Pacific Theatre

Football. Oh football. This week has reminded me what is so great about football. Last weekend, in football terms, was awful as Charlton got battered. I stormed around the flat, grumbling and compiling a list of available managers in my head. Yesterday we played Carlisle away. Carlisle are playing well and at home are very good, only conceding two goals all season, I was not hopeful. Well imagine my surprise after 55 minutes when we were 3-0 up. I was happy, all was right in the world and I felt bad for doubting Phil. When Carlisle scored I got worried but berated myself for my paranoia, its nothing more than a consoliation I said. Well 12 minutes later I had descended into a deep chasm of despair, I don't think thats exaggerating, after Carlisle made it 3-3. I can't really explain how I felt but it was something like this:

But then in the 92nd minute, despite being under huge pressure, we bundled one over the line and snatched a 4-3 win, again I can't really explain but it felt something like this

Sure throwing a three goal lead is incredibly amateur but who cares now? If you can't enjoy a win like that then I wonder why you would watch football in the first place. A degree of incompotence does make for more exciting matches.

My football debut was solid. I managed to score one a half goals. The first was greatly helped by the goalkeeper so I feel I can't claim it as a full goal. The second was Andy Hunt-esque, don't look just hit it and hope for the best, and fortunately it went in. There were elements that more typical, falling over my own feet, blazing an easy chance wide and a complete inability to tackle. But oh well. Some Venezuelan guys came over and asked to join in. With the general fitness, great touch and spatial awareness they soon were giving me the run around. They really were good, in the end a guy from Liverpool clattered one of them, well to British football, if you can't beat them, kick them. Football, football, football.

I successfully negotiated some official work drinks without embarrassing myself. One of my director of studies came over to me in the staff room to tell me about them, with the words IH are paying for the drinks! That's great, let's get trashed! They then clarifed, for the first drink. We formed an orderly line to collect a drink coupon like something from Oliver. I was briefly scoulded by a Dutch girl who thought I had been stood in the same place for too long, but the person I was speaking to was standing there! Work is good, my perfect timetable has taken a bit of a hit but it could never have lasted. The guy knew what he was doing and felt a little bad so he gave me a ruler to try and placate me. It worked. Now it's just waiting for pay day, which really can't come soon enough, much like my passport, which still hasn't arrived! For the money I paid for it I want David Cameron to deliver it by hand. Sorry I'm complaining.

I'm drinking a cup of tea, and I've just read what is on the cup, it's a woman on a mechanical bull and underneath in English it says "You should see the stud that bucked me on Saturday night", no point to this, I'm just shocked!

love love love x