Scotland got beat by England at home. I behaved very well and didn't scream abuse at my TV set mostly because I didn't want to induce a coughing fit and a little bit because I didn't want to terrify MC. After all my efforts to instill in him an understanding if not a love for the game, it would probably be detrimental to have him perceive rugby turn his pregnant missus into a homicidal maniac.
Bring back the mighty Patterson. What's with this commentating on the sidelines and 'retirement' nonsense? He should be mandated into each game: made to provide a National Service - actually, I'd settle for him just keeping Dan Parks off the pitch. Such a shame they can't keep Parks on the sideline until he's required for a kick at the posts. No one can deny the man can kick a ball from a considerable distance, but I'm concerned he can only do so when no-one else is taking a running lunge at him at the same time. His boot is otherwise a liability during play. Too often does it hand possession like a well wrapped gift to the opposition but yesterday an English player managed to charge down the ball off the end of Dan's boot and score a try within two paces. There's a good reason that man plays for Cardiff when he's not playing for Scotland - best to put most of Wales and England in between him and the north.
The English squad were a bunch of uncapped newbies and should have been squashed as such. No such luck. Please note that I hold no particular angst against the English side. Indeed, I suffer as much despair when we get gubbed by the other 4 nations involved in this particular tournament. Although the national subconscious is trained to shy away from being slapped down by the old enemies, I have to say it is always more horrifying to be beaten by Italy. One particular year I treated my Dad and brothers to tickets to the Scotland-Italy home game. We gave away 3 tries in the first 7 minutes. That day we left the stadium, went to Rose Street to watch the rest of the day's matches and spent a happy several drunken hours pretending we were actually Irish to overcome our shame.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of being sat down to the rugby with my Dad and taught to shout "Come - on - ie Blues!! You're running the wrong way!" How very sad that as I approach 30 I am preparing to train my as yet unborn child in much the same terms.
The Six Nations has begun: welcome to frustration stations.
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Massive Fail
All those who know me, know that I have been somewhat under the weather for the last week. I cannot keep working on the assumption that everyone reading my blog knows me personally though as I am pretty sure I do not know anyone in Latvia, nor can I count amongst my friendships the twenty or so Russians and dozens of Americans that have been reading my nutty musings. Lets just hope no one is using it for English translation practice!
Where was I? Oh, yes. Being ill. Now I am a rubbish patient. I just don't have any patience with feeling keek, day time TV or Lemsip - YUCK! This time is no exception. I have a spot of bronchitis and although I don't consider myself asthmatic, or carry my inhaler around with me the way I probably should, any sort of chest infection leaves me wheezing and puffing away on the blue stuff. Nasty ass stuff, it gives me the shakes. So, I've been off work two days so far this week. I had to cancel plans to see my oldest friend and her babes on Saturday. I had to bump a friend I haven't seen in months who I was really looking forward to catching up with on Tuesday. I didn't make it to the pre-paid bendy stretchy class I was hoping to try out or aquanatal. I even cancelled my teeth scraping appointment at the dentist (OK, perhaps I'm not too sad about that one). Today... well, today was my most massive fail of the week so far.
I was pretty bored yesterday in between fetal-position-inducing coughing fits. The highlight of my day was my cheesy beans on toast. I grilled the cheese over the top and everything. I really wanted to go back to work today. I have a pile of work that I'd planned to get through this week and tonight MC and I had plans to go to Vittoria on the bridges for date night. It's the same restaurant we had our wedding meal at and my favourite eatery for Italian nosh (I have a favourite for every international cuisine across Edinburgh). And they were offering 50% off all bills before the 26th Jan. So, this morning I got up and I felt rough and sleepy but show me the pregnant person who does want to part company with the duvet of a cold winter morning. I didn't feel too horrible though. MC asked how I felt and I had to tell him I honestly didn't know. The coughing is weird in the morning. It starts off dry and tends to get worse throughout the day. I got dressed much to MC's disbelief and went to work. Well, I got on the bus.
Getting to the bus stop made my chest seize up pretty bad and I felt distinctly icky on the ride to work. I got off the bus in George Street and had only walked a block before I sounded like the drowning emphysemic chain smoking ball of infection I'd been on the same trip to work on Monday. The inhaler, which had been my saving grace on arrival at the office on Monday, was very helpfully lying on my bedside table. I crossed the road and got on a bus coming home. I called my boss. I explained my stupidity and that despite doing the hard part and getting within 50 feet of the office I would not actually be coming in today. She was really very understanding and hadn't actually thought that I'd be much better after only 2 days of antibiotics. Now as if this wasn't enough ridiculousness for a Thursday morning, I then did the unimaginable. I bubbbled on the bus most of the way home.
Other pregnant people had forewarned me about unforeseen bouts of outpouring, uncontrollable emotion but so far, I had not experienced any such public humiliation. Today though, my frustration took me way over the edge. I tried to rationalise why I felt the way I did and it boiled down to two things. Firstly, I have no patience for being unwell. We covered that already. Secondly though, I think I have a horror of being the unreliable pregnant person in the office. I like my job. I like that I'm responsible for my own little corner of grind and that for the most part, I'm left alone to get stuff done. It seriously irks me that since I got pregnant there hasn't been a single week where I've felt like I was functioning on all cylinders and being my dependable self. Work completely aside, I like to be able to depend on me in general - on my health, my ability to get out of bed in a timely fashion in the mornings and to go about my business.
