Hobart Cup 2013

I half-heard some after-school news from Elf while I was sitting here with the sandwich-sized laptop. Someone had said something about the venue for soccer on Saturday. I googled it to verify - hmmm, rosters are not online yet. "Marcus has the roster in his schoolbag!" Which is downstairs. Hmm, maybe if I google again? Nup - still not online. Sigh.

School went back today after 2 weeks of holidays. I enjoyed a break from being soccer coach and school chess guy, both of which will now resume.

The last 2 days we supported Marcus and Central Region's U/11s at the Hobart Cup soccer tournament. They had a few close games, won 3 out of 4 but lost the one that counted against Launceston, who took the Cup home (in their hearts - the Cup has no actual cup). Elf and I are like chalk and cheese at a soccer match - she doesn't really like to watch and never says anything. I am glued to the action throughout and yell my head off. Our team manager was summoned for a dressing down yesterday morning because he and some of our parents were a bit vocal during the Launceston game, and the young ref was quite upset by the end. I feel pretty bad about it, as I hate to be seen to be just whingeing when we are losing. He didn't do a great job though, and the organisers gave him even younger ref's assistants so he didn't have a lot of help.

Marcus copped a ball in the face a number of times, close range goalkicks to the torso, a kick in the back when he as on the ground, had a clash of heads ... that's the way he plays. The manager loves him as he always bounces to his feet and gets back into it. I love it too but Elf ... I think she'd be happier if he was playing tennis.

Towel news

It’s taken 45 years, but I have achieved this: I own two bathrooms, and they are adorned with matching hand towels. I consider this a base camp from which I may ascend to even greater heights of manchester co-ordination.

Beating the system

I am a fond wearer of shorts. There are people (whose opinion I usually respect) who would feel this puts me in the category of Schlub. They are welcome to their opinons. All I can say is I have big legs that do not ever feel all that comfortable in jeans, and I am just not ready to adopt voluminous harem pants. Yet.

My shorts always wear out in the same spot - where the creases form across the top of the thigh. I should say that these are always "cargo" style shorts. I am just comfortable in that length of short - the over-pockettage I just ignore.

Due to my complete lack of hips I need my shorts to have a drawstring. And it's been getting harder and harder to find them. They are all elastic-waist or have belt loops - as if I am going to wear a belt with shorts. What do they think I am - an axe murderer?

So I have been wearing my old scraggy torn-through-the-creases shorts while walking the streets of this town (which is actually oversupplied with pants shops) searching for a new pair. Is there anything sadder than a scraggy-shorts-wearing middle-aged man, on a Tuesday morning, wandering through Glasser and Parker running his hand around the waistline of pair after pair after pair of shorts? No.

So I gave in, and bought a pair with an elasticise... no I can't even type it. And for the last month I have hitched them up every 25 minutes - that’s about 1700 times.

Last night I finally beat the system. I took the drawstring out of an old pair (I keep the torn ones for 6 - 8 years as you do) and surgically inserted it into the waist of the new ones. And I do not say "surgically" without cause. I started the night before at about 10.30pm - tired, poor light, cranky. I had a paperclip and a scalpel blade, one of those curved ones - to use as a quik-unpik and to slice through obstructing layers of short. I was holding it in my hand because my scalpel was .. uh .. so tired. You know?

I could have used better tools if I had been bothered to go find them, but I wasn’t. This session ended with the paperclip hopelessly lost in Quadrant 5 of the waistband, and blood on the floor. And on the shorts. The new shorts.

Last night I decided to return to the fray. I had Michael’s head-torch, a proper craft knife, pliers to get the paperclip into an efficient shape, and steely determination. It took a little while but it was SO much easier and I didn’t even once consider calling an ambulance.

I am now proudly wearing my improved shorts, and I will be able to get out of the car without hitching up my pants like a Maurie Fields.

Boast

Why not funnel your spare cash in my direction??

I have been throwing everything into the t-shirt designs of late. Proper work has been thin on the ground, and  I have found over time that the best way to keep myself up and switched on is to make up a work project.

So far I have three themes (that might be familiar to you from the blog) - footy, imaginary cars and popes. I have been a bit ambitious - I decided to draw the 23 popes named John. Then this new bloke Francis popped up so I had to draw him too. For the footy shirts I am drawing one player each from the golden era of the 12-team VFL - and I'm about halfway through.

I ordered one myself so I could be reassured about the quality - it arrived yesterday and it looks fantastic!

These guys took me a while but I'm pretty happy with how they came out.

I must apologise for turning the blog into a long-running ad for my shirts. But having sunk a lot of effort in the designing, I now need to Move Units. It's a little like joining Amway - I am starting to see all my friends and family and blog-readers as Potential Customers.

Rest assured I still love you all, even if you don't buy any of my beautiful shirts,cards, posters etc.

And now I will blog about something else for a change.

Bones revisited

I have gone literally gone back to the drawing board. What thinkest? If you like it, go to my little t-shirt sales site and comment, make it a favourite, buy a card or postcard, of it or even a shirt.

Ribbons aplenty

Yesterday was the school athletics carnival - the biggest day in any house captain's year. Marcus got off to a great start with the pre-carnival events, that they run around the school during the week prior. He won both the Grade 6 1500m and 800m. 

Michael has carved out a niche as the novelty event specialist. people still talk with awe of his win in the Grade 2 Monkey Race. Yesterday he cleaned up the Grade 4 Sack Race and looked a certainty for the Egg & Spoon before mislaying the ovum in the last 5 metres.

Marcus made a clean sweep of the 100m, 200m and 400m, all pretty comfortably. I was there for his 200m and he ran like he was going for a record, (even though they don't bother timing anything). He was perhaps 40m ahead of the next finisher, and giving it everything plus the kitchen sink. It was great to watch him captaining. The kids seem to respect him and he stays fairly calm and get done what he needs to get done. 

I said to him yesterday how pleased I was that he had stood for the house captaincy. If he hadn't tried for it, and then had come out and won every race, he would look a little like he had dodged it. I am terribly proud of him and of Michael too, for throwing himself into the carnival even though its not quite his thing.

Elevenses

The birthday season wears me out so much that I can sometimes be premature in celebrating its end. I was ahead of the game this year, forgetting that my first-born child would have his birthday on the last day of February.

And so it came to pass. He's eleven! He had a quite mature party, with just two guests and the three of us, upstairs at the a local cafe. This place is the home of the monster fluffy pancake served with ice cream and a large bowl of berry sauce - effectively runny jam. To see four of those being wolfed down is a bit unsettling. They just disappeared.

We bought Marcus a Nintendo 3DS. He had an second-hand one a few years ago and lost it - actually dropped it in a swamp on Bruny Island. He was very remorseful and has never asked for a new one, even though we know he missed the old one very much.

Now we are back to the once-familiar sight of Marcus walking around glued to this tiny thing, talking to it (some of the games are sound-sensitive) and hearing it boink, bong and bark like a dog in response.