I am writing this because...

...I am trying to tear my thoughts away from exam results.

It's not that I'm nervous. Well, not entirely. But it feels as if it is years since I was in that hall, using up all the ink in my biros. So I'm just very, very keen to know the outcome.

Yesterday I went to watch a ramshackle squad face a Dutch u-17 touring side. They wore orange trousers and spoke in a most peculiar Irish-American hybrid of an accent. And 'Howzat' became 'Ooohizzaaaa-ttt'. They still won, though; perhaps Ash and Joe (trying to fit under the covers) weren't showing quite the required amount of concentration.

"Shit. I'm bloody dying to know." Naturally, talk turned to exams with the assembled sixteen year-olds.

"Well. What's done is done, and all that."

"Yeah, well. I'm listening to Elliott Smith. Just to get in the spirit."

And there was a chorus of "Oh no! It won't be that bad!". Elliott Smith doesn't really fill the soul with joy. Though I'm listening to Needle in the Hay right now, and it's just the most creepy, edgy, brilliant song. But not, much like the mighty Radiohead, good for unadulterated happiness. But: "Leave me alone. You oughta be proud I'm getting good marks". Fits perfectly.

* * * * *

Jeffa (from Lincoln. Telephone): "In February? Yes. No. No. I don't even like Ray LaMontagne."

- He will, though. It is my mission.

But back to yesterday:

"Hey, anyone know anything about the Weimar Republic?"

"A-Level History?" I asked, proceeding to give a vague description of what I had learnt from both my Dad and Wikipedia.

"D'you know something?" This was said just as Ash hurtled towards the scorebard, trying to get a hand to a throw-down gone awry. Missed it, naturally.

I never knew what. Freddie took an almightly swing and skied the ball. Straight into a neighbouring field.

"Shot! Shot, Freddie my son!"

Afterwards they sulked; Twenty20 over, the season drawing to a close, soon to become rugby. And I sulked. God. It's always cold at rugby. If only it was always summer, eh?