What time is it?

Body clock ticking to a different beat

My body clock is now set to India: test match time. So well that I sat bolt upright at 03:45, plugged in the laptop, hit Sky Go and got the news that Cook lost the toss again and India had elected to bat.

I did get some kip between half four and half five, but only because I needed some rest before heading over to Ashford for first light.

Sometimes, when questioning your own sanity (an exercise worth undertaking regularly) there's comfort to be had in knowing that although difficult to defend in terms of having all your cups in the cupboard, there's others with similar gaps in their crockery stock...

...what else would you do with your weekend?

BLISS has a similarly afflicted workmate, who described his Saturday:

Got up, breakfast, watched the cricket, watched the lunchtime North London derby. Went down the pob for the rugby. Came back home with mates (about fifteen of them). Watched more football, cooked huge chilli, watched some dating show with mates.

The blip of the dating show was explained away. With the sound off, it forms the basis of a drinking game. Now, there's no doubting his sports nut status, but there is the question of commitment in not taking in the boxing last thing on Saturday.

Not for S***s fans

An old Tommy Cooper (look him up on You Tube – genius, absolutely hilarious) joke:

I walked into a bar.

Ouch!

It was an iron bar.

Just came to mind in the lead-up to the Lazio game, can't think why.

What is it about trains...

That brings out the worst in people. Travelling back from London Bridge, I changed and got onto a moderately crowded train. The first empty seat had a bloke's bag on it, so I asked him to move it, politely. I also offered to put his back on the overhead shelf, as I was standing, to save him the trouble.

I didn't want to ask nicely. I wanted to say “this is a crowded train, unless you've bought a ticket for your bag, it don't get a seat now shift it you selfish...” or something along those lines. He didn't take it well and went all teenage and huffy and slammed the bag on his lap and made sure he took up his seat and part of mine. After a few minutes he said:

“Excuse me, can you not lean on me, please.”

Not in such a good mood by now, I said:

“I don't want to lean on you. There's the line between you seat and my seat. Stay your side, and there'll be no leaning. Insist on taking up part of mine and there'll be leaning.”

After a few minutes he moved off elsewhere. Last seen on the middle of three seats, crushed between two right bruisers.