What do Shrek, Skeletor and Bo Derek have in common.....?

So despite having only just written a post about football, and promtly ending it due to lack of material, my most recent viewing of further games has prompted me to write more on the subject.  Now one thing I do have to express is my disappointment with England's performance thus far - despite my patriotism which has been enhanced with my being in another country (although I'm pleased to say that my support for my new homeland has grown by the day, helped along by the fabulous Benaglio who really has saved more goals than any goalie I've ever watched).  Anyway, the first England match was obviously tremendously flawed due to the utterly muppetly performance of our own goalie - but at least I managed to stay awake during that match. 

The second match however literally had me nodding off.  Not least because the Algerians had cleverly camouflaged themseves at bits of turf so that they were virtually invisible to the viewer - instead giving the appearance that Rooney and co. were just sleepily kicking a ball about between the 11 of them, playing a lazy, half-hearted game of 'Avoid the Goal' while trying to stay awake themselves.  Not many people can get away with lime green I tell you - but better the Algerians than the English I suppose - Rooney needs no additional assistance in looking like Shrek.

I wonder who designs the outfits.. (sorry, strips)... They should get Patricia Field to do it - at least she'd accessorise them up a bit.  Especially the goalies.  If they have to wear a different outfit to their team mates they could at least embrace the opportunity.  I'd wear one of those all-in-one lycra thingys with a skeleton painted on the front, but instead of the black 'background' I'd have a grass-green one.  That would confuse the fuck out of the opposing strikers!!

Actually if I was a footballer I would be Dutch (and yes, you CAN choose - see pevious post), because I'm proud to say I'm one of the few people in the world that can actually get away with wearing orange.  Which I've always thought of as a good thing - especially given my cultural heritage... if I did ever end up in Guantanamo Bay (mistakenly of course - as if any of them aren't) at least I know I'd look good on my capture video - even under those harsh lights.  I prefer a 'coral' to a 'tangerine' but I'm sure they cater for a range of complexions, and as long as they do it in a size 6 I reckon I could totally work that jumpsuit look.

Anyway - veered from the subject matter there (again)... The other thing that gives me cause for concern are the hairstyles that some of these chaps are sporting nowadays.  The mullets of yesteryear might have been appalling but at least they were deemed trendy and manly at the time.  These days it's all girly Alice-bands and non-afro braiding - like those Vicky Pollard-esque chavs you see on Blackpool beach or cheap holidays who pay a tenner to get their hair braided and beaded and think they look like Bo Derek in that film "10" where she runs along the beach looking sexy with her braids bouncing around her in slo-mo....that was a one-off peeps if ever there was one!  So, it wouldn't surprise me to see a gingham scrunchie or a Hello Kitty barrette on the pitch soon, or even a borrowed-from-a-wag-Bumpit-enhanced beehive which could well prove a help, or hinderance I suppose, to the trajectory of a ball off a header....

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that over the next few days I will think of more to write about concerning the football, so I will leave this one open ended........ to be continued.....

The Foot Ball

It's football season and contrary to possible beliefs - I am fully embracing these few weeks.  No I am not a huge fan of the game on a daily basis, but I am a fan of getting in the carnival spirit, watching some gripping competitiveness at the local pub (I miss the days of the karaoke-off that used to take place every weekend in St.Reatham) and most of all seeing some football where the name of the team still actually bears some resemblence to the players in it! 

It goes without saying that in any occasion- be it sporting, political, economic or otherwise, I will take the opportunity to find a fashion theme within it. The American elections gave me the perfect excuse to adopt a stars and stripes wardrobe-the red, white and blue of nautical chic combined with the hip hop / 80's combined trend of stars on any available bodily surface allowed me to fully embrace the occasion. With the UK elections parliamentary rosettes were translated into flower corsages, with the economic meltdown I adopted 'recession chic' which basically involved wearing very small clothes or bulk buying from Primark, Wimbledon always brings out the little, white summer skirts.  And this month, I officially announce the Foot Ball. Which is essentially a celebration (or Ball if you like) of all things foot-related. (if fact, anything from the foot upwards!)

Sparkle, lamé, pearls, lace, neon, wood, cork, beads, PVC, leather... all adorned upon perfectly pedicured with the English flag tootsies in a true celebration of the foot!  Add to that the thousands of themes that can be taken from the culmination of teams, players, countries participating in the world cup, and we are presented with the biggest and most exciting foot-fashion opportunity of all time! White knee socks, patriotic footwear (with matching bags of course), any African animal print going.. It's a pedi-carnival and I'm buying a float!  Bring on the Foot Ball!

