Ill-advised chickens and other stuff

I managed a poor night's sleep last night. Don't know why, precisely, though I am tending to point the finger at the entire pot of coffee I drank between 20.00 and 23.30. It's not that I got no sleep; it was more a case that I kept waking up for a minute or two before dozing off again.

The temperature didn't help, either. Having gone to bed, I rapidly got very warm and ceded all claim to the duvet, which was fine until sometime around 3.30 this morning when I rather fancied having it (or at least half of it) back. This proved to be harder than one might imagine as sleeping Furtles attain a zen-like oneness with duvets. How she does this is beyond mortal ken.

Of course in addition to industrial amounts of coffee in the evening, sleep was hardly ushered in by prolonged gales of laughter. I can't now remember how or why the subject came up, but it seemed the thing to do, to relate the story of the chicken that fell down a well in a Pakistani village. The story, a half-remembered paraphrase from an ancient copy of the Fortean Times, was delivered sotto voce out of respect for people trying to sleep elsewhere.

It was, by all accounts, a very deep well and one man, presumably the owner of the chicken, took it into his head to rescue the bird. Sadly he was overcome by fumes. A friend tried to rescue him, followed by another villager and then another.

Suffice it to say that eventually a fair number of men had gone down the well, and in the end the only survivor of the entire escapade was the chicken, which climbed out of the well entirely unhurt, over the pile of unfortunate would-be rescuers.

At one a.m. when you are trying to be quiet on account of lightly sleeping house guests, the story is riotously funny – you can trust me on this – and all attempts to quell laughter by stuffing the duvet and/or pillows into your mouth only makes it funnier.

So now I sit in the office desperately trying to stay awake by consuming, irony of ironies, industrial amounts of instant coffee.

Wired and tired. It's the only way to go.

Ill-advised chickens and other stuff

I managed a poor night's sleep last night. Don't know why, precisely, though I am tending to point the finger at the entire pot of coffee I drank between 20.00 and 23.30. It's not that I got no sleep; it was more a case that I kept waking up for a minute or two before dozing off again.

The temperature didn't help, either. Having gone to bed, I rapidly got very warm and ceded all claim to the duvet, which was fine until sometime around 3.30 this morning when I rather fancied having it (or at least half of it) back. This proved to be harder than one might imagine as sleeping Furtles attain a zen-like oneness with duvets. How she does this is beyond mortal ken.

Of course in addition to industrial amounts of coffee in the evening, sleep was hardly ushered in by prolonged gales of laughter. I can't now remember how or why the subject came up, but it seemed the thing to do, to relate the story of the chicken that fell down a well in a Pakistani village. The story, a half-remembered paraphrase from an ancient copy of the Fortean Times, was delivered sotto voce out of respect for people trying to sleep elsewhere.

It was, by all accounts, a very deep well and one man, presumably the owner of the chicken, took it into his head to rescue the bird. Sadly he was overcome by fumes. A friend tried to rescue him, followed by another villager and then another.

Suffice it to say that eventually a fair number of men had gone down the well, and in the end the only survivor of the entire escapade was the chicken, which climbed out of the well entirely unhurt, over the pile of unfortunate would-be rescuers.

At one a.m. when you are trying to be quiet on account of lightly sleeping house guests, the story is riotously funny – you can trust me on this – and all attempts to quell laughter by stuffing the duvet and/or pillows into your mouth only makes it funnier.

So now I sit in the office desperately trying to stay awake by consuming, irony of ironies, industrial amounts of instant coffee.

Wired and tired. It's the only way to go.

Sweden 2 England 2

Another disappointing display.

Reasonable first half despite the Owen injury. A class goal from Joe Cole.

Second half as usual in this tournament, the side went to sleep. Thank God for Stevie Gerrard. Shouldn't take anything from Sweden who played very well and deserved at least the draw they got.

It was a little tiresome that the inevitable texts started arriving from Stockholm about England's inability to beat Sweden for 38 years. I managed a little banter, but largely contented myself with congratulating them on being group runners up, and wished them well against the Germans.

ellefurtle gallantly watched the entire game, and won 3-2 on girly points against queenortart (the only game where your opposition scores your points for you by revealing unexpected flashes of knowledge). queenortart did, however, do some interesting things to pattern paper with scissors and contrive to have a half finished dress made by full time. I think they may have been two separate projects, but I'm not sure. I didn't see the paper go - it was there one minute and there was a dress the next. It costs me nothing to award her unexpected miracle points, so I shall.

ellefurtle managed the near impossible by providing me with a salad that I actually enjoyed (Mmmm... feta) and I didn't even know that there was a choccy bribe until afterwards.

colonel_maxim is currently losing by 3 votes to 2 on the great alien pod debate (Kiwi Fruit v Pomegranate). At least this time no one thought to muddy the waters by choosing passion fruit. I have failed to learn from last night and have drunk 2/3 pot of coffee. I am going to go and have a shower now and spend the rest of the night twitching accordingly. I shall also break out the big blue blanky as a precaution...

England play against Ecuador on Sunday evening, I think. Our bumbling totter toward glory continues apace.

Sweden 2 England 2

Another disappointing display.

Reasonable first half despite the Owen injury. A class goal from Joe Cole.

Second half as usual in this tournament, the side went to sleep. Thank God for Stevie Gerrard. Shouldn't take anything from Sweden who played very well and deserved at least the draw they got.

It was a little tiresome that the inevitable texts started arriving from Stockholm about England's inability to beat Sweden for 38 years. I managed a little banter, but largely contented myself with congratulating them on being group runners up, and wished them well against the Germans.

ellefurtle gallantly watched the entire game, and won 3-2 on girly points against queenortart (the only game where your opposition scores your points for you by revealing unexpected flashes of knowledge). queenortart did, however, do some interesting things to pattern paper with scissors and contrive to have a half finished dress made by full time. I think they may have been two separate projects, but I'm not sure. I didn't see the paper go - it was there one minute and there was a dress the next. It costs me nothing to award her unexpected miracle points, so I shall.

ellefurtle managed the near impossible by providing me with a salad that I actually enjoyed (Mmmm... feta) and I didn't even know that there was a choccy bribe until afterwards.

colonel_maxim is currently losing by 3 votes to 2 on the great alien pod debate (Kiwi Fruit v Pomegranate). At least this time no one thought to muddy the waters by choosing passion fruit. I have failed to learn from last night and have drunk 2/3 pot of coffee. I am going to go and have a shower now and spend the rest of the night twitching accordingly. I shall also break out the big blue blanky as a precaution...

England play against Ecuador on Sunday evening, I think. Our bumbling totter toward glory continues apace.