Two two two for two – In the name of Thiago – Day 222


I name this blog in honour of the great man himself Richie, Richie I love you, all hail Richie Benaud. For the best comedic effect of saying two two two for two, you need to adopt an Australian twang and kind of lower your head slightly and for the last two you really need to push out the ‘oo’ sound and curl those smackers. It’s absolutely fucking beautiful to see performed by the great man. Just a shame he’s been dead five years. Ha ha I’ve managed to talk about death and I’ve not even mentioned the boy yet. It’s a talent; I’ve got to tell you.


I can’t get fucking Richie out my head now. Back in my days of being a cricket broadcaster, I used to watch the doyen of sports broadcasting and think: I’d rather ruin it all trying to be completely unique rather than witter on about everything and nothing, as so many do. Well, I gave it a good bash – I came on the scene at the wrong time just a season too many before internet coverage became the norm on the BBC. The memories of those times are still very fond though.


I’m running out of things to say about the building side because I know that none of you really give a shit about the progress or otherwise of my extension. Frankly if you started telling me about work being done at your house, I would almost certainly roll my eyes and possibly nod off. So, I really have no idea why I am putting you through this awful fucking dross. It’s as if I feel that this middle section of the blog is the pain that you have to get through in order to get to marvel at the magnificence that will inevitably follow.  Ooh, what a bold claim!


Let me tell you about Ashley. He’s the nephew of my builder Mark. Christ Mark’s not my builder, I don’t own him, but I digress. Ashley is 32 now and is on the verge of completing a degree in engineering from the Open University. He’s been at it for six years and has one more year to go. He’s done the whole thing while working full time. He really is a credit to himself and a thoroughly likeable lad. Now about this latest bill…



It’s been the usual Thursday night routine. The mad rush of finishing work at bang on five finding out where the hell Elisa has got to, then loading the bags with washing and making the mad dash over to Dad’s with a properly disgruntled Elisa sat staring forwards in the front seat, headphones on, refusing to engage.


A quick five minutes at Dad’s was the prelude to haring back up the A50 for my one guaranteed bit of tennis for the week. There were just four of us today, which works perfectly for a game of doubles. I was an absolute shower of shit except when it came to serving, when no-one could take a point from me. I really felt for my partner who saw me fluff volley after volley. Luckily he was a lovely bloke.


Leo has invited me for a game tomorrow evening at 7, so I’m going to head back over and see if I can actually put any of what I was trying to learn tonight into practice tomorrow. The only thing I can be sure of is, that there will inevitably be lots and lots of swearing, none of it directed at the big man from Brazil of course unless he thoroughly does my nut. He won’t – a more placid chap you couldn’t wish to meet!


You know it’s coming. Don’t all switch off at once yer bastards. Right I need another 1800 squidders so get sharing, doing some crazy shizzle, whatever it takes to get this over the line. I will not rest until we have and when I’ve completed the 300 mile walk as well. I’ll definitely rest after that, probably until Christmas… Night Richie, night Thiago, night everyone.


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