Sneezing In The Sun [by Pogo]
It's the middle of May. My nose is already beginning to do that strange twitching thing when I step outside. In another couple of weeks it'll start taking the law into its own hands. If I'm not attentive with the hanky it'll just sneeze whenever it wants. And then I'll know it's the Summer.
Don't get me wrong. I love the Summer nowadays, thanks to the miracle of Benadryl. But once upon a time it was just another reason for me to be grumpy.
Cricket is the invention of The Devil.
At my school it was a compulsory sport during the Summer months. Sport? Hah! What's sporting about standing in a newly-mown patch of grass, sneezing your tits off, rubbing your itchy eyes until they puff up to three times their normal size? What's fun about being stuck out as far away from the action (Action? What action?) as possible, because they know "he's the snotty one, better keep him out of the way". What's even remotely entertaining about seeing a cricket ball arcing towards your head while you're in mid-blow? Being hit by a spherical brick might raise a laugh or two from the opposite team, but does it provoke sympathy from your supposed team mates?
'Oi! Pogo! Leave your nose alone and catch the pigging ball next time, will you?'
Mutter mutter mutter. Did I pigging ask to be stuck in the pigging field in the first pigging place? Do I look even the remotest bit interested in this so-called "game"? No? Funny, that.
So anyway. Positive things about Summer. Blimey. Too many to mention, these days. Benadryl – already said that. Camping. Yeah – camping. The season's almost upon us. Break out the tent and the paracetamols, it's time to sit in a field and let the kids go ape while I drink far too much. Brilliant fun. Then there's the stargazing and satellite-spotting when it gets dark, to say nothing of the odd bit of nearly-outdoors-rumpo.
And of course, it's Festival season! Glastonbury! V! Reading! T! Might even make the effort to do Ashton Court again this year. Anticipated highlights of the season: Pixies reunion, Muse headlining, being somewhere else when Paul McCartney does his slot.
Beer. Gear. Fun. Sun.
Can't wait!
* * *
Pogo (aka Goopy) is continually told to shut up by his long-suffering mates down the pub. Always opinionated yet rarely correct, he can't help sticking his oar in no matter what the subject. He has even been known to offer up opinions on football, about which he is supremely unqualified to speak.
Don't get me wrong. I love the Summer nowadays, thanks to the miracle of Benadryl. But once upon a time it was just another reason for me to be grumpy.
Cricket is the invention of The Devil.
At my school it was a compulsory sport during the Summer months. Sport? Hah! What's sporting about standing in a newly-mown patch of grass, sneezing your tits off, rubbing your itchy eyes until they puff up to three times their normal size? What's fun about being stuck out as far away from the action (Action? What action?) as possible, because they know "he's the snotty one, better keep him out of the way". What's even remotely entertaining about seeing a cricket ball arcing towards your head while you're in mid-blow? Being hit by a spherical brick might raise a laugh or two from the opposite team, but does it provoke sympathy from your supposed team mates?
'Oi! Pogo! Leave your nose alone and catch the pigging ball next time, will you?'
Mutter mutter mutter. Did I pigging ask to be stuck in the pigging field in the first pigging place? Do I look even the remotest bit interested in this so-called "game"? No? Funny, that.
So anyway. Positive things about Summer. Blimey. Too many to mention, these days. Benadryl – already said that. Camping. Yeah – camping. The season's almost upon us. Break out the tent and the paracetamols, it's time to sit in a field and let the kids go ape while I drink far too much. Brilliant fun. Then there's the stargazing and satellite-spotting when it gets dark, to say nothing of the odd bit of nearly-outdoors-rumpo.
And of course, it's Festival season! Glastonbury! V! Reading! T! Might even make the effort to do Ashton Court again this year. Anticipated highlights of the season: Pixies reunion, Muse headlining, being somewhere else when Paul McCartney does his slot.
Beer. Gear. Fun. Sun.
Can't wait!
Pogo (aka Goopy) is continually told to shut up by his long-suffering mates down the pub. Always opinionated yet rarely correct, he can't help sticking his oar in no matter what the subject. He has even been known to offer up opinions on football, about which he is supremely unqualified to speak.
2 Comments:
women with their tits out!! come on, women with their bloody tits out! it's what summers all about!!
Steve, you should post a column about your plans for the summer. Go on... I dare you.
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