'Twas back to the grind this week when January von Sekond rapped his boney knuckles against the bell of financial relief.
As I've said many a time, and I'm quoting myself here for the umpteenth time: 'To be burdened with work is one thing; to be slack for a fortnight, watching the cricket on the telly with a few beers in and on ma belly, without the cumbersome cloak of monetary security to cover my fat-tastic God-inspired vessel of mere mortality is a fucken great big bloody travesty. Someone hand me another ale.'
Quoting me, quoting you, a-ha...anywhere, any time.
The other thing of note - and thanks to all two of you for the BCC email of concern to my inbox - is that I am, by way of rationale, probability and definition, still alive. That notwisthstanding, it is but a bare existence with all too few key sub-players in this stage production of sleep deprived reality of the 2007 mould.
As a New Year's resolution, the youngest member of the clan proved what a contender for Baby of the Year she was when she declared, on the stroke of the new year, that a three-hour non-feeding, non-crying period be imposed unto the household henceforth. Her delighted parents were delighted moreso when they jumped at the chance to reek havoc in the Land of Nod, awaking at 9:30 on New Year's Day sans baby induced hangover and with a fucken great big smile each across their faces.
The resolution was broken shortly thereafter as old habits regained consciousness, and the fragility of said baby's parents' nervous systems was, again, placed on public display.
Apart from that, work's kicking into gear again and will be a contributing factor to the mental and physical anti-aching mechanism of the male member of the Kaufman household for at least the next five weeks (hello electronic pay cheque); the Christmas pudding and its low-browed associates are slowly prying themselves from the upper echelon of my internal underpants regions thanks to some well-timed lifting of dead weights via pulleys, cables and limbs, and the occasional yet brisk overland adventure with the kid and her all-terrain pusher; sleep me no enough have; England is putting up a fight in the cricket while Australia is left to contemplate how to best achieve a five-blot rating from the judges of historical significance; God save our Queen.
PS For evidence that this blog is the source of many a juicy and contentious issue in the world of international cricket, please consult the last comment in the #117th post (left by me) and then dart the memory stick into reverse as you ponder what happened last week, when Australian cricket coach John Buchanan and South African defect Johan Olaf Pietersen exchanged jaw movements about the Great White Ego's invaluable contribution to team morale. I say unto Buchanan: leave my thoughts alone, bub! I say unto Olaf: your mind is mine!
PPS Ooroo for now.
PPPS Photos of recent events will be next.