keris stainton

And keep away from my crisps!

I'm not very happy about where my licence fee is going at the moment. On Saturday night, David watched the World Cup Draw. The names of the teams are contained inside balls which are swished about and drawn with great ceremony and at even greater length. Heidi Klum was there. I don't know why. Gary Lineker introduced her with the words, "I'm sure every Englishman watching will be happy to know that Heidi's going to be fondling our balls." It's almost 2006, people! I mean, seriously, WTF?

Then, on Sunday night, David watched the Sports Personality of the Year (yes, it was non-stop fun in our house last weekend) and Sue Barker prefaced a question about Gavin Henson by saying, "If you can keep him out of church ...". Gavin, for those who avoid the tabloids, is going out with Charlotte Church. Not only was it a crap and tasteless joke, it also implied that Gavin Henson having sex with his girlfriend affects his play. If I was Charlotte Church I'd be bloody fuming.

I went for a bath and came back just in time to hear Lineker hand over from an (embarrassingly bad) interview with Zara Phillips by saying, "And now for some more posh totty ... Sue!"

Is this kind of casual sexism what we've come to expect from the BBC? Oh, it is? Oh. Okay then.

Simon Hattenstone wrote about it hilariously in the Guardian today:

There were, needless to say, few women in the guest audience. On those rare occasions Lineker did introduce a woman, one feared the worst: "And here's that nice lass who looks like a fella", "And a round of applause for the skinny bird who keeps shitting herself!" Well, not quite, but almost.

Jumpers for Goalposts

So on Tuesday night instead of being a girl and watching American teen drama, I went to the football with my husband.

I don't know if I've ever told the story of how me and the DH (as I think I'm meant to call him here on the World Wide Web) met. If I have, just skip to the end. Well. I have two friends, Susan and Sarah who went to football and kept suggesting I go with them. I wasn't interested. And then, I think - memory is a little hazy - they bought me a ticket. Possibly for my birthday. So I went along to a game and I really enjoyed it. Especially Graeme Le Saux who reminded me a little of Mark Owen.

I started going to games and having fun and kept bumping into this bloke called David. He wrote the supporters club magazine which was very funny, but in person he didn't have much to say for himself and I thought he was rude and standoffish. He thought I was a bit of a gobshite. And also I once wore my hair in plaits and he still hasn't got over it.

Then one night a few of us went out and Susan (or Sarah) said "�10 to the first one to get off with David". I know. Shocking. And something in my strange brain went, "I'm having that!" So I spent the rest of the night snogging David frantically on a sofa (and having quite a lot to drink). And that night I dreamt that I told him I was in love with him.

Two months later we got engaged and a year later (to the day!) we got married. And that was nine years ago.

I never got my tenner.

But! And, ladies, this is what happens when you get married: when me and DH started going to the football together I found that he was aggressive and obnoxious and I didn't like him very much. At the football, that is; at home he's very sweet. So I had to stop going. I hadn't been for years until Tuesday night and I only went then because it was a testimonial and not a proper game. And because the players that I loved so much back in 1995 were there (except Graeme Le Saux, le poulet). But it was fun and me and D cuddled up and said, "Doesn't this just take you back ..." a lot. It was lovely.

Oh crap, I forgot to tape The O.C..

Result!

I was supposed to go to the Grand National yesterday, but I was advised that 'in my condition' it wouldn't have been a very good idea, so David went without me.  Pah.  Having seen the extent of the crowds on TV last night, I'm glad I didn't go.  And David won about £100 again.  That's four years in a row!  So we went out for dinner last night, which has become a Grand National tradition for us.  Funny to think that next year we'll either have Harry with us or will have to recruit someone to babysit ... (That's if becoming a father doesn't break David's winning streak!) 

Finished 101 Dalmations in bed this morning and it was lovely.  Going to read the sequel The Starlight Barking while on maternity leave.  Started the second in the No 1 Ladies Detective Agency series: Tears of the Giraffe.  These books are so quietly lovely.  Listen to this: 

Mma Ramotswe said nothing.  She now knew why Mr J L B Matekoni had never invited her to the house before.  His office at Tlokwent Road Speedy Motors was bad enough, with all that grease and those calendars that the parts suppliers sent him.  They were ridiculous calendars, in her view, with all those far-too-thin ladies sitting on tyres and leaning against cars.  Those ladies were useless for everything.  They would not be good for having children, and not one of them looked as if she had her school certificate, or even her standard six.  They were useless, good-time girls, who only made men all hot and bothered, and that was no good to anybody.  If only men knew what fools of them these bad girls made; but they did not know it and it was hopeless trying to point it out to them. 

Which reminds me, I would not want want to be David Beckham this morning. 

Finally, if anyone got a porn e-mail from "Christian" that looked like it was forwarded by me, I'm sorry.  I bought an ER box set from Amazon and think that the e-mail was one of those that gets automatically sent to all your contacts - unless the bloke I bought the box set off just thought it'd be funny to forward me a porn e-mail.  Bloody internet.