The ASboys and Tuesday Cricket...

"What's the cricket score, then?"

I fear my brother has become an ASBO boy, conducting our mobile phone conversations whilst wrestling Prykey on the school bus and calling everyone in sight a retard, much, in fact, in the manner of Will. His fingers may be crushed, but his spirits are most certainly not.

"I'm not going to tell you unless you stop shouting."

"I'm not shouting."

At which point there is furious yelping in the background; either someone is kicking a puppy, kicking Prykey's bad knee or trying to strangle the newly-appointed bus prefect. All three options equally valid and likely.

"What are you doing, Idioteque?"

Ah, pet names. The ultimate in affection for one's siblings.

"Aw, for God's sake! Did anyone get a century? You're such a bi-atchhhhhhh!"

And so I hung up on him, without telling him the finer points of Collingwood's 71 not out. Little cricketing yob. Matt, I mean, not Colly. I thought it was supposed to be a gentlemanly (is that a word? Yes? No?) sport. Though, from a spectator perspective, dancing up and down the pitch in the manner is far from gentlemanly (again, note the use of the dubious word), nor is KP's rendezvous with Caprice. Or the aforementioned Mr. Pietersen's diabolical hairdo. Far more Beckham than is natural, I think.

Anyway.

This Gifted Linguists project is becoming a thing of work. One needs a degree in rocket science merely to get through the e-mails and the process of joining the bloody board. My computer fails to comprehend that my application was accepted. Therefore I remain stranded, a linguist but not one gifted enough to master the finer points of technology.

Phil isn't even looking at me. This could be for one of two reasons: either he feels guilty (so he bloody should. But he proabably doesn't), or he thinks I'm a fully-fledged lunatic - ("Yeah. He thinks you're mad"). The latter of which is entirely more likely. That isn't unfortunate, though, because talking to him does, on occasion, make my skin crawl. He really goes out of his way to be unlikeable. As does Annie, whose anti-English rants on her Personal Statement lit a fuse with us all - those "narrow-minded English" will be the ones accepting her applications, after all. And anyway, on a more generalised note, England is the best! From, of course, the perspective of an English girl.

Dad's home from Germany this week; it'll be strange having him back. And I'm not entirely convinced his "lovely little gift" will be quite as successful as he'd like:

"It's a dress!"

"Are you joking? Please say you're joking? I can't tell..."

And a brief note to Ben, should he be reading this: get your own blog! How can you possibly say that crazy life of yours isn't interesting enough to write about? You live with Si, for God's sake...