Governors of Michigan

 As you will probably know I am one of the world's leading experts on the names of American state governors. However I have not until now turned my attention to the great mitten-shaped state of Michigan. I have checked two separate sources to confirm that these gentlemen are real. Click the links to read and memorise their life stories!

Alpheus Felch
Epaphroditus Ransom
Henry H. Crapo
Hazen S. Pingree
Luren Dickinson
Albert Sleeper
and a special mention for Lieutenant Governor Dick Posthumus

Richmond 21.11 (137) d Hawthorn 10.15 (75)

Yesterday Richmond merely outplayed Hawthorn in the first two quarters. In the 3rd quarter they wore them down to an exhausted and hollow shell of a football team, which they then ground into the dirt in the last quarter. Hawthorn, who had been premiership favourites at the opening siren, were made to look very average.

What's wonderful for Richmond fans is that this is not quite the miraculous bolt from the blue that it may appear. Their form leading into this match suggested to me that they would win, and I tipped them. Last week they came back from 40 points down against ladder leaders Essendon, just failing to hold on. Before that they were competitive in narrow losses to a series of top teams, and convincingly beat Sydney.

I believe this was the real Richmond, and everyone in the AFL really has to get their head around that. There have been so many false dawns with Richmond, that it's not surprising that skeptics have been in the majority. I really think they can beat St Kilda, Fremantle and GWS in the next three weeks, and go into the break on 7 wins / 4 losses.

I listened to the whole game on the radio while cleaning and cooking yesterday. I am not often on my feet for that long - by the end of the game my back was aching and I really felt like I had played the 4 quarters myself. I am completely delighted, and as far as I am concerned that is our best win since the 1995 finals.

RICHMOND 4.4 8.8 13.9 21.11 (137) HAWTHORN 1.3 4.9 8.10 10.15 (75)
GOALS Richmond: Riewoldt 6, King 3, Jackson 2, Martin 2, Edwards 2, Deledio, I Maric, Nahas, Morris, Tuck, Cotchin. Hawthorn: Breust 3, Rioli 2, Roughead 2, Young, Smith, Franklin.
BEST Richmond: Cotchin, I Maric, Foley, Deledio, Tuck, Riewoldt, Morris. Hawthorn: Burgoyne, Roughead, Lewis, Birchall, Whitecross.

The Beep Test

Marcus broke the school Beep Test record again today. If you haven't heard of it, it's a fitness test where the subjects have to run up and down a measured course (a basketball court last time I did it), and keep up with a tape recording of beeps at regular intervals. Except they aren't regular - they gradually get closer and closer together. If a person doesn't complete a lap before the beep they must drop out. After each set of beeps a voice announces what level the test is up to. A month or so ago Marcus set a new record which only stood for one day, before it was beaten again by a wiry little Grade 4 boy.

Marcus is a competitive kid, but even he is a bit bemused by the amount of competing he has to do this week. He has the inter-school cross country run tomorrow (followed by soccer practice), a chess tournament on Thursday and the Maths Olympiad on Friday. Saturday is regular soccer and Sunday is the regional rep team training. We have just heard he has been selected in the team to play over a weekend in June up in Devonport, an area where we no longer have family to flop with.

Meanwhile Michael was today sent to the principal for refusing to be Beep Tested. It would be heart-warming here to say I am so proud of both of them, one for doing his best and the other for sticking up for what he believes in. That would be premature though, as Michael will not tell us why he wouldn't run, and claims he "doesn't remember" anything the principal said to him. Chances are it was simple pig-headeness with a bit of backchat thrown in. We will make some enquiries before we sanctify him as the Gandhi of the Gymnasium.

John and Carmen

One of my longest-time buddies John was in town with his wife Carmen over the weekend. Sadly they were here to see John's dad who is in a specialised dementia care place. He still lived on a property where John grew up, on the far North West coast, but keeping it all together got beyond him. He was such an independent and capable man - it's a bugger of a thing.

