Finally received an invoice for some pitches this morning. Have been overcharged to the tune of two extra dates I never booked. If I know my council officer, said games are up on her calendar, in three-inch-high felt-tip writing, with "CC'S CLUB PLAYING TOODAY" written there.
Emailed her to say there'd been a mistake. Out of office reply says she's on holiday for three straight weeks. No doubt she needs the break. Thought about trying to track down one of her colleagues, but couldn't face the thought of dealing with yet another total fucking spanner.
Have managed 13 hours' sleep over the past three days due to work. Every health issue I have - a surprising number (my medicine cabinet currently looks like a fucking sweet shop) comes to the fore when sleep deprived. None of them are particularly serious, but urticaria (internal and external), folliculitis, benign muscle fasciculation syndrome and mild IBS (possibly not helped by the fact I'm staying awake through judicious use of Red Bull, nicotine, coffee and Diet Coke) do not a happy marriage, nor CC make.
Today I thought I was going to vomit in the office. Logged on to club website to find more criticism re emailgate. Ended up calling someone a cunt on there. That made me feel a good deal better.
Then my line manager decided he wanted to talk to me about my cricket team and being ever the enthusiastic recruiter and possibly delirious from sleep deprivation I sent him a link to the site. With any luck he'll work out I spent a large portion of this afternoon on there calling someone a cunt.
Truly fantastic week so far.
That said, Somerset are flying against Durham. I watched Compton bat at Lord's, and my gut spectatoral instinct said, 'very good, probably a bit of a flat track bully'. So perfect for us then. I'm inclined to think Hildreth is the better batsman, but then I was also convinced Ian Blackwell would be the best batsman in the world not so long ago so that shows how much I know.
Perhaps - FUCK YOU COMPUTER I DON'T WANT TO RESTART TO INSTALL UPDATES YOU CAN DO THAT SHIT WHEN I'VE FINISHED DOING WHAT I'M DOING YOU HECTORING BASTARD.
...Perhaps some thoughts on why I love Somerset. I love Somerset because I love Taunton. I love Taunton because I've never seen a team so destroyed by the crowd as the Australian Test team there in the late 90s. They might have pooped all over us in the Ashes but they weren't laughing when a little-known teenager called Marcus was slapping them out the ground and an entire stand of pissed up yokels was chanting 'Ooh-AAR Glenn MCGRAATH!' Steve Waugh gave us all a V-sign. Also the song "Shaaaane Warrrrrrrne......Shaaaaaaane Warrrrrrrrrne - 'e's fat, 'e's bent, 'is ARRRSE is up fer rent' is almost charming in a West Country accent.
Disappointingly the stand then turned on my dad. He was going through a bit of a mid-life crisis (possibly) and some scrumpied up farmer pointed at him and shouted: "EE'S GOT A BADGER ON HIS EAD!".
It wasn't a badger. He'd grown a pony tail.
So there I was, aged 14, pretending not to know my own father sitting beside me as an entire stand started chanting "He's got a badger on his head" for what seemed like years.
I also love Taunton because it's tiny: it's like watching a professional game on a club pitch. When I was sitting behind the action and Caddick was in his prime I used to watch him and genuinely feel a bit scared that if the keeper missed it the ball would only take a milisecond before skipping the boundary and smacking me in the face.
I love Taunton because the main food and drink options are cider and hog roast.
I also love Taunton because it is a natural home for fat left handers who don't move their feet and just like hitting it. In fact it's just the natural home for anyone wanting to hit it. Which frankly is what you go to see when you watch a game. Even Rahul Dravid gets a motor on there.
And so, at 19.26 (whatever this shitty blogger programme thinks it is), to bed. Fuck me.
Emailed her to say there'd been a mistake. Out of office reply says she's on holiday for three straight weeks. No doubt she needs the break. Thought about trying to track down one of her colleagues, but couldn't face the thought of dealing with yet another total fucking spanner.
Have managed 13 hours' sleep over the past three days due to work. Every health issue I have - a surprising number (my medicine cabinet currently looks like a fucking sweet shop) comes to the fore when sleep deprived. None of them are particularly serious, but urticaria (internal and external), folliculitis, benign muscle fasciculation syndrome and mild IBS (possibly not helped by the fact I'm staying awake through judicious use of Red Bull, nicotine, coffee and Diet Coke) do not a happy marriage, nor CC make.
Today I thought I was going to vomit in the office. Logged on to club website to find more criticism re emailgate. Ended up calling someone a cunt on there. That made me feel a good deal better.
Then my line manager decided he wanted to talk to me about my cricket team and being ever the enthusiastic recruiter and possibly delirious from sleep deprivation I sent him a link to the site. With any luck he'll work out I spent a large portion of this afternoon on there calling someone a cunt.
Truly fantastic week so far.
That said, Somerset are flying against Durham. I watched Compton bat at Lord's, and my gut spectatoral instinct said, 'very good, probably a bit of a flat track bully'. So perfect for us then. I'm inclined to think Hildreth is the better batsman, but then I was also convinced Ian Blackwell would be the best batsman in the world not so long ago so that shows how much I know.
Perhaps - FUCK YOU COMPUTER I DON'T WANT TO RESTART TO INSTALL UPDATES YOU CAN DO THAT SHIT WHEN I'VE FINISHED DOING WHAT I'M DOING YOU HECTORING BASTARD.
...Perhaps some thoughts on why I love Somerset. I love Somerset because I love Taunton. I love Taunton because I've never seen a team so destroyed by the crowd as the Australian Test team there in the late 90s. They might have pooped all over us in the Ashes but they weren't laughing when a little-known teenager called Marcus was slapping them out the ground and an entire stand of pissed up yokels was chanting 'Ooh-AAR Glenn MCGRAATH!' Steve Waugh gave us all a V-sign. Also the song "Shaaaane Warrrrrrrne......Shaaaaaaane Warrrrrrrrrne - 'e's fat, 'e's bent, 'is ARRRSE is up fer rent' is almost charming in a West Country accent.
Disappointingly the stand then turned on my dad. He was going through a bit of a mid-life crisis (possibly) and some scrumpied up farmer pointed at him and shouted: "EE'S GOT A BADGER ON HIS EAD!".
It wasn't a badger. He'd grown a pony tail.
So there I was, aged 14, pretending not to know my own father sitting beside me as an entire stand started chanting "He's got a badger on his head" for what seemed like years.
I also love Taunton because it's tiny: it's like watching a professional game on a club pitch. When I was sitting behind the action and Caddick was in his prime I used to watch him and genuinely feel a bit scared that if the keeper missed it the ball would only take a milisecond before skipping the boundary and smacking me in the face.
I love Taunton because the main food and drink options are cider and hog roast.
I also love Taunton because it is a natural home for fat left handers who don't move their feet and just like hitting it. In fact it's just the natural home for anyone wanting to hit it. Which frankly is what you go to see when you watch a game. Even Rahul Dravid gets a motor on there.
And so, at 19.26 (whatever this shitty blogger programme thinks it is), to bed. Fuck me.
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