Fit As A Fiddle

Today L announces that she's as fit as a fiddle. Damn. I was 'almost' looking forward to that swim. Her declaration of fitness though isn’t terribly convincing, her fiddle may be missing a string or two.

The local villages of Long Eaton, Sawley and Breaston have been plagued by an unpleasant smell for more than two months which has now finally been cleared up. The smell was apparently waste from the manufacture of Marmite that was being disposed of around there. They should have advertised the fact, would have done wonders for the local tourist trade, Marmite lovers would have been round in their droves for a sniff. L will be gutted she missed it.



I’m at dog class (again) in the evening when a friend texts me to tell me he’s watching the women’s football. England are playing in the final of the European Championships. It’s their first final for 25 years and an achievement the men's side haven’t managed for even longer.

Not that he’s enjoying it; he doesn’t like women’s sport and particularly women’s football, which isn’t an opinion I share. It’s a while before he evens tells me what the score is.

Women’s football is a lot better than it was, skill levels are high now and the women are now no longer all built like a brick s*** houses. Our lot are quite an attractive bunch, although looking at some of the opposition... perhaps that’s still the way to go.

The opposition are the Germans, who of course nearly always beat us at football and their women’s team have won six of the last seven Championships including the last four. So it was perhaps no surprise that we lost. In touch at 3-2 down early in the second half it finished an unflattering 6-2. Oh well.



Last year our men reached the final of the European Under-21 Championship and also lost in the final by four goals to... Germany. Sounds like a nasty precedent for the World Cup.