Off On One Again

A blog of no interest to anyone apart from me. Highly egotistical. Somewhat ironic that once upon a time people kept diaries secret. Now we publish to the world, even if no-one is listening (or reading). This may include stuff on Greece, history, rugby, cricket, Health and Safety, Wales, genealogy and West Hendred. It will almost certainly include complete rants about things I find amusing, interesting or annoying. There is no guarantee that anyone will share my views!

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Location: Didcot, Oxon, United Kingdom

37, forgetful, cynical, sarcastic, would like to have been a struggling artist but ended up with a PhD in chemistry. Got bored with being in the lab, fell into Health and Safety and now can't get out of science without taking a pay cut. Rather enjoying the diversion into Environmental compliance. Unfit and terminally depressed. Lovely wife Sam - just about all that keeps me together. Son Rafferty GFX Hall born 24 Oct 2005 is growing up quickly. Greyhound (Buddy), cats (PJ and Boots), tortoises (Tinkerbell and Compost). Learning Greek at Evening Classes. Play Cricket badly for Didcot CC, haven't played rugby for years and am a little annoyed about that. According to my medical, am clincially obese. Earn far too little. Completed H&S and Environmental Diplomas

January 04, 2007

Australian washbags

Gratuitously stolen from the above link, but worth it…


If this diary has any claim to fame it is for the quality of its anecdotes. This week I hear one that is irresistible. You will remember that Dean Jones, the Australian batsman, finds fame with a double century that almost wins the tied Test in Madras. Well, this is the background. Overnight Jones is 60 not out, pumped up with not only his own expectation but the hopes and ambitions of his captain Allan Border, the next man in. Jones cannot sleep. He plays every shot in his mind's eye, he gets out, he reaches his first Test century to the rapturous applause of the crowd; and then at 5 a.m. he eventually goes to sleep. Two hours later he awakes feeling, as you do in these circumstances, absolutely wretched. He goes down to breakfast full of irritation and snaps at the waiter who asks what he would like. "Eggs `n' coffee." No please, no thank you; Dean Jones is too annoyed. Along comes the glass full of coffee. The waiter produces an egg, breaks it on the edge of the glass and pours the raw contents into the glass. I draw a veil over the next few minutes in case some of my readers are of a delicate nature. Anyway, Dean goes back to his room, cleans his teeth, picks up his gear, and heads for the team bus. He is late and gets a volley of abuse from Border. As he listens, apologetically, Jones realises that he has left his wallet on the bedside table and rushes off the bus back to his room. The door is open, good that saves a few seconds, where's the wallet; oh, it's over there and it seems to be all right, but hey where is the maid? Then he spots that the bathroom door is open and sees that the maid is using his toothbrush to clean her teeth. Once again I draw a veil over what was said. Then Jones goes back to the team bus and says: "Listen, fellas, do you know what I found? The maid was using my toothbrush to clean her teeth!" At that point, all talk of the match is forgotten, as every player leaves the bus and goes to pick up his washbag. "Just you take note," says Jones, "if you see an Aussie player in the sub-continent, he will always have his washbag under his arm."

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