It seems as though I might have to get a little less fiercely independent. I might have to lie down when I'm told to. I might have to get used to the fact that pregnant me is little more fragile and a little less dependable than my old self. In plain terms, she's a bit of a woose-arsed sickly numpty. I don't like it. That's what got me on the bus this morning and that's what caused this whole stupid mess. My pigheaded refusal to stay in bed bored (sorry, 'resting') but warm.
Rant over. I saw the sunrise this morning. It damn near fried my eyeballs as with any winter sun encounter in Scotland. It was nice. I might not be able to go to work today, or tomorrow, but I saw the sun. It's a rare beast in January, what with the going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark. It's still hanging around up there in a cold blue sky. Does it make up in any way for almost getting to work and having a melt down on public transport?
Perhaps, but it doesn't take the edge off missing a trip to Vittoria's.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Being ill. Now I am a rubbish patient. I just don't have any patience with feeling keek, day time TV or Lemsip - YUCK! This time is no exception. I have a spot of bronchitis and although I don't consider myself asthmatic, or carry my inhaler around with me the way I probably should, any sort of chest infection leaves me wheezing and puffing away on the blue stuff. Nasty ass stuff, it gives me the shakes. So, I've been off work two days so far this week. I had to cancel plans to see my oldest friend and her babes on Saturday. I had to bump a friend I haven't seen in months who I was really looking forward to catching up with on Tuesday. I didn't make it to the pre-paid bendy stretchy class I was hoping to try out or aquanatal. I even cancelled my teeth scraping appointment at the dentist (OK, perhaps I'm not too sad about that one). Today... well, today was my most massive fail of the week so far.
I was pretty bored yesterday in between fetal-position-inducing coughing fits. The highlight of my day was my cheesy beans on toast. I grilled the cheese over the top and everything. I really wanted to go back to work today. I have a pile of work that I'd planned to get through this week and tonight MC and I had plans to go to Vittoria on the bridges for date night. It's the same restaurant we had our wedding meal at and my favourite eatery for Italian nosh (I have a favourite for every international cuisine across Edinburgh). And they were offering 50% off all bills before the 26th Jan. So, this morning I got up and I felt rough and sleepy but show me the pregnant person who does want to part company with the duvet of a cold winter morning. I didn't feel too horrible though. MC asked how I felt and I had to tell him I honestly didn't know. The coughing is weird in the morning. It starts off dry and tends to get worse throughout the day. I got dressed much to MC's disbelief and went to work. Well, I got on the bus.
Getting to the bus stop made my chest seize up pretty bad and I felt distinctly icky on the ride to work. I got off the bus in George Street and had only walked a block before I sounded like the drowning emphysemic chain smoking ball of infection I'd been on the same trip to work on Monday. The inhaler, which had been my saving grace on arrival at the office on Monday, was very helpfully lying on my bedside table. I crossed the road and got on a bus coming home. I called my boss. I explained my stupidity and that despite doing the hard part and getting within 50 feet of the office I would not actually be coming in today. She was really very understanding and hadn't actually thought that I'd be much better after only 2 days of antibiotics. Now as if this wasn't enough ridiculousness for a Thursday morning, I then did the unimaginable. I bubbbled on the bus most of the way home.
Other pregnant people had forewarned me about unforeseen bouts of outpouring, uncontrollable emotion but so far, I had not experienced any such public humiliation. Today though, my frustration took me way over the edge. I tried to rationalise why I felt the way I did and it boiled down to two things. Firstly, I have no patience for being unwell. We covered that already. Secondly though, I think I have a horror of being the unreliable pregnant person in the office. I like my job. I like that I'm responsible for my own little corner of grind and that for the most part, I'm left alone to get stuff done. It seriously irks me that since I got pregnant there hasn't been a single week where I've felt like I was functioning on all cylinders and being my dependable self. Work completely aside, I like to be able to depend on me in general - on my health, my ability to get out of bed in a timely fashion in the mornings and to go about my business.
It seems as though I might have to get a little less fiercely independent. I might have to lie down when I'm told to. I might have to get used to the fact that pregnant me is little more fragile and a little less dependable than my old self. In plain terms, she's a bit of a woose-arsed sickly numpty. I don't like it. That's what got me on the bus this morning and that's what caused this whole stupid mess. My pigheaded refusal to stay in bed bored (sorry, 'resting') but warm.
Rant over. I saw the sunrise this morning. It damn near fried my eyeballs as with any winter sun encounter in Scotland. It was nice. I might not be able to go to work today, or tomorrow, but I saw the sun. It's a rare beast in January, what with the going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark. It's still hanging around up there in a cold blue sky. Does it make up in any way for almost getting to work and having a melt down on public transport?
Perhaps, but it doesn't take the edge off missing a trip to Vittoria's.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)