I left work a little early so we could come home and walk the dog around the neighbourhood before it got dark. Melbourne has it's charms, but it is quite flat, so to hike up and down some hills and see water views and bushy slopes seemed like a good outing for them.

It would be something like 10 or 15 years since I had dinner with John, so it was a special occasion. While Elf and Carmen caught up generally, John and I had an intense discussion on music. [We have both been listening to a lot of early 80s live recordings on YouTube - there is some amazing music up there. I find things and then just enjoy the audio while I work, lately Talking Heads' concert in Rome, 1980.]

It was terrific just to be together for a while, but I was keen to be grown up and cook a decent dinner and keep myself nice. Next time I'll get a slab of Boags and four or five bottles of wine and we'll do it good and properly.

Under 11s transcend the possible

Just a quick plug for my Under 11s - they won again yesterday, away at Lenah Valley. Isn't Lenah Valley a nice name? I always think so. Anyway, the formline for my boys now is;

• 0-12 loss
• 0-3 loss
• 1-5 loss
• 3-0 win
• 2-0 win

We were under a lot of pressure for nearly all the 2nd half after one of our kids had a brain explosion and punched an opponent. I was reffing at the time and sent him off, and we played out the game one down.

Despite this unsightly incident, I was delighted with the kids teamwork and individual skills. It was almost like seeing your dog barbecuing chops while your cat throws together a green salad."What? You can do THAT? And YOU can do THAT? And you can do it together???"

Possibly due to brain stress from pondering what to do about the punchy kid, I got the time for my own game wrong this weekend, TWICE. I was a day early yesterday then 2 hours late today. I felt like running into the forest (which was nearby) screaming, but just got back in the car, came home and mowed the lawn savagely instead. I have some real personal organisation issues.

Stereotype Man does his best

It was a very chilly morning at kids' soccer yesterday. As Marcus and 4 or 5 other boys knocked the ball around to warm up, Ali stood still scowling with his hands over his frozen ears. I had taken along a wide range of warm things, so I got out my scarf and offered to wrap it around his head. He was keen, so I wound it around over his ears and tucked it into itself, and off he went to join in the warm up.

Then I thought to myself "Great. I have effectively put a turban on the only Muslim kid. Way to go, Stereotype Man". He loved it so much he asked if he could keep it on when the game started.

I was so relaxed compared to previous weeks, because I only had 9 players, and didn't have to worry about substitutions (it's 9-a-side). Watching the clock and doing the sums to make sure everyone gets a fair go is quite stressful, and detracts from actually watching the game.

I felt even better when we scored our 2nd goal of the season about 2 minutes in, a really impressive determined effort by young Blake, who went to ground and had to get up again twice to finally get it past the keeper. Within ten minutes Ali had scored twice, and we were on course for our first win. That turned out to be the final score, but it was a really good effort from everyone for the whole game.

Later that day my Over 35s triumphed 4-0 over Barnstoneworth, and the night before my agéd indoor soccer team won a tight one 9-8. So it was a sensational soccer trifecta - something I hoped would come along some time this season.

Today (after Central Region squad training in freezing rain) Marcus attended Ali's birthday party. We gave him some Lego and a woolly beanie.

The blog is all about soccer now so get used to it...

...because nothing else is happening in my life. Except dogs.

We minded Sophie the golden retriever for a few days - while she was here our friends Steve and Meredith came over with their three hounds. It was a classic five-dog situation.

Meanwhile Marcus's Under 11s had their first game of the year, with me wielding the clipboard and doling out the oranges as coach. At this age they play 9-a-side. I have a squad of 18 players, which is ludicrous, and 16 of them actually fronted up on Saturday. We have 5 more games this term, and I will have a rotating group of 5 or 6 who will be "rested" each weekend just so I have a more manageable sized team.

