Knock Back

Hey there, fancy meeting you here.

I'm only mildly following England's latest debacle, what's the point?

There has been no more dancing since we last spoke. Well only only in my room but that is my business. Instead this weekend was taken up by two mutually exclusive things, boxing and squatting. I don't know anything about boxing. I've always thought that it would be a good sport to get into but it seems pretty impenatrable to the outsider (Jay Boothroyd just came on FOR ENGLAND, English football is dead). So I was looking forward to watching David Haye vs Audley Harrison as a chance to understand a little more. As already noted I don't know very much about boxing but one thing I do know is that to win a boxing match throwing a punch punches is useful, NAY required. It was just watching a guy getting punched in the face constantly for five minutes. Audely Harrison just scrunched up and took a pounding for a lot of money. This led Neil to pose the question, how much money would you need to be offered to get in the ring and let David Haye turn you into mush? Air miles is all I ask. This question kept us busy for a while only to be trumped by one of the greatest questions I have ever been asked, what would your boxing nick name be and what would your ring entry music be? This kept us going for ages. The Queen song 'One Vision' was a popular choice for entry music. I went for 'Renegade Master' as both song and name, just imagine.

The rest of the evening was spent sort of squatting. I don't know how Neil knew it was there but we were led down a dark alley, he knocked on a boarded door and lo and behold we were in a squat that was being used as a bar. It was lovely! I had an image of sitting on the floor, with lots of plastic on the walls but it was much nicer than a lot of bars I have been. Art on the wall, table service, cake! Cake! It was great and everyone was so friendly.

I've kept up the football playing, if Jay Boothroyd can play for England theres still hope. Sunday was fine, however Tuesday was humilating. I got a call and asked whether I wanted to play with Neil's girlfriend Dad and his friends. Mike and myself were told to wait by a roundabout for a man we have never met to pick us up in a car we had never seen. It was filthy and seedy but in a nice way. We though playing against mainly middle aged men would be fine but they gave us a hammering. They tore me apart. At one point, while I was being dominated in midfield, a squat fat man came over and told me it was ok. The same man gave me a lift home and I had to sit between the baby seats in the back of his car and that was a pretty good methaphor for how the game had gone. It's how England must be feeling right about now.

My twitter adventure continues. I was pretty nonplussed by it, I didn't get the point, until I started to follow Chris Gayle, who is brilliant. I quote:

"If I only did get permission to use my private I would reach long time,but they said its a team thing so no argument-I had fis chic rice. Oh"

What does it mean? What does it mean?? Its all like that! Also my dream of being followed by Labour MP Diane Abbot has come true, just not in the way I had in mind.

love love love x
love love love x