Yeah, Liverpool won some cup. Yeah, those second three goals were something else. Not that I saw them. No, because the H and I are turning into our in-laws. He was in one room (the room with the bad tv) watching the football (lifelong Liverpool supporter, I am a kind of interested but only so I can contribute to the conversation Aston Villa supporter. Too many years of mid-table obscurity can suck the life out of you.), I was in the big room with my lovely big tv with sky interactive not watching mtv but instead the Chelsea Flower Show. It was so like my in-laws. And I am so young!!! Oh the humanity.

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So I'll admit it, like watching MTV. I do think it is intereting that you so rarely see videos on mtv anymore. It is all their reality shows. Ah, I do remember my youth and a resturant in Westwood that was downstairs and had tv screens showing mtv. And I would go and eat and watch. Back in the days when I would either stay up or tape Friday Night Videos on I think NBC. I know, I know, I am dating myself big time.

I now have Sky. Which means I have like 25 channels of video goodness. Though I am a bit saddened to see that channel Q has disappeared. And I find that when I have ten minutes to kill between the start of a programme I want to see (like CSI or 24), I will scroll on over to the endless music channels. Far too much Oasis on VH2 for me. The Gallaghers are not rock and roll geniuses. They aren't. Anyway, that explains how I came to be horrified, and I do mean horrified by a show on MTV sunday night. My Super Sweet 16. The girl spent half a million on a party and well to become the more popular in her school. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Of course, it also explains what I was doing wrong all those years ago in high school. My heart still belongs to Pimp My Ride. Yes ridiculous but you can still use that hot air popper even when your friends have moved onto some other car with even more dvd players. Ma Bear sends me news of how wide spread its influence has become.

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So the Girls' Brigade wants to ruin my life. The Blessing is in the Brigade. Has been since she was about three. I think it is entirely too young. I also don't like all this marching around and talk of god (being a supreme being person myself. think the term 'god' is just too gender specific. yes, i have been told than since i am denying the unmistakeable maleness of the supremem being that i am doomed to burn in the fires of hell. i am okay with that). But the H, loved being in Boys Brigade. Loved the drilling and uniform inspection and the bible quizes and what not. So he wants the Blessing to have that same opportunity for fun and well off she goes on Thursdays to play with the other little girls and march.

Anyway, several weeks ago it was the GB dispaly and all the girls did things (tricks! with tamborines! and skipping ropes!) and then they handed out the prizes. The Blessing left in tears because she didn't win any prizes. I tried to point out all the prizes she gets in schools, etc. etc. No dice. She wanted a cup. When she went to the golf club one night for dinner with the grandparents, upon leaving, she pased the trophy case and burst into tears. She thought about not getting cups at Girl's Brigade.

And why is the child not excelling at GB?I blame me. First, she doesn't get all of her Sunday School points because well, I have to be dragged kicking and screaming to church. So, any chance to miss and this is a family that takes it. Then she doesn't get all her uniform points. Her shoes aren't white enough. I didn't sew her badge on in the right place (last year, I got the wrong badge). In general, I don't think I know enough of GB to know the pitfalls and get what I need to do for her. And well, I think GB is like the presbyterian nazi youth actually and I don't want to take the time to get it right. Its the H's thing; he can deal with all the added bits. So, I let my child down. She's 5! She isn't going to excel at uniform and church without active parental involvement. I hate the GB. I hate it.

But I do love Pimp My Ride. Best car ever last night. It had hawaiin print and a hot air popper. Oh, how I want that car.

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I am sad. Sad, sad, sad. Lucky is no more. Yes, I know I am a bad cat owner. It just seems to cruel to keep cats locked up in a house. They want to wander about. I know its all my fault.
Lucky has always been pretty much a stay at home cat. He would go out occassionally but not for very long. In the last month or so, he has really begun to appreciate the great outdoors. He would either go out in the morning and be out all day or he would spend the day in the house and then at night, out he would go. Standing by the door and meowing. I think he had a little cat friend. He wasn't getting into fights. Was losing the occasional collar. He did return into the house on Saturday morning covered in mud. I don't know what he had gotten into but he was filthy. Which meant that yes, I gave him a bath with a little bit of shampoo and a whole lot claws.
Wednesday night he watched tv with the H and me (he sits on one person and sheds a lot and gets petted and purrs then when he gets bored of that he walks to the other side of the couch and does the same thing with the other person). I watched Desperate Housewives with Lucky and then he got up and meowed by the door, I opened it and told him to be good.
Thursday morning there was a lot of sunshine so I woke up before the alarm clock. I didn't here any meowing. Lucky is an early riser. When he sleeps in the house, he sleeps upstairs. As soon as he hears anyone up, he starts meowing outside the door because he's lonely damnit! Lately he has been developing his meowing technique. He knows if he meows outside our bedroom door, we ignore him until we are ready to face the day. The Blessing is an easier touch. He can meow and wake her up and she will then come and open our door and aha! cat victory! He can jump on the bed and meow into our faces. When he goes out at night, come the morning he is at the front door, full of noise and ready to come and inspect his food bowl.
I was a trifle disturbed by his absence that morning. But I thought maybe he was having too good a time. As the day went on, I thought more about it and was more worried. When he had disappeared before, it was because the Blessing had shut him up in the chest of drawers (missing 24 hours that time) and I knew because I had let Lucky out, the Blessing couldn't have trapped him anywhere. When I got home yesterday evening, he wasn't waiting at the front step or in the back and I really started thinking the worst.
The H arrived home and called me into the kitchen. The neighborhood kids had told him that the builders had found Lucky, most likely struck by a car, and they had buried him. I am catless.
He was a good cat. He was noisy but always gentle. He never scratched the Blessing even though she shut him in drawers and closets, put him in buggies and baby cots, dressed him and tried to get him to wear jewelry. He liked to sleep on the tv, he shed white fur everywhere, he didn't understand why he didn't get Ben and Jerry's ice cream, he was extremely affectionate, loved people and occasionally climbed up the chimney. He made me feel complete and I loved him.