The parents were very supportive and helpful, and the boys responded pretty well to what I asked them to do. I just asked them to focus on teamwork and encouragement - code for "please pass to, and refrain from abusing one another". I was relentlessly positive and that seemed to pay off - despite getting a pasting on the scoreboard, the kids didn't take it too hard. The opposition, Kingborough Lions, were very impressive.

In other round-ball news, my Friday night indoor team had a lively 9-9 draw, and my Saturday Over 35s outdoor team also drew 3-3. I played better with the oldies than I have before - I made less mistakes and helped set up a goal. There's a much bigger gulf between indoor and outdoor than I ever imagined, but I am getting my confidence on the ball back gradually, and starting to learn all over again about wind and grass and potholes and big open spaces.

Imaginary cars - the golden years of motoring

The first post-war Creighton model was the 800cc Crumpet - based on an anti-aircraft gun chassis. Most parts were military-surplus. Headlights were reworked Home Guard bicycle clips, while the gearbox was an essentially unaltered NAAFI tea urn. A cream 2-stroke Crumpet Standard was Princess Elizabeth's first car.

In 1969 Hugh Fisk designed a box-kite capable of carrying a human aloft in light winds. In 1972, after a nearly-fatal crash in which the kite sheared in half, he added wheels to what was left and named his creation the Dreadnought. The marque was named Ruskin Fisk in honour of W.E.H. Ruskin, a pioneer of British male nursing.

We all recall the hit 70s TV series Spunky and Jed, about unconventional cop Jed Jenkins and his talking car Spunky, which was played by a '72 Tungsten Tourniquet. The much rarer Quagmire was only manufactured for six months. Inspired by the Harley Davidson's approach to engineering, it came with a megaphone in place of muffler as standard.

The Gumbleton range of motor cars needs no introduction. Throughout the 30s and early 40s it won every long distance rally going, from the Hawaii-Houston to the Java-Alaska-Chile Ring Of Fire Classic. The Thorax-5 was their first attempt to translate this success into a teardrop-shaped family sedan that could cope with the shopping and a Sunday drive to church, but if need be could continue on over a cliff and into the sea. Sales were poor.

The flagship of the booming Cypriot car and washing-machine industry in the 50s, The Makarios III company seemed to be incapable of putting a foot wrong. This purple patch came to an end with the Weasel. Available in four levels of luxury (Handsome Goatherd, Sinister Boatman, Proud Plutocrat and Romantic Duchess Plus, pictured here) it came in one colour only - Panflute Green. All four shared the same basic chassis which was unfortunately 4" too wide for any road in Cyprus.

Research on older people giving up driving - "not all bad"

According to RACT's Journeys magazine, research has been conducted at ANU by PhD student Sarah Walker.

"Other studies have shown that giving up driving can lead to increased risk of mortality, depressive symptoms and emotional distress" she says. "Most people don't think there will be anything positive about giving up driving. However my study shows there are some positives".

Her positives are "relief at no longer having to drive", monetary savings, personal growth through adversity and learning acceptance.

I might do a similar study on leg amputations. I guess with a large enough sample I can find someone, somewhere who is happy to no longer have to walk, and is saving money on shoes. "Personal growth through adversity" and "learning acceptance" are terrific positives you can always count on, whether you are losing your license or your legs, dropping your keys down a drain or just being accidentally poked in the eye.

Soccer and anxiety

What I didn't say in my last blog is how anxious I get about soccer sometimes. As a player that is pretty much limited to pre-match nerves, and that's only out of control when I am playing in a final.

Any time I have added responsibilities, like collecting the money, organising substitutions, or negotiating for fill-in players, my brains get scrambled. I can't add up, I put things down then can't find them, etc. Driving half the team to the game the other day, I got in the wrong lane and took us onto the expressway out of town. Sometimes while trying to get the money sorted, my hands actually shake.

I have always found that when I am actually playing my anxiety goes and I am a different person - I am decisive, outgoing, quite talkative and very positive.