Now, in my excitement and embracement of the sport, it has prompted me to delve a little deeper into the world of football and my research has brought to light some disturbing facts- possibly no revelation to most people, but to someone like me that naively thinks the best of most things until someone or something shatters my sparkly fairytale illusion, this has been a sobering (if such a word can be used at a time when I'm spending most of my time in the pub supping Prosecco) insight.  I discovered some shocking truths. 

1) Gone are the days when people supported their local team because they grew up with them, or their dads or their kids, or they worked in the same coal mines, drank in the same boozers and so on - when it was all about community and regional pride.  I have learned that nowadays some people even just 'pick a team' and that's all there is to it?!  Simple as that - eeny meeny miney mo... Sometimes they have never even been to the town that the team is named after, or even KNOW where the town is.  Ok, to be fair you can't fully blame the fans, especially as most of the players also have nothing to do with the town the team was named after either... but at least admit it, and stop pretending to believe that this has anything to do with anything other than money.  YES there are some skilled players about - but frankly if I was going to get paid a million quid a day for being skilled at something that I just happened to do all the time as a kid, and that was and still is lots of fun, - I'd be bloody skilled at it, believe me. Unfortunately dancing around to Aha with a gymnastic ribbon doesn't pay that much and frankly I can't be bothered to do anything more strenuous - I don't want a Hummer and a gang bang that much thanks.

2) There is a perception of football 'fannery' being hard, tough and manly.... yet in reality, footballers themselves are probably the most manicured, stroppy, diva-like, metrosexuals you could ever meet.  I know this - I have met many in my previous incarnation as a party organiser.  And I cannot believe how much of a mis-match there is between a real life footballer and a wannabe football 'hooligan'.  Sometimes I think the footballers don't get distracted by the bellowing chants of their fans, not because they are so expertly trained not to, but moreso because they are like dolphins... they can't hear noises that low.  Their delicate ears only pick up high pitched squeaks, like the ones their wives emit which are only marginally lower than their own....

3) I was amazed, when watching the Germans play the other day, to hear the commentator say "...and this is Cacau coming onto the pitch now.  He's only recently become a German..."   Ummmmmm - what so now if you don't like whatever nationality you are, or your team is shite, then you can just become from another country??! So Rooney can say 'sod you' to his England team mates and head off to join Brazil, and become Rooniño instead?  Well that just about closed the deal for me. 

I have come to the conclusion that the World Cup is fun, and the atmosphere is amazing, and the sudden patriotism that people develop out of nowhere is somewhat amusing, but I think that footballers should be put onto the minimum wage and then play the world cup, and I think it would be a whole different ball game (see what I did there?).  Football is a game made up of simple people who get paid far too much money- its like letting loose a colony of sex-addicted gorillas after giving them suitcases full of cash, some sports cars and a random selection of coke-snorting barbie dolls, and then sitting back to observe. Even the name is simple. "Foot. Ball." like some 3 year old literally said what it did on the tin and was hailed as a genius for coming up with such a word. Think of other sports- tennis, boxing, rugby, badminton .... Might as well call them 'Smack-with-Racket',  'Hit-People', 'Grab-Ball- and-Run' and 'Pointless-Load-of-Shit'
What is funny is that the Americans who actually do name every sport after what it does on the tin, chose soccer as the name for football. Which I actually think is a much nicer name for the sport.  Though I am probably giving them too much credit. In reality a meat-head jock most likely pointed at a footballers foot one day and went 'Sock. Urr.' (followed by a dribble - of the mouth kind, not the foot kind)' and that was how the name was borne.  Actually it wasn't even the Americans that came up with the name - (I just looked on Wikipedia) but what the heck, as blog-fodder the reality is boring, so I'll just make up whatever crap I want to!

