Sunday, 1 February 2009

Rubbing It In

Far be it from me to look smug when I read the weather forecasts for Dear Old Blighty. Far from it, old chap. Perish the thought. Speaking of perishing, I don't half laugh when watching the football: that's when it really sinks in, the temperatures I'm avoiding. I'm watching Liverpool v Chelsea right now, at 2.45am local time. It's been 40+ degrees of dry heat all day. I've been to the beach. Again. The remnants of a fine Shiraz lingers, not for much longer, and I've just smoked some nice bit of homegrown. So to see Benitez and Scolari wandering up and down the touchline at a freezing Anfield in their big coats; every other head in the crowd sporting a woolly hat; the beer belches hanging in the air as clouds, the steaming pies...it does tickle me a bit. Especially when Garfield reports they had snow in Hackney last night. Be cold on the way to sign on tomorrow, mate? Enjoy! 

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