After a game I am a bit like The Hulk turning back into Bruce Banner -  a regular guy inexplicably wearing shredded shorts and no shirt. The process of turning back into regular socially-awkward me is difficult and confusing, not just for me but for everyone else. Team-mates naturally assume the guy who has been yakking at them throughout the game will keep it up afterwards - when in fact my first impulse is to quietly get changed and sneak out unheeded.

My soccer training can be OK, depending on how much like a game it is. If its gamey, then game-me is quite comfortable yelling and encouraging. If it's some technical thing where there is a lot of standing around, then I am regular-me stuck with a bunch of people I know slightly. Awkward.

The scariest of all is when I am the coach. This has only happened once before, years ago when I was at a club with a lot of junior teams, and I was given match-day responsibility for the Under 13s. They played all their games about 30 mins drive out of town, and to this day when I drive down that road the tension and nerves come back to me like it was yesterday. I always worried - will the kids listen? When I am firm with the kids will the parents take my side or theirs? Will I be able to time the subs right so everyone gets a fair go, or will the maths part of my brain just refuse to function?

So far I have taken two training sessions for Marcus's team. I am trying to get myself used to the idea that in about 10 days it will be my first Saturday morning in charge of the team. This year they will play away from the school every week. Apart from the logistics of getting there and away and then getting to my own game (Elf will be still running the sausage stall back at the school) there are so many other pitfalls! I will have to referee. One of my kids may be injured - how do I look after them while keeping the rest of the balls in the air?

Fortunately I can look at it objectively, think about the worst things that could happen, and plan a few responses to minimise the amount of thinking-on-my-feet required at a time when my brain semi-useless. I guess this week I should go whistle-shopping.

Soccer, soccer, soccer

It's official now - there is too much soccer in my life. I am playing in two teams (indoor & outdoor), and for one of these I am also captain/co-ordinator/selector/cheerleader. Now I am also coaching Marcus's under 11 team. Last year's coach has moved away, and as they train on Wednesday this year (my pick-up-from-school day) I had nowhere to hide - I felt I had to volunteer, or spend every Wednesday watching on guiltily.

I took my first soccer practice last week - it went OK. An old gent named Tony oversees all the teams, and he was there to set up and generally look over my shoulder. He warned me there would be a few troublemakers, and when they made trouble I sorted them out the way I would my boys at home - just shouted at them. Seemed to work. I asked Marcus afterwards how my practice compared to what he done in previous years - he said it was exactly the same. Which was all I was aiming for. Innovation can come later.

I will handing back the indoor soccer captain's role to my predecessor as soon as I can, because there is just a limit to how much time I can justify spending thinking about soccer in one week.

Catch up blog

Hi everyone. Not blogging so well at the moment - the bloggable events have just been sailing by unremarked-upon. In brief:

• The Swiss came to town accompanied by Fred
• I had a birthday
• my Uncle Peter just made his first visit to his sister (my mum) since 1969
• Michael came down with whooping cough

Chonk and Irma brought their kids over from Switzerland for a visit, primarily to see Bill and Felicity in Canberra. It was only about a year since their previous visit. Bill (85 this year) is reported to be more sprightly than he has been for some time. They made their side excursion to Tasmania at the start of the trip this time, and were fresh and energetic. We all went to the Bream Creek show one day, getting stuck on the way in possibly Bream Creek's first ever traffic jam.

Bea and Eric have delightful Euro/Texan accents. They are lovely bright, smart kids. They and all the visitors were entranced by the snake display at the Show, put on by the people who did Marcus's snake party a few years back. We are now hard to impress with snakes, but we were very blown away by the tree-felling race. This is a woodchopping event where;

the object of the event in the modern day arena is to climb the tree pole by cutting “board holes” and placing special tree boards in the notches to ascend up the tree in a spiral fashion. Whilst balancing on the top board … the axeman cuts the block half-way through … and then descends bringing the same boards back down. The axeman repeats the process up the reverse side of the tree concluding by severing the block in half … [while standing] on a board at a height of approximately 3.1m above the ground.

