The cup, the nudesreader and the posh gaff.

So Italy won the world cup, which is OK, especially as that hideous spitter, Totti didn’t play much of a part in it. It was sad that Henry wasn’t there for penalties and Zidane going out on such a low note, but I desperately want to know what it was that the Italian guy said to him to make him head butt him on the last match he ever played. It must have been something pretty impressive. (Your Mum!, perhaps.) I’d like to know because then I can start saying it to people who annoy me. I’d have to run away afterwards to avoid the inevitable head butting.

There’s a woman on the BBC news right now, who has a suspicious look of someone naked from the waist down beyond the camera and rather smug about it. (I guess. That’s not a look I’m familiar with…) I don’t know what she’s thinking, but she’s distracting me from the news wondering what the hell she knows that I don’t.

I had an excellent time at a wedding yesterday. The high points being that they had Bob Marley’s Jammin’ played as they left the chapel and that the wedding and the reception were held in this posh ass private school and it had lots of vile paintings of posh old women clutching scary little dogs. We took pictures of me and The Pook doing fine impressions of the women, sadly without the terrifying little dogs. People pay four grand A TERM to send their little darlings to this centre of academic excellence. It would be like going to school in a mansion. I always say some people get all the luck, but I think perhaps this might be more likely to be a case of some people having all the damn money. Fantastic and wonderful it may have been, but I’d rather send my children to a school where they got to circulate with normal, everyday people without all the trappings and prejudice that such a wealthy upbringing might bestow on them. Have them grow up an oik, like myself, who enjoyed a crafty cigarette in the grounds. Heh heh heh…