“and if there’s war between the sexes, then there’ll be no people left”

Naughty, naughty. Honestly, it’s bad enough that they’re trying to tell me cricket is a real sport (since its boredom levels are only rivalled by watching golf) but to pretend that these are super-athletes? While I do think that a certain level of decorum ought to be maintained when representing one’s country, can we just remember that really only middle-class Englanders, and a load of people from India and thereabouts bother to muster up some excitement over this non-event of an activity? Thank you.

This weekend has been a real something and nothing. No strict arrangements, just the two of us as free as proverbial birds and not so utterly penniless as usual. The missus and I have finally settled the debate as to which area of London we’ll be moving to in May – the search will soon begin in earnest for a place in Southgate. I lived there before the failed attempt at starting a fresh life at home in Scotland, and it’s about as practical and as pretty as anywhere else – not to mention affordable. I’m at a loss to explain this process to non-Londoners, the particular mating dance that lands you a swanky little place to hide your cats in. The encyclopedic knowledge of postcodes and tube routes and where that recent spate of stabbings happened. I’m sure other towns and cities are just as awkward, but there’s something about the scale of London that scares off the faint-hearted.

We discovered a darling little sewing machine for the missus – a real bargain considering it’s an antique. Maybe that bedspread I’ve been promised for two years will finally materialise… but my breath is most certainly not being held.

Tomorrow is a whistle-stop tour of some cringingly labelled “executive” recruitment agencies. There’s nothing that grinds my gears more than being patronised by some jumped up junior secretaries who presume to know everything about me from a series of radio buttons I happened to click on their website. Still, I shall overcome my inherent snobbery and go cap in hand to these people who should be able to find me the slightly more lucrative PA assignments. The days when I can stop dumbing down for interviews and starting pointing out that actually I could run the UN or similar can’t come soon enough, quite frankly.


26 responses to ““and if there’s war between the sexes, then there’ll be no people left”

  1. Lola, make me stop blogging and commenting this morning. I think I’m going blind.

    Here, Ireland beat Pakistan in the cricket at the weekend. ‘What the hell?!’, I said! I didn’t even know we had a team!

  2. I’m just as bad – I’m supposed to be getting my makeup on! I didn’t know Scotland had a team until recently. It’s probably full of those practically-English folk from Edinburgh. Cricket bats are weapons, not sporting equipment, round my way

  3. Well, really, yes! Cricket is only for Brit-wannabes!

    (Say two Celts who can’t seem to leave the bloody place!)

  4. Yes, I’m beginning to think my nationality should be listed as Scottish-when-she-feels-like-it (or when they’re playing England). Gawd, even my accent is bvggered beyond all recognition. But they’ll NEVER get me to like cricket.

  5. Your accent’s buggered? Mine is still intact, for the most part. I never, ever want to lose it!

  6. I blame living with an English. Not that K sounds anything like where she’s from, but that’s probably a mercy since she’s from the Liverpool suburbs!

  7. Oh that is a blessing! You couldn’t be living with a scouse accent! 😉

  8. Hell no! I can support the football team, but the accent is another thing altogether!

  9. Not to be pedantic but the team plays under the authority of the England and WALES Cricket Board and therefore appeals to members of the Welsh middle class as well.

  10. Are you trying to tell me there’s a Welsh middle class?

  11. Who else would bother to try to keep a dead language alive?

  12. Still the Welsh aren’t as bad as the Cornish. At least they can agree on which dead language to speak

  13. Yes, but clotted cream.

  14. Clotted cream! Clotted cream! Now who’s come over all middle class. What’s wrong with Carnation then eh!

  15. Carnation and clotted cream aren’t even the same species! Though I’m not sure where that leaves condensed milk (probably in the sandwiches my dad used to make us!)

  16. Condensed milk sandwiches! Luxury! We couldn’t afford bread so we used to have our milk between two bits of flat gravel!!

  17. Hmm, gravel sounds a bit posh to me. It was always damp wood we put in the stew!

  18. Can’t help feeling this all sounds a bit familiar but still. Damp wood was always too expensive for us (they charged extra for the protein from the termites). We only got wood in the Summer when we spent the whole day following the rich kids waiting for them to throw away their used lolly sticks.

  19. I concede – on this point (and this point only) victory is yours

  20. Well since you’ve been so gracious I shall concede that musicals not involving ALW or Ben Elton aren’t always unwatchable.

  21. Well, on that point we can agree. It cost me £0 to see the Beautiful Game, and I still wanted to demand my money back before the interval. I’m still suffering etc!

  22. So did you see it
    a) as a bet
    b) because you worked there
    c) as an SAS style endurance challenge test of character
    d) because you were too young and naive to know better?

  23. Partly b) I worked in the same group and e) I was too naive to know that one may refuse a freebie

  24. I personally thought all Welsh were sheepshaggers…..see Lols, know you know why I didn’t want to move to bloody London. They’ve come back and dangled pretty shiny things in front of my face a few more times.

  25. Kimberley, it would be awesome to have you here, but not at the cost of it not being right for you. We’ll come and visit, wherever you are – and our spare room is always available to you xx

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