A man’s life is a long time waiting

“I could be wasting my time so much more productively”

20:30. If you added up all the moments spent by men waiting for their better halves, it should roughly equate to the same amount of time it has taken for humans to decode DNA. It’s a very, very long time, just waiting and waiting and waiting.

I am here, sitting on my sofa, waiting for her to get ready. We’re only going down the road for a pint, but at 20.30 on a Saturday, I’m definitely ready to have several. Yet despite three precursory warnings of “So then. Shall we?” and “Let’s go?” and “Do you want a drink?”, I’m still waiting, stuck in a warp of existential anxiety; really keen for a drink, but knowing that I probably don’t have enough time to get twatted without really going for it. Waiting so long, in fact, that I decided I may as well write about it.

I was taken back to when I lived with my best mate. Then, we would make split-second decisions. “Pint?” This question was followed by what seemed an eternity for both the proposer and the recipient. It probably amounted to no more than five seconds, yet such is the questioner’s urgency – and his mate, so aware of how crucial his answer has now become – that those five seconds feel almost as long as the 45 minutes I have spent waiting this evening. But, decision made – “yeah, quick one” – we’d be inside the pub and a third of the way down our first pint in under 10 minutes. In 20 minutes, we’d be setting yet another gut-wrenching ultimatum. “‘nother one?” Another five-second chasm before the inevitable “well, one more won’t hurt, will it?” Once the third pint has disappeared, there’s no point asking or answering any more questions. The drinks will keep coming and you’ll keep watching them slip down your throat.

It’s those snap decisions you realise men and women, both, cannot make together. Well, we can. They can’t. And I will never understand why!

20.42. Still waiting.

Slinky Minki the fans’ favourite WAG

Sorry to lower the tone to such levels, but apparently Graeme Smith’s bit-on-the-side, Minki van der Westhuizen – Slinky Minki to some – has topped a poll of fans’ favourite WAGs. She has won the inaugural International Cricket Cutie Trophy organised by our good friends at Stick Cricket.

“Minki is a cricket fan’s dream woman. She’s sleek, sexy and with a successful career to boot,” Chris Berry, Stick Cricket’s director said. “Cricketers attract a finer class of WAG. While football is a game for chaps copping off with Chavs, cricket is a game for gentlemen going out with goddesses.”

Definitely a contender for quote-of-the-week. If you don’t know who Minki is, here she is:

Photo of Slinki Minki

Taunton the home of women’s cricket

Taunton was announced today as the new home of women’s cricket in England. I’m a newcomer to the women’s game and, while it (and my knowledge of it) is still in its infancy, watching a one-dayer at Lord’s the other day was a revelation.

There were a fair number of people, all cheering and whooping for the girls. Before play began (it was delayed due to the heavens chucking it down) several players jumped into the Grandstand to sign autographs and were quite literally mobbed. I hadn’t expected that.

So they now have a place to call home. This really should be the foundation the game needs in order to progress. I’m not qualified to comment any more really(!), so instead, read my colleague Jenny Thompson’s piece today, or Charlotte Edwards’s.

There’s nothing wrong with South African domestic cricket

There’s nothing wrong with South African domestic cricket, aptly (and amply) demonstrated by these photos. Clearly they have oodles of talent (sorry).

Is she lost?

Dear God, what levels I have sunk to. I promise, one day, I’ll resume writing on this blog and not swearing profusely. Or posting pictures of massively attractive bok women.

But wait, look! More cheerleaders at the cricket! Can’t see the MCC or Lord’s being persuaded though, can you?

I’m not chasing loose women

Far be it for me to turn this into a public “Where’s Will” thing, but I felt it pertinent to reply to Scott’s shameful accusations of me “chasing loose women.” More’s the pity. I’m not doing that, nor am I entrenched in an alcoholic stupor…I’ve got bloody flu again, and feel like death warmed up. The closest I’ve come to anything Scott has inferred is being high on Day Night Nurse…!