how things change

So you may have read before about how I had convinced myself, and those around me, that the promotion that was in the offing was not to be. Well bugger me six ways from Tuesday if they didn't go and offer it to me. And there was me convinced, really convinced, that someone else had got it. I feel sure there is a moral there somewhere, but to hell with self reflection, that is for wallowing in at weekends. Naturally I have graciously accepted the position (was there ever any doubt?) but am not sure when I will dispense with present duties and commence with new ones - July is looking a good bet. In an amusingly ironic twist, one of the reasons I got the job was because of a solid year's experience in the recruitment industry in London - those of you who know what a shambles that all was will be joining me in saluting the good ship Centre People for the experiences she gave me.

So from a most despondent weekend, the week, figuatively speaking, has brightened considerably. In real terms it is grey and humid as rainy season can't make its mind up whether to start or not. This, as you can well imagine is playing havoc with the coriander, which desperately needs a good solid burst of sunshine to really get going. (havoc is a strangely spelt word - I'm just trying to think of any other words in English that end 'oc', but can't find too many...Roc, I suppose. Apparently it is from Old French and/or Middle English and weirdly enough, is also a verb - mayhap I shall go a havocking on the morrow etc)

Anyway, what we are all really looking forward to is saturday afternoon and the England - All Blacks game. Well, I am anyway. People are coming over, including Julia's NZ partner Mark and we shall all get pissed and cheer on the boys in white (well, Mark won't, I guess, but he's pretty quite and the rest of us will no doubt make more than enough din to cover him). If I had a goat, it would most definitely be got by the all this nonsense to do with David Beckham and where he will ply his advertising contracts next year. Who cares? Is it really worth so many column inches? Actually Japan is a good place to be as it is not much of a story over here, they have their own sporting gods to bow down to (Come on Ichiro! Sock it to 'em Matsui, Slap him around a bit Chiotaikai!) and Beckham's new hair do is usually small fish in comparison. No, it is when I log on the the Telegraph, of all places, and see that the top half dozen stories are all about will-he-won't-he-should-he-(be-shot) blah blah blah. I mean really, for goodness' sakes, give it a rest. And come on England...