The lucky, lucky, lucky baskets

 Surprisingly, when I awoke, I wasn’t as sore as I thought I would be. What did surprise me was that it was 4.30. I read for a little while, then tiptoed out of bed and did a little work. The creakiness of the floorboards is a booby-trap in waiting, but I somehow managed to avoid waking the house.
 
Zoom call with Robin in New Zealand, at which time I told him I wasn’t interested in doing the 5-day job he proposed (which would have been an 8-day job paid at the 5-day rate, which is already the same as my normal 2-day rate). He took it well enough. What he didn’t understand though, as a fellow expatriated Brit, is why I am not a supporter of the England team. I tried to tell him, but ultimately it is not easy to explain a deep-seated loathing and bigotry (especially when it is against your own kind). I also saw Joey Barton was leading an anti “Scouse-not-English” Twitter parade, so that completely vindicated my stance.
 
With Ottawacker Jr. again out for the morning at his soccer camp, I should have been able to do a lot more work than I did. But I felt absolutely drained (no doubt because I had a couple of drinks last night and had wiped myself out at the gym). Indeed, I almost fell asleep at my desk; later on, when sitting watching the absolute travesty that was England vs. Holland, I did. I think Ottawacker Jr. almost used up a SIM card on the photos, none of which, you will be pleased to learn, have survived. But what about that football?
 
I mean, for the first half, England were quite good to watch. There was some speed and invention to the play. Then the Dutch scored, and England kept on being positive. But that penalty; really? In what parallel universe can you kick someone’s foot and get a penalty (I understand, for Manchester United fans, that this is what happens whenever Bruno Fernandes gets into the box, so you are excused this mental rhetorical question)? The second half was abject (well, what I saw of it was), but the winning goal was excellent.
 
Early evening, we braved the deluge to get Ottawacker Jr. to his goalkeeping practice, then I came back home to cook pork chops and pasta to eat upon his return.