I know nothing about rugby: the rules, how many burly men play on the field, or basically what it’s all about. But, I did know that we (England ) were playing Australia last night.
The no-show of Doctor Who on my telly and hubby perched on the edge of the sofa, with a beer rather gave it away.
I was minding my own business, quietly knitting my snood, on my loom, when I suddenly realised that this weird game was actually quite good. Who would have thought that the great big man hug ( scrum) was actually quite technical and precise. That clever tactics and formations on the field, actually put the opposing team in the wrong place and gave us the advantage, albeit briefly.
Alas, I took far too much interest in the beautiful game ( is that football?) and screamed along with the rest of England, when they equalised. I say screamed…I have currently lost my voice to another exciting bout of woman flu. Okay, a rather unpleasant and croaky sound came
force forth.( Note to self…put your damn glasses on! )
I put my knitting down and began to worry that all of the tugging and yanking on each other’s shorts might result in a firm,bare botty being exposed! I was sorely disappointed. ( I’m not a perv, honest! Okay, I am a perv.)
But, the damage had been done and Australia scored again…is that the correct terminology? Anyway they were winning and I was behind the sofa, unable to watch.
Half – time… a chance for England to regroup and I clambered out from my hiding place. They were back and fighting back. YES!
Then someone grabbed someone in a way that wasn’t allowed, a yellow card came out and off he went. I thought a yellow card was a warning and a red card was the biggie: different game. So, England were a man down and I still hadn’t figured out how many muscular guys were actually playing. They’d just told us that we were a man down and how many were playing, but the snood had caught my attention again.
Australia powered their way to victory and my snood grew longer.
So, I suspect that my interest in this game rather spooked it. Had I stuck with my knitting in the first place, we quite possibly would have won. I do the same with football. If I arrive in the room with an England flag and no knitting, we’re doomed.
It’s my fault…I gave it the kiss of death. Well, actually at the moment I’m not kissing anyone, with this rather lovely bag of germs. No one will venture anywhere near me.
But, on the upside my snood is coming along nicely. We won’t get any snow , of course. I’ve spooked that as well by knitting the snood. There may well be an Indian summer in the English winter.
So, how about you? Do you understand rugby? And do you knit snoods?
Thanks for taking the time to stop by here and read this mush. Have a great Sunday.
Until the next time.
A middle-aged woman going on about this and that!
Chris Breebaart Photography - finding stories
Thoughts on life, writing, creativity and magic
The work and activities of a writer/bargee
thoughts, product reviews, travels, and more
A blog dedicated to flora, fauna and all the wonderful things in nature.
Travel and fictional tales
Original Pictures from Nouvelle Aquitaine
JUST A THOUGHT FROM ME TO YOU
Lance Greenfield - Night Writer
Observations & Reflections from Home & Abroad from the Side-Kick Traveller
Let your mind out of its cage.
John Field's blog