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Interesting... (03/09/2007 22:03)

Oh dear, this could prove to be something of a problem...

Wojteker currently sits in a directors chair bearing his name, a present from some former workmates who he really must try an see more often.

He is sat with a cup of tea cooling quietly to his left, a cat below him and a laptop keyboard under his rapidly (oh yes!) moving fingertips...

he presses the full stop button three times to prove the live reporting...

He chuckles to himself.

For Wojteker is in a good mood...

I know...

Its disconcerting isn't it?

This blog, so frequently the home of the unnecesarily disjointed rant, has little winging to be done today. Wojteker is in a relatively good mood for a Monday.

And this is in spite of everything.

Intrigued? I shall continue, but i am fed up of the third person and shall revert to the first. (NB questions of grammar should be directed elsewhere)

First, the issues.

1. Cast your eyes down from lap top level (hey! no pausing there ladies...), down my shapely-yet-hairy legs and you will find my feet in a large rectangular wash basin, filled with warm salty water. I currently have a 1.5cm diameter (across if you don;t have the lingo) hole in the ball of each foot. Each one is a lurid red colour and a few mm deep. They hurt to buggery!

Despite these wounds i am happy.

2. I have been at work all day, hobbled home on said holes and discovered not enough food in the house to make a meal. I have therefore eaten mini dime bars (daim bars) and toast for tea. I am hungry, and cannot get any food due to the holes. I cannot get take away as have no menus to call from.

Despite my hunger i am happy.

3. I will have to go to work tomorrow, and the next day, the next and the next. In fact, given my age and assuming they do not change the age at which one retires, i am facing down the barrel of spending 5 days out of 7 each week for the next 39 years at some form of work place. This assumes no lottery win or major success. This means that the bulk of my time is spent away from my beautiful wife, my friends and family, and instead doing work that benefits someone else. This is obviously a symptom of our age.

Despite this future, i am happy.

I am happy for two reasons, the first, the recapturing of a boyhood dream, the second a desperate grasping for youth. Both have the potential for embarasment!

The boyhood dream of Wojteker von Wojteker (my real name, obviously)
NB - Those who don't like a trip down somebody else's memory lane, skip on ahead to the next bit in bold, which explains why i have holes in my feet.

I have played football ever since i was tiny, kicking the ball up and down the driveway of a small, semi-detached home on the Wirral. I rose up through school football and joined the local youth club. Minor success followed - i carved out a role as a striker, in the mold of (in my Dad's words) Jimmy Grieves. I once scored 46 goals in a season. I once scored 6 in a game. I can remember squeezing one in from the touchline of the six yard box whilst running at full tilt.

Reaching Uni, in freshers week, some lads and i went for a kickabout in the park. As the result of a horror tackle from a man who will remain nameless (but coverted my girlfriend - now my wife) i ended up with stretched knee ligaments and a leg brace, followed by 8 weeks of phisio. My football career hit the skids. Nevertheless, in 4 months i tried out for our hall block team, put together for the block tournament. I reinvented myself as an attacking midfielder and scored from long range in the opening minute (hooray!). Success followed and our team won the tournament, remaining unbeaten.

But from the, the team fell apart. Knowing (as i do) more men than women, and most of the men not liking football, i found it hard to find another team. This was 2000. I didn't play another competitive match.

Until yesterday (welcome back!)

Yesterday i played for the first time with a local sunday league team. They are called Kingfisher and play in claret and blue. They are a fun, accepting group and i was given a run out in attacking midfield! Unfortunately, my old boots (from 2000) wore out in the first half, and the screws from the studs came through into my feet! That is as painful as it sounds! Therefore, i went in goal for the second half, made some saves and watched on as we won 2-1! Bonus.

So - i am back in competitive football!

but sidelined with injury. Oh well, if the feet aren't better i'll play in goal again next week.

Desperate grasping for youth

In 7 weeks, on 19th October no less (argh! just scraped my foot hole on the table edge!!! that WELL hurts. JESUS! oh god, give me a second to recover *deep breaths* *winces* *composes himself*) and on the very same day our own miss spoons turns 23 (i think) i will celebrate being 9/10ths of the way to thirty.

This is tough to take, so on saturday i went to camden market and bought myself some ethical jinga trainers (brazillian and ace - mine are green!) and some SKINNY JEANS! this is the pre mid life crisis when money won't extend to a porsche. and they make my arse look good, apparently.

So, now i am back down with the kids and feel young again, am back playing football in a proper kit, life suddenly looks a little rosier. Things are bugging me less and so i have only contentment to report.

I am sorry to have turned over such a sudden new leaf on you, but there you go. Nothing but sweetness and light from now on.

All the best,

Woj

- ah bollocks to it... I hate the playoffs! i lost AGAIN despite a perfect league record WHEN I COULD CHECK IT! All my losses came when i was ON HOLIDAY or out of internet range at a STUPID CONFERENCE in Edinburgh! The div 3/11 (i think - ah rats who cares) english title would have been MINE I TELL YOU!

That smarts, nearly as much as being SLAGGED off in the forum for the Big prize cup as, and i quote "a team who has been around since season 1, but really hasn't achieved anything like what he should" HOW DARE these young newbies speak of the mighty Banditos in such a way. I'll show them, WE'LL show them ALL...

Oh god, my pills....I think i might be getting too serious again...

Wojteker hints to forthcoming blog entry then desperately searches for rage pills. Unable to find them, and in a growing fit of pique and pomposity, he forgets he has his feet in a bucket and can barely walk. slipping in the water, he falls an whacks his head on the edge of the table, and a flash of pain, like the white light of an open club doorway in Patalonia strikes accross his mind. As he passes out, he remembers something, a name, whispered softly.

"Delores..."

...

PS if the last bit makes NO sense, or for a brief recap, without which the next entry will be meaningless, see here and work backwards!

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