And that's kind of all I have to say about the subject really.... a shorter post than the usual, but I'm loath to string out the subject any further, or change subject mid blog.  Plus I don't really know an awful lot more about football.  So I finish this with some of the stoopidest quotes about football, from footballers.....and then head to the pub for the next match.  By for now homies. xoxo

"Leeds is a great club and it's been my home for years, even though I live in Middlesborough."
Jonathan Woodgate

"He dribbles a lot and the opposition don't like it - you can see it all over their faces."
Ron Atkinson

"If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again."
Terry Venables

"They're the second best team in the world, and there's no higher praise than that."
Kevin Keegan

"I definitely want Brooklyn to be christened, but I don't know into what religion yet."
David Beckham

"I never wanted to leave. I'm here for the rest of my life, and hopefully after that as well."
Alan Shearer

"The minute's silence was immaculate, I have never heard a minute's silence like that."
Glenn Hoddle

"I never comment on referees and I'm not going to break the habit of a lifetime for that prat."
Ron Atkinson

"I couldn't settle in Italy. It was like living in a foreign country."
Ian Rush

"There are two ways of getting the ball. One is from your own team-mates, and that's the only way."
Terry Venables

"The first ninety minutes of a football match are the most important."
Bobby Robson

"The world looks a totally different place after two wins. I can even enjoy watching Blind Date or laugh at Noel's House Party."
Gordon Strachan

"My parents have been there for me, ever since I was about 7."
David Beckham

"I can see the carrot at the end of the tunnel."
Stuart Pearce

"I always used to put my right boot on first, and then obviously my right sock."
Barry Venison

"We haven't been scoring goals, but football's not just about scoring goals. It's about winning."
Alan Shearer

"We must have had 99 per cent of the match. It was the other three per cent that cost us."
Ruud Gullit

Kinder Surprises

You may have noticed that my blog has had a makeover.  Well, contrary to my earlier posts it appears that I am somewhat technologically-minded after all... a few hours of painstaking trial and error, and a frustrating self-teaching session in how to amend html code.... and Bob ist dein Onkel!  It just goes to show that most things adhere to some kind of logic and even an impatient, number-averse chick like me with the attention span of a goldfish concerning anything that isn't immediately sparkly or exciting can work my way around the back-end of a website!  No longer am I quite as impressed as I once was with the new army of teenage super-geeks that are taking over the world.  I'll be writing algorithms next.  I actually don't know what an algorithm is, but it sounds cool (actually it sounds like hip-hop seaweed) and if its possible to make a pink, flowery one then I'll definitely give it a go..

Its funny how nowadays even children take technology for granted.  Just a few days ago I was having lunch with some friends, who have 3 small children between the ages of 5 and 11 years old.  The youngest was happily playing way on DoodleJump on her mum's iPhone while another was competing at Angry Birds on her dad's and the third had stolen mine to look up how big the biggest ever rabbit in the world was on Wikipedia.  I do remember having a Nintendo Donkey Kong Game that was the size of an encyclopaedia and had images that looked like they'd been created using an Etch-a-Sketch, which I am sure kept me amused for about 10 minutes and at the time was the absolute latest in technology.  However, imagine as a kid having been able to press a screen and get virtually any kind of game, watch films, TV, message your friends in real-time, even video conference with them!  I remember having to go to the phone box to call my dad when I needed a lift home or to arrange to meet up with friends.  In fact, come to think of it, how on earth do kids get away with telling their parents they are at their friend's house when really they are holed up in a dungeon of a nightclub knocking back Aftershocks and headbanging in a mosh-pit...?  The latest iPhone allows your parents to call you and see exactly where you are!  Try convincing your mum that the throngs of raving gurners behind you are just iPhone 'wallpaper' and that your pupils only look like that because you're using one of those programs that puts special effects on your face......

It reminds me of a time when I got my friend's older brother (older being the operative word - he was about 15 and we were about 13) to call my dad, masquerading as my friend's dad to ask if I could stay over for a sleepover (in reality the parents had gone on holiday and the house was full of 15-year-old boys, Diamond White and an impending game of Spin the Bottle).  How naive to think that my dad would believe the pubescent cracking voice on the other end of the line was indeed a 40 year old man.  Needless to say that he didn't and I was ordered home promptly and grounded for a week (again).

