Today in our house we have Watching the Detectives upstairs and a film called The Goonies downstairs.
I've seen The Goonies (based on a Steven Spielberg story) two or three times so I have left it playing to the cat in the living room below.
Why are stories for children and cats so much better than those for adults?
I am in the work room on the first floor. I believe that's the second floor to Americans who apparently do not have a ground floor - and they claim to speak English? - Our second floor is the one above this.
Anyway, I am in the work room which my Leader, in a shameless display of inverted snobbery, refuses to call the study (well it is only 10'long by 5'wide after all) and I am at the computer posting - I'm new so I hope that's the right terminology - this bunch of random meanderings before soccer, Match of the Day Live England v Andorra, comes on the box.
I don't know why I watch it.
By mid way through the first half I shall be wishing I'd never bothered. By ten minutes into the second I shall be proclaiming to the cat that the English team is still rubbish, a bunch of first half wonders who are paid too much, McClaren is as bad as the last bloke and Alan Shearer should be made manager.
If they win I shall of course shelve my intolerance until next time.
If they lose I shall have another glass of wine and eat my dinner too quickly.
I'd better go.
The cat will be expecting company when the match starts and my Leader has cleverly arranged to be out for the occasion.
Kick off is at 5.00.
I shall be there.
Justin Thyme
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