What Timing!
I got home at about 17:20 this evening, and scuttled to my front door grumbling and bitching to myself about the truly maniacal driving of those pratts who couldn't be bothered to make sure they'd organised to be home in time for their darling "footie". Still, I got in safely and greeted my cat who was very pleased to see me.
I made a cup of tea and a Nutella sandwich (yes, I know I shouldn't, but I was incensed at the bad driving out there tonight) and settled down to read the latest edition of The Chronicles. I got to the end of the latest instalment and, as if by magic, the TV which was turned off in the corner gives a little stutter, I lose my wireless connection, and the house suddenly seems very quiet.
Yes, it's a power cut! At 18:10 on the evening of the England vs Trinidad & Tobago match! I could not have timed it better if I'd been wielding the wire-cutters and oxy-cet torch myself. I got an unholy fit of the giggles. I listened with relish to the howls outside.
They got round it though - people were sitting in cars listening and getting their brats to shout out the score to anyone who might be listening. Once the match had finished, The Beloved tried to call me to warn me that there was a fair bit of dangerous driving going on in Guildford and that he was going to worry if I was out on the bike. He kept getting cut off as the network signal dropped off repeatedly - more footie-idiots phoning their equally boring relatives with the final result that they would have already known, perhaps?
Then the power came back on. At about 18:45. Sheer poetry.
I made a cup of tea and a Nutella sandwich (yes, I know I shouldn't, but I was incensed at the bad driving out there tonight) and settled down to read the latest edition of The Chronicles. I got to the end of the latest instalment and, as if by magic, the TV which was turned off in the corner gives a little stutter, I lose my wireless connection, and the house suddenly seems very quiet.
Yes, it's a power cut! At 18:10 on the evening of the England vs Trinidad & Tobago match! I could not have timed it better if I'd been wielding the wire-cutters and oxy-cet torch myself. I got an unholy fit of the giggles. I listened with relish to the howls outside.
They got round it though - people were sitting in cars listening and getting their brats to shout out the score to anyone who might be listening. Once the match had finished, The Beloved tried to call me to warn me that there was a fair bit of dangerous driving going on in Guildford and that he was going to worry if I was out on the bike. He kept getting cut off as the network signal dropped off repeatedly - more footie-idiots phoning their equally boring relatives with the final result that they would have already known, perhaps?
Then the power came back on. At about 18:45. Sheer poetry.
posted by Catherine at 18:39
1 Comments:
Sheer poetry!
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