The Coffee With The Balls And The Push

Hi, if we were having a coffee this week, it wouldn’t be a pumpkin spice latte because (apparently) there’s a national shortage.

I’ve also been wracking my brain, because I’m sure stuff has happened this week that I can’t remember.  I’m sure that I did something one night above and beyond football on Wednesday.

One of my friends that I play football with, who I’ve known for years, has a habit of going mad whenever he feels slightly aggrieved on the pitch, to the extent that I’ve once told him he needs to apologise to someone who he has just given a piece of his mind to, because it wasn’t even a foul let alone a bad one.

I was about to jump to head a ball on Wednesday.  I was just at the stage of starting to transfer some power in to going up when I felt a push in my back.  My friend had decided that it would be amusing to just give me a little nudge.  I think he realised from my reaction that I was pleased he was amused, because I distinctly wasn’t.  It was a split second away from a needless tumble.

Last week I mentioned a dream that I was pregnant.  I happened to mention it at work and someone looked up. It was fairly obvious about developing something new, but also suggested looking back 9 months to what was happening. Because I do these posts, I can do that fairly easily. Nine months ago, I happened to have another dream about following somebody, and then I ended up in an action film with getaway cars and explosions. Interestingly, the person I was following was also the mother of my baby.

My own dream dictionary says that dreaming of a man being pregnant can be a desire for a the woman in the dream to take responsibility for her, which seems staggeringly outdated even for a book first published in 1996.

Anyway, I’ve set a reminder for July next year just in case my dream was a starting point for the 9 months rather than the end. For some reason that just made gave me a little bit of excitement.

Timehop reminded me of another dream I had 7 years ago.

Sarah was lovely.

I’m feeling a little tired this weekend.  I was working reasonably late for a Friday and as I was wrapping up I read an e-mail that really annoyed me.  I went out, got back in and I was still fuming, so I decided I need to make my frustrations known to a smaller audience.  Unfortunately it took me a good few hours to draft the e-mail and Moo still decided that he wanted his breakfast early.  At least when I got up the person who I’d sent the e-mail too had read it, agreed with me and said that she’d take it up tomorrow.

For some reason we decided to go to the city yesterday afternoon rather than yesterday evening.  We went to play some pool, and there was a couple who came to play on the table next to ours.  He was wearing plaid trousers, no socks and shoes, and a white t-shirt with a massive slogan on it.  I’m not fashionable, but I thought he looked a twit.  They had a conversation which I only half overheard, after which she went to the bathroom for an uncomfortably long length of time.

She came back and they were all touchy feely and laughing and joking until an argument about a rule which he looked up on Google (kind of jokingly) which resulted in her asking for a key because she was going home.  They proceeded to have the argument for another uncomfortable length of time.  I’d started off thinking that he was punching above his weight and ended up thinking that he needed rid.  Strange how opinions can change.

In the meantime, I’d got fussy.

I had a first today.  It was the first time I’ve ever booked a holiday.  I’ve booked travel for myself before, for work.  I also booked a trip to London for myself a good ten years ago at least, which I cut short because I hated the place.  But this was the first proper holiday that I’d booked that I can ever remember.  It was package, it was skiing, but I still booked a holiday.

I got some mail.

I also caught a shiny Drowzee.

Regular readers (I think there’s still one of you!) know that I end as many of my posts as I can with a song.  The one below is one of my absolute favourites, and it properly hit me in the feels the other morning.  I got in and thought I’d see if it had a video.  I found the one below, that Linkin Park dedicated to Chris Cornell after his death.  It was only when I watched it to the end that I realised that Chester Bennington is no longer with us either.  What a voice, and what a mesmerising performance.

Last Wednesday was Mental Health Day.

Should’ve stayed. Were there signs, I ignored?
Can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?

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