But it does strike me as incredibly difficult nowadays for kids to get away with the things we used to manage 20 years ago.  Which is probably a good thing in many ways, but kind of sad in others.  After all, much of life's learnings come from finding out the hard way, and it seems that 'the hard way' will soon be a thing of the past for many kids of today.  I can definitely look back now and say my mum and dad were always right, but I only know that because I did so many things they told me not to do, without their knowledge and experienced first hand that it may not have been the best idea to, for example, have a bolt put through my tongue / carve a boy's name into my arm with a compass / dance half naked on a bar being set alight with flaming Sambuca by loin-cloth clad men weilding flame throwers in Lanzarote resulting in a fall that tore every ligament in my knee and dislocated my shoulder rendering me unconscious in the back of an ambulance with two huge paramedics punching my shoulder back into it's socket......  I only know these things because I lived them.  And it's only now that I am of child-bearing age and mentality that it makes me feel slightly sick at how stressful it must be for parents to have to set their offspring free into a world where scary things can happen....even at their own hands!   Though this does make me glad in some ways that I live in Switzerland, as despite badness and temptation being everywhere, there seems to be very little in this part of the world!  Even the local 'thugs' apologise when they bump into you, and the closest I've seen to a gangster is someone with their baseball cap on sideways and a can of Red Bull in their hand.  A far cry from the streets of Streatham...! 

I am also finding it increasingly disconcerting that I can no longer tell the difference between a 12 year old and a 20 year old.  They all look the same to me, and sometimes I see what looks like a 12 year old about to drive a bus, or standing in a white coat in a doctor's surgery and realise that it is actually the bus driver, or the doctor, and I feel like I can't possibly board the bus or get pharmaceuticals from this person because they literally have only just been potty trained!  I went for one of those all-over-body MOT things a couple of years ago and one of these 'man-children' was the doctor.  It was fine up until the breast and gynaecological assessment at which point I absolutely had to draw the line and ordered him off to find me a grown-up (and a female one at that).  Doogie Howser MD has become a freakish reality!

This does remind me of a very funny moment when I was coming back from lunch with a friend of mine who walked up to a little boy that was standing in the lobby of our office building in London wearing a rucksack and with his back to us.  She crouched down, put her arm round him and asked him if he'd lost his daddy...as he turned round she was confronted with the bearded face of a 40 year old midget. 

Anyway - off on a tangent there but back to the subject in hand..... It's funny how we suddenly hear ourselves say something and realise we have turned into our parents.  I actually chose a pair of shoes for comfort rather than fashion the other day and when Dan asked me why, I replied "ooh well I wouldn't want chilly feet, I'd catch a cold".... WHAT??!!!! I used to go out in the middle of winter in a long vest with a belt round the middle, a pair of over-the-knee socks, a face-full of make-up and nothing else!  When did I start caring whether I caught pneumonia as long as I looked good ('good' being a matter of opinion clearly) in the hospital bed?  I also find myself worrying about things that I would never have given a second thought about.  On the bus, instead of listening to my iPod or reading Grazia, I am nervously tapping a foot and chewing a nail wondering why the sage has attacked the basil in the herb garden and whether I should have done something to prevent it and if I am neglectful for letting it get to this stage and oh my goodness what if I neglect my children to the same degree, how will I ever be able to help them with their maths homework when I didn't even turn up at my maths GCSE and I can barely add up?? And how will I teach them to be team players when I am the worst person ever at team sports because my attitude is that if I spend all that time and energy getting hold of a ball there's no bloody way on God's earth I'm giving it away to someone else - I'm sodding well keeping hold of it......!  Seriously - when do we start thinking like this?? I don't like it one bit.

Thankfully a glass or 3 of wine usually helps me get over the worry, and luckily I have managed to hang onto some of my shallowness and superficiality, so it's not all about the kids, the herb garden, whether I'm going to be a good wife etc etc etc.... I still have plenty of brain space for me, me, me.... Though my thoughts have progressed somewhat from "how shall I do my make-up?" to "When should I get botox?" and from "What bra will give me a great cleavage?" to "How many decilitres of silicone would give me the desired effect"....  Its a sign of the times I suppose, and in an age where if something droops it can be lifted back up again, and if something breaks you can just get a new one, and if something that God gave you doesn't quite work then a different kind of God (that can be found on Harley Street) can offer you a different kind.....  Don't get me wrong, I'm not the victim of any of the above (yet, and hopefully not ever!) but there's no harm in planning for the future is there?  That's what they tell you about life insurance and you have to be dead to benefit from that, so this is a much more realitsic plan to start with....!

And on that happy note I need to go and water the plants before they die of neglect, iron my shirt for work tomorrow, wrap the leftovers in cling-film, and then lie awake in bed worrying about how we'd survive if there was a terrorist attack tomorrow..... guten nacht meine Freunde und Lassen Sie sich nicht im Bett Insekten beißen.. (?  Luckily I don't need to worry about my childrens' language skills hey??!)