A false start that didn't register with half of the race jockeys with the winner celebrating maniacically, only to realise that it was all for nothing.
And the commentators. Do they even take a breath? and with their rambling, 100 mile an hour monotone voice they could literally be saying anything. Its quite frustrating really, listening out for any sort of mention of your horse above the cries of people around you shouting for their horse, trying to identify which of the 3 red and white quater jersey jockey's is actually yours.
I cant imagine what it must be like for the horse. Charging round like a lunatic with no chance to get your breath back, being wipped by some cunt who wont get off your back and then being shot in the head after the race because you've got a slight leg injury.
Ultimately the National is for mugs....like me. It invariably doesn't go to form as it does say with the Cheltenham Gold Cup as proved by the 1-2 finish of Denman and Kauto Star. But that is the attraction of the national as its like a lottery after all. I have been given a tip from Daz' Dad Alan for Die or Comply. But taking a tip from him would be like taking sweets from a stranger.
Happy Mug Punting!
Religiously as a kid i spent that Saturday morning scrutinizing the small print, reading who the so called experts like Richard Dunwoody and Peter Scudamore have tipped and finally backing a horse with a whole weeks pocket money. Its always interesting looking at the horses being paraded to the start to judge what they might be like. Some saunter, looking classy and stylish. Others looking restless, their heads lerching back and forth with their trainers hanging on for dear life.
And then the start. Fucking hell they've mucked that up in the past. Just a scraglly, waffer thin bit of string stopping these beasts from charging off into the distance. And low and behold it will be your horse facing the wrong way, queue the incesant, tetchy shouting from the starter for order. One thing that will always stick in my mind is the race that never was. A false start that didn't register with half of the race jockeys with the winner celebrating maniacically, only to realise that it was all for nothing.
And the commentators. Do they even take a breath? and with their rambling, 100 mile an hour monotone voice they could literally be saying anything. Its quite frustrating really, listening out for any sort of mention of your horse above the cries of people around you shouting for their horse, trying to identify which of the 3 red and white quater jersey jockey's is actually yours.
I cant imagine what it must be like for the horse. Charging round like a lunatic with no chance to get your breath back, being wipped by some cunt who wont get off your back and then being shot in the head after the race because you've got a slight leg injury.
Ultimately the National is for mugs....like me. It invariably doesn't go to form as it does say with the Cheltenham Gold Cup as proved by the 1-2 finish of Denman and Kauto Star. But that is the attraction of the national as its like a lottery after all. I have been given a tip from Daz' Dad Alan for Die or Comply. But taking a tip from him would be like taking sweets from a stranger.
Happy Mug Punting!
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Went to the Den on Tuesday night to watch the United game with Don, Bott and Alan G. United are an excellent side to watch when they play their free flowing attacking football and to win 2-0 in front of such an intimidating, voiciferous crowd is a sign of a great team.
I had the misfortune of having to miss the Arsenal game last night because of my Marketing evening course. The tutor normally finishes at 8.15 but low and behold the course over ran and the train decided to terminate at Rayners Lane. The stop before mine.
One funny incident from the United game, was when Vidic was taken off in some sort of golf buggy instead of the traditional stretcher. So here's me thinking how efficient and considerate the Italians are when the camera suddenly pans back to show Vidic hobbling like a cripple, barely able to walk back to the tunnel with the golf buggy roaring off into the distance to try and break some sort of Olympic stadium lap record!
We've got an audit going on at work today. I feel quite nervous because out of the 20 or so files being looked at, around a 1/4 are mine that i had the task of checking beforehand. The company needs to be 95% accurate or the centre could be in danger of being closed down. gulp.
I had an embarrasing moment at work last week. We are having Moodle training at the moment, which is an online learning environment, pretty much like Blackboard which they have at Universities, but more advanced. As part of the training you had to write a message on one of the forums to replicate what the candidates will eventually be doing during their course. The tutor suggested writing about who you are and what your hobbies are, so for a laugh i wrote 'i'm a retired astronaut and in my spare time enjoy parading around the house in womens clothing'.
What i didn't realise is that the message is also sent as an email which all of the management team recieve as well as the MD! Que constant jokes about what frilly underwear i've got etc..
I had the misfortune of having to miss the Arsenal game last night because of my Marketing evening course. The tutor normally finishes at 8.15 but low and behold the course over ran and the train decided to terminate at Rayners Lane. The stop before mine.
One funny incident from the United game, was when Vidic was taken off in some sort of golf buggy instead of the traditional stretcher. So here's me thinking how efficient and considerate the Italians are when the camera suddenly pans back to show Vidic hobbling like a cripple, barely able to walk back to the tunnel with the golf buggy roaring off into the distance to try and break some sort of Olympic stadium lap record!
We've got an audit going on at work today. I feel quite nervous because out of the 20 or so files being looked at, around a 1/4 are mine that i had the task of checking beforehand. The company needs to be 95% accurate or the centre could be in danger of being closed down. gulp.
I had an embarrasing moment at work last week. We are having Moodle training at the moment, which is an online learning environment, pretty much like Blackboard which they have at Universities, but more advanced. As part of the training you had to write a message on one of the forums to replicate what the candidates will eventually be doing during their course. The tutor suggested writing about who you are and what your hobbies are, so for a laugh i wrote 'i'm a retired astronaut and in my spare time enjoy parading around the house in womens clothing'.
What i didn't realise is that the message is also sent as an email which all of the management team recieve as well as the MD! Que constant jokes about what frilly underwear i've got etc..
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