People watching in the big screen sports environment
Anybody noticed a rugby tournament going on around here?
Been to the quacks this week, got my modified meds and had a chat about what to do and what not to do... the gym's still sidelined, which is a bummer. And the old diet's got to be a bit modified which is not much fun either; sensible things all 'round and a diet sheet. Damn. Lay off the red meat; so that's no more steaks for me; as suspected last Monday, cheeseboards are indeed very much on the naughty list and my beloved Wensleydale especially so ( sob!!!! ); pizza, fish and chips will be deemed bad; and I shall be looking around for a supplier of top notch proper decaff coffee because lots of caffeine is bad too and there's no way I'm going to be buying my coffee in Asda from the mainstream; time to get a second cafetière maybe, coz I can't serve that detuned stuff to guests. Damn. Knackers my plan to get my own grinder and espresso machine as well. Oh well. And I'm equally sure that breaking myself quite as stylishly in the bar as I did at rugby is deemed naughty as well. Well, the doc can't have everything. Rather a lot of beer was consumed. I may have put a fairly considerable dent in their stocks, or myself, one of the two. An aussie bar was the order of the day, so it was bottled import beers; as the place is pretty rubbish from the real ale; or even fake ale point of view.
Anyway, the problem with bottles is that they're not pints, so they empty faster, so you end up getting two or four at at a time to cut on trips to the bar; and then you move on at the end of the (rather corking) match (nice one England, I do love to see a Frenchman in tears) and go to the pub that sells proper beer, and you discover that they've got Pendle Witches Brew on, plus Everard's Tiger, and then you're basically buggered. A fine evening, with even a bit of jumping up and down and shouting at the screen thrown in. And a bit of people watching as well; the drunken football fans that'd been there since the afternoon soccer just getting more and more beered; and who don't know what to do with themselves during a rugby match.... it feels a little alien to be watching the sport of damned fine people with a confused drunken chorus of "eng-gur-lannnnd, eng-gur-lannnnd, eng-gur-lannnnd" in the background which slowly morphs into "swing low" as the brain cells rearrange themselves and the Beckham'ites realise they've heard of this one too. Heh, my idea of rugby chanting hasn't much progressed from "Come on 'Gate" at moments of stress, of which there are many. It's all tribal really, some folks just need something, anything to come out and chant. They'd be singing "Eng-gur-lannnnd" at the televised bowls.
Been to the quacks this week, got my modified meds and had a chat about what to do and what not to do... the gym's still sidelined, which is a bummer. And the old diet's got to be a bit modified which is not much fun either; sensible things all 'round and a diet sheet. Damn. Lay off the red meat; so that's no more steaks for me; as suspected last Monday, cheeseboards are indeed very much on the naughty list and my beloved Wensleydale especially so ( sob!!!! ); pizza, fish and chips will be deemed bad; and I shall be looking around for a supplier of top notch proper decaff coffee because lots of caffeine is bad too and there's no way I'm going to be buying my coffee in Asda from the mainstream; time to get a second cafetière maybe, coz I can't serve that detuned stuff to guests. Damn. Knackers my plan to get my own grinder and espresso machine as well. Oh well. And I'm equally sure that breaking myself quite as stylishly in the bar as I did at rugby is deemed naughty as well. Well, the doc can't have everything. Rather a lot of beer was consumed. I may have put a fairly considerable dent in their stocks, or myself, one of the two. An aussie bar was the order of the day, so it was bottled import beers; as the place is pretty rubbish from the real ale; or even fake ale point of view.
Anyway, the problem with bottles is that they're not pints, so they empty faster, so you end up getting two or four at at a time to cut on trips to the bar; and then you move on at the end of the (rather corking) match (nice one England, I do love to see a Frenchman in tears) and go to the pub that sells proper beer, and you discover that they've got Pendle Witches Brew on, plus Everard's Tiger, and then you're basically buggered. A fine evening, with even a bit of jumping up and down and shouting at the screen thrown in. And a bit of people watching as well; the drunken football fans that'd been there since the afternoon soccer just getting more and more beered; and who don't know what to do with themselves during a rugby match.... it feels a little alien to be watching the sport of damned fine people with a confused drunken chorus of "eng-gur-lannnnd, eng-gur-lannnnd, eng-gur-lannnnd" in the background which slowly morphs into "swing low" as the brain cells rearrange themselves and the Beckham'ites realise they've heard of this one too. Heh, my idea of rugby chanting hasn't much progressed from "Come on 'Gate" at moments of stress, of which there are many. It's all tribal really, some folks just need something, anything to come out and chant. They'd be singing "Eng-gur-lannnnd" at the televised bowls.
posted by Fred the Singing Bandit at 11:58 am
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