Pic and description from www.nswaxemen.asn.au

 While the Swiss and Fred were here I had a family barby at the good old Cascade Gardens for my birthday. My Dad wrote me a beautiful haiku as a birthday present, recollecting my birth in the small hours one night in 1968.

One blessed morning
Christopher arrived safely
Dad slept peacefully

I also received a 2 terabyte hard drive which I am filling as I write. Boxes of old backup CDs and DVDs are being systematically tipped into it. Then I will sift, sort and  consolidate. Whenever I think about my bazillion bytes of storage I want to do an evil laugh. Who can hold me back from world domination when I have so much storage?

Today Uncle Peter and Auntie Chrissie flew back to Sydney after a whirlwind week driving about Tasmania like scalded cats. We have been applying increasing leverage to get them down here over the last few years. Chrissie had never been, and the only evidence I have that Peter was once here is a black and white photo of him holding me - I look like I weigh about 10 pounds. I heard a rumour that while he was here he saw an ad on TV for sheep dip, and it affected his views on the general sophistication of Tasmania.

Mum and Peter grew up in Sydney, and although he and Chrissie have travelled the world extensively (he was a gun computer salesman and still moves in rarefied business circles), he never could be persuaded to come south to see her until this week, even missing Mum's 70th birthday last year. But all is forgiven now.

I think they had a good time - but the strength of the sun took them by surprise. They said the roads were better than in NSW which is the opposite of what you usually hear. They covered a lot of territory - I get the impression Peter does everything at full tilt. We had everyone here for dinner on Saturday night, then got together again last night at Mum and Dad's.

It was good to see them, and just good to know they now had some picture in their heads of our lives. But now they've gone I can get on with dipping the sheep.

There is a whooping cough epidemic all over the country at present. Peter said that shortly after their latest grandchild arrived, when he mentioned the happy event, his doctor didn't even ask his permission but just sidled up and gave him a whooping cough jab. Michael had a regular cold about 3 weeks ago, got over it quickly but never quite lost the cough. The mum of one of his classmates rang last week to say that her daughter had been confirmed to have WC. Elf took Michael for a swab and he did too. The rest of us have not been tested as yet, but we have temporarily shelved the kiss-hello.

Pumpkin Scissors

This is part of the the plot of a manga comic named Pumpkin Scissors, explaining how the name came about. This might make sense in Japanese, but I doubt it. From Wikipedia.

To aid the people of the Empire in the war relief effort, the Imperial Army State Section III, also known as the Pumpkin Scissors unit, is established. The name for the group was an idea from one of its officers, the 2nd Lieutenant Alice L. Malvin. According to her, in their war relief effort, they must "face the threat of corrupt people who protect themselves behind lies, power, and money like the rind of a pumpkin", and Section III must act like a pair of scissors cutting through those layers and delivering justice for the people.

Important List #11 - Ten Great Characters in American Literary Novels

This is a very personal list. I have not read much Updike or any Faulkner, and I'm not going to pretend I have. They, as well as F. Scott Fitzgerald, can wait until some future time when I read a lot more - perhaps when I have mobility issues.

1. Captain Leander Wapshot - The Wapshot Chronicles by John Cheever
2. Quoyle - The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
3. Atticus Finch - To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
4. Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon (they kind of blend in together) - Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon
5. Ignatius J. Reilly - Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
6. Meyer Landsman - Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon
7. Holden Caulfield - Catcher In the Rye by J. D. Salinger
8. Sheldon Anapol - The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
9. Chip Lambert - The Corrections by Jonathan Frantzen
10. Ruth Ellis - Stern Men by Elizabeth Gilbert

I was inspired by reading The Wapshot Chronicles, and really feeling quite emotional towards the end when Leander dies. He wrote beautiful and candid letters to his sons advising them on how to be men. And I only came across it because I was combing the CH section for Chabon books I hadn't read.

The odd one out in the list is Chip from The Corrections - I don't like him so much as the situations he gets into and especially the mad climax of the book.

