I’m back up in town and having to watch the World Cup of cricket. WTF is that all about? It’s quarter final time which means that great cricketing nations like Ireland and The Netherlands are out and the “big boys” are in.
How you can call this a world cup when only 500 people in the world seem to understand the game is beyond me. It just seems to be a way for the UK to humiliate itself by being thrashed by ex-colonies with a grudge to bear. Ben is obsessed with the game so we have to watch every bloody one in grungy pubs.
I was in The Hansom Cab, this pub that Piers Morgan had bought, presumably for when he’s fired from CNN and needs somewhere to sit and weep. The place is full of people promised free beer by Morgan and I seemed to be the only one having to pay. I watched Ben watching men in pyjamas throw a ball around somewhere in India. Eventually I could take no more and I stumbled off into the London night to get into some trouble. This did not take long.
I round the first corner and there are three youths pissing on a car. It’s not my car, so I don’t care but they assume I do and start giving me the come-ons. “Wasssematter baldy, gotta’ problem have ya?” I briefly fantasised about knocking all three of them out but reality crept in and I did that London thing of walking on with eyes down. I hate doing that but I hate being beaten up even more. Life, like cricket…is s**t. Cooper Out.