vuvuzela furore

We’ll probably get divorced. Richard watched England’s game like a bear who wants to enjoy a paw full of honey without reckoning on the buzzing horde that comes out to defend it. I found the noise exciting, energizing and glad it made it specific to South Africa. I don’t, of course, have to shout instructions to fellow players (Richard knows that when an empty glass is held up it should be filled), nor do I have to sleep with the noise outside till all hours.

This reminds me of summer nights as a child, when I’d be sent to bed with the sun making my bedroom rose-pink as it streamed through the curtains. I would lie there, hearing the whirr and rattle of (old-fashioned) lawnmowers in all the back gardens along our terraced street. I’d love the sound on lazy afternoons but when they kept me awake I hated them and fretted about being able  to cope with school next day.

I felt for Green. I couldn’t watch any of the zillion replays of his blunder. We should have scored more goals and gave the US team way too much possession. A Pompey legend got Friday’s game (mostly) bang to rights in his prediction on the 11th:

http://www.portsmouth.co.uk/frattonlatest/Pompey-legend39s-England-warning.6357660.jp