Travels in Eastern European Football by Jonathan Wilson

I have nearly finished this quite chunky book - I'm halfway through Armenia, after reading the former Yugoslav republics, Ukraine, Poland, Hungary, Romania, Georgia and Bulgaria. Every now and then I snap out of the world of the book and ask myself - why am I reading this? It is full of names of players and clubs that I will not remember, and secondhand accounts of games in Plovdiv, Perm and Pest that may or may not have been fixed by the mafia or the secret police, details of which I have already forgotten. The names, of course, are torturous, (try ŁKS Łódź) and I have already encountered a whole new kind of umlaut, the Hungarumlaut. ( I have a little bet with myself that no-one will click on that link.)

In the dark days pre-Gorbachev, (see vague rant from last week) each major Eastern-bloc city had a soccer club run by the army, one run by the police and one run by the Ministry of the Interior (secret police). There was a lot of match fixing to ensure the right club won the right cup. At least, there was enough corruption around that any unpopular result would always be written off as a fix.

It is quite interesting, but quite a grim read, in the sense that since democracy and self-determination came on the scene, the football has generally gone to the dogs, and the vacuum created when government patronage ended has in many cases been filled by organised crime.

Here is one sentence that essentially sums up the whole book. Once I'd read this I realised that this (with a few stellar exceptions) is what the story of Eastern European football boils down to. Wilson is talking about an Armenian club, Dinamo Yerevan;

"Success, though, was denied them by the usual tangle of Machiavellian intrigue and the fact that they weren't very good"

I stand corrected

As I went past the boys' room the other night, Michael was coughing. I asked him if he wanted a drink, and before passing him the glass of water from the bookcase, had a little sip myself to make sure it didn't have dust on top. He took a sip, then held it up to the light drifting into the room from beyond and said "Why does it have a dead millipede in it?"

I scoffed "It doesn't have a dead millipede in it, silly!" as I took it out into the light and saw that it did in fact have a dead millipede in it. I chucked it down the drain and refilled the glass with sparkling clean water, feeling pretty awful that I had essentially given him millipede soup.

Me: "There you go! Perfectly fresh water!"
Michael: "What was that? Was it a dead millipede?"
Me: "It was a deadish and millipede-like, yes".
Michael: "Oh well, that's OK. I'm fine."

What a trooper.

8 Hours Day social round

We had a day off today, to celebrate the passing of national 8-hour work day legislation in 1948. I just looked it up, and the 8-hour work day was actually in effect in Victoria from 1860, with an annual public holiday to celebrate it from 1879. Some facts.

We had Nick and Anna and the girls up for morning tea, followed by a very pleasant stroll with Winston down the rivulet. I made anzacs but somehow got the recipe wrong again - they were flat and very, very buttery. We walked as far as the old Boags warehouse (now an evangelical church) - the fence around it has been taken down, so now you can follow the rivulet all the way to town. The existing walking track swerves around the warehouse  and goes up and down a very steep hill, so the change is very welcome.

After the lovely McShanes of West Hobart had departed, we were infested with small neighbours until dinner time. It's lovely to have small neighbours drop in and enjoy themselves, but so nice when they and their large remote control dragonfly have all been repatriated.

Last night Sal and Arthur came to dinner. He is coming up to 2, and talks constantly. He is trotting around the place very confidently, and I think he enjoys having the big space to gad about. Plus we still have a lot of 2-yo attracting toys. Fortunately I had just got around to mowing the back lawn after a very busy month or so, so he was able to floop around up there too. Only once did things get a bit hairy, when Elf heard a yell and went out to find Arthur upside down in a large boofy poa grass, having toppled off the elevated lawn. After dinner we had a very pleasant evening stroll to the park, where Arthur did some truly world-class slide and swing work.

