Yes, the cup final. Had to mention the World Cup final. We went round to our part-Italian friends' home. They were all wearing Italy kits and I quietly supported France, which meant, inevitably, that they lost. My daughter always encourages me to support the team opposing the one she wants to win as she maintains that my teams ALWAYS lose. She has a point. But we had very nice pizza and tiramisu washed down with Pinot Grigio, so all was not lost. My daughter was exhausted so we got a cab back just before extra time. You have never seen a cabbie who less wanted a fare. We were dutifully quiet and listened to the match on the radio.
What about Zinedine Zidane! Zizou! Qu'est-ce que tu as fait?? T'es fada, toi??
My friend was being incredibly lovely and supportive about my recent small successes, and I wasn't very forthcoming in response, which was churlish of me. This morning, partly as a result of that, I feel quietly depressed, but full of resolve not to cock things up at this late hour. And God knows, the opportunities for up-cocking are many and varied.
Off tonight to Brighton for another Tales of the Decongested evening - I shall meet other familiar names who have until now only existed for me on the Zoetrope boards. Looking forward to it a lot, but not to the three hour drive each way... I promised Kay I'd wear my ruby slippers.
No comments:
Post a Comment