Mean Machine

We were supposed to have an interfaculty soccer competition today. The Arts faculty (that is me, two history phd candidates and a bunch of non-uni people who were going to pretend to be from the Arts) turned up. As did about 15 other people from various faculties. Not such a tournament, then. Dave Miller did not turn up as he was drunk in Lincoln. I don't think we want to know why. We organised a fun game in the very slippery mud. I was fortunate enough to have shoes with sprigs. This meant I could 'run' and turn around, remain upright and not end up with my face in the mud. In theory, anyway. Sadly I'm much more fat and unfit than I was when I played properly. I blame my mid-late-early twenties. It's all downhill. Other people who could, in practice, run found themselves struggling in the conditions. Take Tim for instance. Tim is big. He is a very good defender when he can run. When he tries to run, arms and legs flailing, goes nowhere and then falls on his arse, he is a very good comedian. The same can be said for pretty much everyone who played on our team. The other team was much better but only won 5-2 because we enlisted the services of a 12 year old wonder kid. Adam scored a good goal. I scored two and set one up, but the goal I set up was for them and I also scored one of theirs. Munter.

Also, Nic is supposedly producing a cd. This might happen. One day. If he doesn't break his ankle/finger/knee/nail. Frankly, get all the songs of the bends, shove them on a cd and you've got yourself a winner. so good. so very very good.