Ah, the beautiful game. The truly beautiful, wonderful game!

So, it was a draw. But, it was against the league leaders. As this report testifies we didn’t play at our best. However, they did - and we held them.

I was on the phone as soon as Heskey scored to my Manc Scum mate. To be fair, the phone was in my hand - so I could turn it off and not have to read or respond to any of his text messages. However, there was no need. He even conceded that it hadn’t been a bad game!

Am off to the pub to celebrate - and rub any Scum fans nose in the fact that they’ve dropped a place in the league!

I really enjoyed this story on speed dating in today’s Guardian.

For once, I am glad to see that a writer has actually come down on the side of the dodgy date, rather than the “money rich; time poor” brigade. There is something about going on awful dates, cruising clubs with your boy/girlfriends - in search of the elusive male/female of the species, that can dance, carry on a conversation and who doesn’t smell of desparation - and generally having terrible nights out, with even worse hangovers in the morning to prove it!

I remember dating. For the most part it was bloody awful. However, it did make me realise when I’d found the best guy for me. He became the other half. Amazingly, I wasn’t even looking the night we met (isn’t it always the way?). We were introduced by a mutual friend, who was roundly heckled during the speeches at our wedding, and haven’t looked back since. Well, when I say we haven’t looked back.. Well anyone in a long-term relationship knows it isn’t all honey!

Regardless, without the hardship and heartache, I wouldn’t have found the other half. If you’re only willing to invest three minutes in finding someone, what hope do you have?

The other half is always banging on to me about the importance of getting children involved in science from an early age. I don’t always agree, being more of an arty type, myself. However, even I would have been intrigued in this school project, currently being undertaken on the latest space shuttle flight. The astronauts are investigatin the use of art therapy as a relief for possible depression on deep space missions. Most interestingly, however, the students have decided to use urine as a fundamental compound in the paint.

The reasoning behind the use of urine is its everlasting supply. They’ve also used natural resources - berries and so forth - as the pigment for the paint (all now NASA approved). Bloody marvellous! However, I did wonder how many times you can paint a sky full of stars before becoming bored?

The dust and ash that resulted from the destruction of the Twin Towers just under eighteen months ago has left a layer of sediment on the Hudson Estuary.

This made me think that this is perhaps the most fitting memorial to such an awful event. The inorganic becoming organic, moving in the tide forever more. In a thousand years, geologists will still be able to tell the year the Towers fell. The story will continue to be told.

Isn’t it so much better to inform than just go and decimate another country as a warped kind of retaliation?

Sometimes I’m ashamed of being Welsh. Only occasionally, you understand. However, today is such a day.

This story from the BBC Website informs the world that more white socks are sold in Merthyr Tydfil than anywhere else in the UK. A pair every four minutes, apparently. There are two reasons why this caught my eye.

One - I was horrified to think of the whole of Merthyr wandering around in shell suits, white socks and slip on black shoes.

Two - I was horrified with myself for being so judgemental! Why should I give a flying - hang on, internal censor working - pig (OK, its getting late, its all I could come up with!) what people in Merthyr are wearing to keep their toes warm?

Perhaps I’m just having a Sex and the City moment, having just watched the latest episode on being judged by our peers. Or perhaps I’m not ashamed to be Welsh, just ashamed to be such a judgemental person sometimes. If I chose to wear Jimmy Choo shoes and fine denier stockings (oh, I wish!), that’s my decision, just as it is another persons right to wear white socks and black slip-ons. I know that half my sixth form did it in the 1980’s (mostly because it broke school rules). Then it was considered cool - so why not now.

Ah well..

And, finally. If your Christmas Card from Auntie Marge didn’t get through this year - with the obligatory five pound note - this story may give you some answers.

In my view, the person who sent the fresh salmon, without warning his mate it was coming, needs shooting.

So, this weekend saw the Fourth Round of the FA Cup. You may have noticed the distinct lack of blogging on the subject.

Well, last night I decided I hated football. It was a stupid game. No wonder it attracted mainly male followers. Not only had the Scum notched up six against some London team I can’t even mention, but my beloved Pool had been roundly humiliated by a team from a lower division, who held them to a nil all draw. The agony was only compounded by a text from the Scum fan, delighting in my agony.

The Fifth Round Draw did throw up a couple of juicy matches, however. Imagine my delight, whilst consuming my lunch-time salad to hear the first names out of the hat! And Arsenal will play Manchester United. I almost choked. It was too delicious.

I resisted the urge to e-mail the Scum - especially as we are yet to even get into the Fifth Round proper. However, my time will come. Oh, I love the beautiful game!

I have a sleep problem. I’ve had it for years now. I get about four hours a night - if its a good night. Sometimes, I just work straight through and go into the office the following morning. This tends to happen when I’ve got a lot on my mind, for some reason or other. Of course, this is off-set by the long periods of sleep I can enjoy, if I’ve managed to drink enough vodka the night before.

It all started when I was doing my A-Levels. At the start of the Sixth Form, I was doing four subjects - Economics, English, History and Geography. In order to keep up with the homework and enjoy a full social life, I took to drinking coffee and swallowing handfuls of Pro-Plus (a product, which should come with the banner “the students friend”). At this point, I was probably getting about three hours sleep a night - and partying in quite an outrageous way! It couldn’t last. I had a breakdown about five months into my Lower Sixth.

Anyway, since that time, sleep is a luxury, rather than a god-given right, for me. I have been offered pills, but I can’t imagine being controlled by something else. A chemical substance deciding when I will be able to sleep. Anyway, when I did take sleeping tablets, when I was ill, I was like something from the Living Dead during the day-time as well. So, not an option, really.
What made me think about all this today - other than the fact I got about three hours sleep last night - was that I read this report on the BBC website.

Perhaps I will give the counting sheep theory another try!

I want to move to Thailand, to take advantage of the state sponsored massages at petrol stations.

If they introduced this idea in the UK, it did make me wonder whether anyone would ever get anywhere. It would cut down the congestion so much, it might be a better plan than the introducion of charges.

My first reaction to this was to think what a stupid man (for this read either the surgeon or the patient). The second was ouch!