Had a bit too much Pinot Grigio last night, getting angst ridden with Lurch about why the estate agent hasn't called once and what a rip-off HIP reports are. The estate agent quoted £415 but I've found an internet one for £250 - why can't they just be included as part of a survey? Sorry, I know there's nothing more boring than HIP reports..
Anyway, I woke up feeling slightly furry mouthed and rough round the edges, not well rested for the big match. I was praying for a large footy shirt, not like the terrible tight one I had to wear last year that showed off my bra fat (or bacon back as the Dutch call it, apparently) and muffin top. Got there with Lurch and the boys, Nev asked Lurch if he'd changed his mind and wanted to play, Lurch replied 'Do I look match fit to you Nev?' then went shopping to Leeds.
The shirt was big (result!) and we had a cracker of a match 1-1, went to extra time and then penalty shoot outs. I gave it my all and played mid-field/strike - Danny Boy said I embarrassed him, was too red and sweaty and behaved like a man. Football is really a lot harder than it looks, the ball hurts when it hits you and you don't have much time to think - also when you kick the ball it doesn't necessarily do what you think it's going to do - I'm going to have to practise for next year. But guess what? Nev gave me the trophy to take home, even though I was too scared to do the penalties. Danny Boy was secretly impressed, I think, even though he didn't show it except to say I was much more competitive than the 3 other mums who played.
We got home and I started watching the FA Cup Final but fell asleep, then I woke up two hours later and everything had seized up. I'm supposed to be doing the Great North Run in October - I MUST GET FITTER!
Club tournament & presentation day tomorrow - yes I've volunteered to do teas and coffees but only for an hour. The Terminator and Danny Boy are hopeful of trophys but I've told them not to worry too much about it. Just sent them to bed and went to see Lurch who's smoking another cigar. He was wild-eyed. 'What's the matter?' I asked 'I'm aghast,' he said, 'I thought I was a sophisticated urbane man-of-the- world but your Closer magazine has shocked me to the core. I cannot seriously believe that people bleach their anuses!'. I assured him that it was a growing trend but that he'd never be able to spot a bleached anus because he refuses to wear his glasses.