I Don't Like Cricket - I Love It

I'd started writing a blog on Monday morning to take my mind off the cricket, which was taking place in my ears. It didn't work though and I abandoned it for nervously twitching and spinning my cricket stress-ball over and over in my hands. As soon as I could I abandoned work for going home and watching it on the TV. Radio is scarier than the TV, as the first indication you get that anything as happened is that the commentator raises his voice or you hear the crowd shout in the background. But they do that for a boundary AND a wicket? Who is to tell what's going on?
I've been looking forward to the Ashes for ages, at least for the last year or so. Gone (for now) are the drubbings of yesteryear, instead we had possibly the most exciting cricket series I've ever seen. Thanks to carefully arranged night-shifts, I've managed to watch most of it on the TV and it's been great.
Part of me also thinks it's good that cricket seems to be having something of a renaissance in this country. No longer do we have barely full grounds on test days, and it's good to be asked questions by genuine new fans of the game who want to find out more. I do however balk at nobflaps like Chris Moyles becoming interested in the game. In the same way that he invented himself as a huge football fan in the late nineties, the twat has now found a new bandwagon to leap upon. What we need now is a tough series of uncompromising draws to sort the wheat from the chaff.
These people also didn't serve their apprenticeship properly. As I grew up, the England team was desperately poor. Yet still, I served my probationary period as a fan by spending a large amount of the sunny Summer days of my childhood, by perching myself in front of the TV to watch England being dismantled by every team who came to visit. I also used to follow foreign tours by watching the scoreboard tick-over on teletext with my dad, often late into the night. Being dedicated can often be linked with mild-stupidity or oddness.

Not having a computer at home is a little strange. The amount of time I have to access the internet at work is severely limited, and there are many sites that are restricted. It's not all the obvious ones either, like I can see why they may block email sites like yahoo, but can't quite work out why some parts of the BBC website are blocked whilst Ebay - that great tool of procrastination - is not.
My work e-mail is the only one of the several I have that I am currently able to access, and even that is restricted. Who knows what stunning offers for penis patches, Viagra and financial investments I am missing out on? How many Nigerian princes have been murdered by their enemies, before they were able to pass on their father's fortune to his dear friend Glendblueyonder in time? That must be what the dear old King used to call me. I was a dear and trusted friend after all.
I feel like I'm missing out on lots of things and that I'm being left behind. If the zombies attack then how will I know? I'm relying on Johnny W to keep me informed on that score.

I'm having a slow day today. Terry keeps looking over, and doesn't seem rather enamoured with my work effort today. Still, I don't complain when he fields a dozen personal calls a day, so he shouldn't mind that I'm doing The Guardian crossword at 4pm. Or that I've filled in a couple of Sudokus.