Sad, sad, sad.

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Gutted.
I can't believe my lovely welsh-speaking boy was beaten by a cherubic god-fearing christian. Matthew, I fear is destined to always be a bridesmaid.

I think I may be watching too much CSI. I know this is what they have been saying in the office for months. But last night I had my first full-on CSI dream. And it was a CSI:NY dream. It followed on from last Saturday's episode in which it was all about the boy with the glasses and how he was involved with the Tanglewood Boys. I wish I could tell you the details, the plot twists, and the gory bodies, but I can't remember it now. I suppose I should just be happy that I haven't had any snooker dreams. I blame the BBC. not enough snooker coverage. And well, I am madly in love with Dennis Taylor. He has a lovely soothing voice. He'd be excellent at cricket coverage, I bet. Ronnie though appears to be losing his grasp on reality. Did you see his interview on why he shaved his head? And who is this Paxman guy, complaining that his coverage doesn't get precedence over the snooker? He needs to get a life.

Well, I am back to being bored senseless by the election. Don't care. Don't care. Don't care. Sammy Wilson came to my door thought. Freaked me out. I was playing my favorite computer game in which i am rampaging nordic hordes, invoking the power of Thor and running amock against greeks and egyptians. He didn't want to talk to me though. At first I thought it was because he could see how untidy my house was (the blessing's muddy, pink, wellies outside the door) and realised that if I was that untidy there was no way I could be a DUP voter. Then I calmed down and realised that the DUP surely know that as a former Alliance candidate, they don't have a hope in hell with my house. He did spend ages across the street admiring motorbikes. I do regret not using my chance to tell him that his election posters make him look like a bnp candidate. No, really. I don't get why he was shot from that angle.

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So much to say. I am going through one of those phases where I feel like I want to blog about all sorts of things. Like the Girl's Brigade. Northern Ireland elections. The opera on Friday night. But well, we have reached the final stages of the embassy world championship and I think I should blog about snooker before it is all over.

I really do think it is Matthew's year. I felt that when Mark Williams got knocked out by Sean Murphy (who is just too young to win). First, I think after the grand slam, its a good time to be Welsh. And second, Matthew has finally got rid of those ridiculous blonde highlights. I've been a fan of his, since he first arrived on the scene. Shallow that I am, I fell for him because of his shirts. He has lovely red dragons on his cuffs. And while I supported Williams because he was Welsh, I could never warm to him after learning he hates cats. He also likes fast cars and though he can pot like a demon, he took a few seasons to figure out tactically how to play.

So, I love snooker. I have for years. Though the early 90's is probably when I watched it the most. I love the BBC commentary. John Virgo has me in stitches, while Dennis Taylor is just so soothing. I suppose I find it intellectually challenging. Its all about angles. And physics. Knowing where the cue will end up and the shot not only needs to lead to a pot but lead to the next shot which should also have a pot. And then when you get shots developing colours, sever shots before they will be needed to be played! How can one deny the thinking that has to go into playing?!?

Which leads me to a fantasy. I always thought I should go on a gameshow, answer trivia questions, win prizes. Then I did the University Challenge thing and discovered that those bright lights freaked me out. No more dreams of cleaning up on Jeopardy (tried out for Jeopardy once. Met Alex Trebeck). But Gimme a Break would be different. The questions are really basic. You get paired with a snooker player who then has to make shots to get you prizes. I used to have my partner all picked out. It was going to be John Higgins who I loved in those early 90's. I know, I know, lots of people adored Ronnie. And he is an amazing player. I think he is snooker in its more raw and powerful incarnation. But I loved Higgins brain. He thought about his play and well, he looked like such a nice boy. Then Matthew arrived on the scene and I was stuck. Would I want John, who would be likely to pot lots of balls and win lots of prizes? Or did I want Matthew so I could ask for one of his shirts? Alas, they don't make the show anymore. But if they ever want to bring it back, I want to be a contestant!
Update: Yes, I now realise that the Gamewhow is not Gimme a Break, but actually Big Break. Yes, I hate Jim Davidson. I would still sell my right arm to go on it, play with Matthew and ask him for one of his shirts. How sad am I?

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