School sports 2012

The boys did very well in the school sports on Wednesday. A quick rundown - Michael won 3 blue ribbons and Marcus 5, with a few other placings each. They won their respective sack races, and Michael also dominated the egg-and-spoon. (There were good spoons and bad spoons and he seemed to have a particularly good one). His bounding technique in the sack race was effective yet hilarious. After the finish he grandstanded a bit by continuing to bound for a few more minutes.

Marcus won the 100m, 200m, 400m, and the 800m which was held a few days earlier. His friend and nemesis Reuben moved to the local fancy boys school this year, and suddenly Marcus's swathe of red ribbons have turned to blue.

He was thrilled to beat the school "beep test" record on Tuesday, with 11.1 (if that means anything to anyone). I think he may have gone a bit overboard boasting, as yesterday he came home to very glumly announce his record had already fallen - to a Grade 4 kid. And about 50 schoolmates came and told him about it.

Go Between Bridge

In 2010 the Brisbane City Council named a new bridge the Go Between Bridge, after a public vote. Obviously any bridge allows you to go between one place and another, but the name is also a tribute to the great Australian band The Go-Betweens who hail from this steamy sub-tropical city.

I just found out about this today, and I am delighted that major civic infrastructure is now being named after alternative cultural icons of my youth. I am hoping to hear soon about the Eurogliders Aerodrome and perhaps the Mental As Anything Secure Health Facility.

Enjoy a little Go-Betweens, won't you?

Weakened

Hi. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Snork - zzzzz. OK, I'm sure I can do better than that. It's the tail end of a biggish weekend. I will rattle off the details.

Saturday morning was Little Athletics, for the last time this season, and possibly ever. They have been having a mini-championship, with ribbons for 1st, 2nd, 3rd right down to 10th in every event - which is a departure from the usual emphasis on personal bests only. As it happened we saw Marcus top the podium his massive discus throw last week, but he also did a state final qualifying time in the 1100m walk and came third in the javelin. Michael came third in the triple jump - we are actually delighted with these thirds as they both conquered an event that has been tricky for them this season. After easily winning his first javelin competition, Marcus has since had a lot of trouble getting the bloody thing to stick in the ground, which is mandatory.

I played Proper Soccer again, and I am starting to get a feel for my team. They are extremely limited, and it seems our fortunes each week are going to depend on who we can pull in to guest star for us. Our centre-forward is sixty years old. Yes. To be fair he has scored in both Summer Cup games. We have now had 1-2 and 2-4 losses. I am making some pretty naff mistakes each week but learning from them - it's been a long time since I did this stuff.

Today we had Marcus's birthday party at Zone 3 (laser tag), with 11 kids in all - Marcus and Michael, 4 from the neighbourhood, 2 cousins and three others from school. Elf made a piñata cake - with a solid (almost bombproof) shell of chocolate over it. Should have got a photo, sorry. Marcus went at it with a meat tenderising mallet, but it took a lot of punishment.

It turned into a very steamy day, and upstairs in the Zone it was fan-yourself-with-paper-plate time. The horde were called in for their first skirmish. Everyone else put jumpers and so forth in the Valuables Tub - Michael handed over Kings and Queens of England and Scotland which goes everywhere with him presently. I joined in and enjoyed it more than last time, because Michael knew what to expect and I didn't feel I had to follow him around. In fact in the run of things (you just blast away whenever you see a body) I shot him nine or ten times, then I felt bad, so I walked up and invited him to shoot me, which he did with glee.

It seemed to take forever to wind the party up - after 90 minutes we were shooed out of the party room, but we had told dropping-off parents to give it 2 hours, so then there was an extended loitering period. When we finally got home Elf and I went to sleep on couches.

Marcus received a Wii on his birthday, but on behalf of the whole family. No sooner had we drifted off to LaLaLand, than the boys next door, hopped up on sugar from the party, were in our loungeroom with their own Wii gear and the party was up and running again. Time for me to put on the radio earplugs and go and find something, anything to clean elsewhere around the house.

So - as I said, zzzzzzzz. As soon as I finish this sentence I am going to go and resume that beautiful, beautiful snooze I was having on the couch.