Serbia is very much in the news. what with that other Serbian chap winning Wimbledon, or rather making Rafa Nadal look a bit Andy Murray. I don't tend to watch that much tennis; it's the hope and expectation that kills me (and I find it a wee bit dull and four sets too long), but I watched the first two sets of the Men's Final yesterday and was pretty much impressed by the new champion and also resigned to the fact that Andy Murray will only win a grand slam if several people die or retire first.
Apparently, the 2014 world cup has started! Matches played at the weekend between Palestine and Afghanistan, as well as a game between The Philippines and Sri Lanka - all of them starting a journey that will not see them end up in Brazil.
I have an interview for a job tomorrow. Ironically, it's for a job that I applied for 6½ years ago but ended up being offered a managerial position instead. It shows how much forward this country is going when the only jobs available to me now are ones that pay £5k less and are essentially a step back on the old ambition ladder.
I'd like it though. I'm slowly going mad(der) with boredom.
My mate Roger is going to interview former Yes lead vocalist and barking mad eccentric Jon Anderson for a prog rock thing. As he is aware that I'm just as big a fan of Yes as he is, he contacted me and asked if I could suggest any questions to ask the man who originally came from a rural Lancashire town.
All I could come up with were: Is he as barking mad as everybody says he is? What in hell's teeth was Olias of Sunhillow all about? Is it true he keeps his nan's old spare leg in a closet at his daughter's house? As he's originally from Burnley, has he ever said, "You'll never take me alive, copper. Not without a proper shoot out!" In his broad Lancastrian accent?
Suffice it to say, Roger will not be using my suggested questions (even though I thought the White Heat one was inspired). However, Roger tends to finish his interviews off with a silly question...
Pigeons have eaten all but one of my gooseberries...
Fishwife has gone on a course for a week; leaving his occasionally flirtatious wife (and two brats) all on her own. This is a good thing because we will have a relative week of peace. Fishwife's wife is considerably sterner than Fishwife.
Double whammy of excellent goodness is that Fuckwit and Lard Girl are also away for a couple of days; meaning I can go into the garden without fear of too much distraction...
It makes me remember when we first moved into this house in 2000. We still had Fuckwit and Lard Girl on one side, but where Fishwife lived was a single mother with her 19 year old daughter. The safest thing you could say about Chris was she was a bit dippy; but her daughter was as thick as clotted cream, liked to get pissed out of her face and used to sun bathe topless in the back garden with a couple of her friends. This was often a highlight of sultry summer days, especially as the fence between houses in 2000 was half the height it is now.
Like Fishwife, the previous owners were heavily into barbecues and often had a garden full of friends while cooking half a dead animal. They often used to invite us, but we'd decline because of our vegetarian views. Talking over the fence later in the year, the daughter was saying how she hated the autumn and really missed the barbecues. Then without a hint of irony or innuendo, she said to me, "I like a good spit roast," and I was left to bite my tongue, make my excuses and beat a hasty retreat. They moved in the spring of 2001...
Duck shit and sawdust awaits...