Everybody's got the fever!

Figure 1. YOU KNOW WHY!

Despite my attempts to avoid all things sport I have succumbed to World Cup Fevahhhh!!! I gave all my support to Bafana Bafana who sadly didn’t make it past round 1 but put up some sterling good plays and left with dignity. Following this, I adopted bloodline-through-marriage loyalty and was behind Denmark who piddled their way out to Japan! (WTF! Can Japan even play soccer?!)

But, MY TEAM, the ones where it actually mattered what happened are were England! The 3 Lions. Swing low sweet chariot. Rah rah rah dahling and all that poppycock!

In my impartial indulgence in sport, apart from horse riding, since the age of 1 and a half, I have been the civilized one. The one more than happy to watch the style network whilst SA were playing rugby against Australia. The one happy to eat salad at a braai. The one who doesn’t understand the need to watch the game, the repeat of the game AND the highlights channel… But Sunday I released my inner Neanderthal. I settled into my blanket on the sofa in my designer jeans and polka-dot slipper-booties with coke in hand and a packet of Doritos. Civilised I thought. No vuvuzelas around. No face paint. No beer. And then the game started. Clash of the titans. WWIII as it had been fondly dubbed. England vs Germany.

As the referee clown from Uruguay (is it even a legitimate country? If we didn’t colonise it, then NO!) made bad decision after bad decision including disrupting play by getting in the way of the ball… (I mean really… I could have done a better job in a pair of heels after drinking a bottle of Stroh Rum!) I devolved to the macho jock that is hiding deep inside me. Expletives were issued. Brash statements were released on FB. Screaming at the TV ensued. ^{[Perving over Beckham was a mere added extra!]} And my inner Neanderthal even resorted to hurling Doritos at the TV in an angry rage. At one point I was standing on the sofa, in furry polka-dot slippers and all screaming profanities and jumping up and down! Within those 90 minutes of play, I mastered the rules of football and had self-proclaimed myself to be the next best English soccer coach. Move over Sir Alex and dahling Fabio, it’s time for Lady Brendan to shine!

Following shocking referee decisions, apathetic play by the English side and a very strong, precise game by ze Yermans, I was in a foul mood over our loss. Yes, I use the possessive because WE lost. My team. My boys. The Queen. The Empire. Defeated. Retreat back to the homeland. Dejected. Defiled. The shame. The sadness. I almost cried… Instead, I just poured more Rose wine and got drunk – clevah!

But now I’m over it and can re-evolve back to a state of class and reserve. The soccer shall now have limited impact on my life. Although I will support all teams against ze dirty Yermans as if they were my own!

In more important news, blind-date facebook man contacted me. Told me that my message to him was hilarious and he laughed so much and complimented me on my creativity. J But he seems to be unable to meet up before he leaves. Oh well, next! Not to worry, I still managed to slore myself across risqy on Friday… although this one was a super Queen. But then again, a Queen is just a pawn with a bunch of fancy moves… Luckily I escaped without exchanging numbers!

Oooo, and at my FAVOURITE establishment (Billys) on Saturday, I met some super hott BrAsilians. Why are ALL Brathilianth tho thort and have a liiiithp? Upon seeing my gingah-loving housemate, they said:

“Eeef I had a thitah like chours, then I would never leave the hooouuuth!” (Translates to: “If I had a sister like yours, then I would never leave the house!”).

I’m sure that’s even illegal in Brathiiil! Just saying.

But hey, they were so dashingly hott they could have had their way with whoever they wanted in that establishment. Especially as the place was filled with everything from KILFs, through real Neanderthals to midgets… not forgetting drunken heffalumps on the bar. One would think I’d never go back, but that place has a spethial hold on my heart!! Oh Billys!

And now… the final few days of work begin! BUT they want me to fill in for 2 weeks in July… I will, if it is worth my while money wise $$$$$$$

Plans to leave are beginning to take form. London, brace yourself!

BAM!