That's not cricket.

Greetings, my loyal minions. Have you missed my unfortunately prolonged absence from the interwaves, as my Grandma calls them? I bet you have. I can just picture you, crying yourself to sleep, eating too much, watching Eurovision*, the usual signals that someone has given up on life. And now I return, awesomeness radiating from me like objects that aren't usually glow-in-the-dark radiate from the Fukushima power plant. And what does this second coming of Oh Christ** talk about? Cricket. I can just hear your disappointed "Oh"s.

I don't really get the impression that people on my cricket team think on the same wavelength as me. Or, come to mention it, think it all. It's not that they're stupid, it's just me and them don't really click, y'know? They're still giggling at naughty words and sinking to annoying levels of unhygienic verbal interpretation (For those of you overwhelmed by long words, they laugh whenever someone says "do", "pencil" or "had". They're basically childishly dirty minded in a way most of us got over by year 7), while I'm, uhhhm, showing off my fancy vocabulary and being pedantic (The other day someone who's got it into their head that I'm religious told me I don't like horror films "Because thou shall not kill". I told them it was actually "Shalt". See what I mean? It was the wrong answer).

Plus I don't think they properly appreciate my bland optimism in the most hopeless of situations. My cheery grins and assurances we're going to kick ass are usually greeted with stony silence (And even more annoyingly, are quite frequently blatantly wrong at the moment). They might think I'm being sarcastic. They're wrong. I genuinely believe we're going to win every match this season in high style.

I would delight you with more details of my fascinating experiences on the cricket pitch (for instance, what makes it so impossible to resist start using the work "Ha'way"), but I've been told my posts are getting too long. I leave you with the observation by someone or other that war isn't about dying for your country, it's about making the other bastard die for his. Goodbye.

*Funnily enough, I do usually watch Eurovision, but for the supporters of this blog (to whom I am the human embodiment of pure masculinity) it might come as a bit of a shock. So on with the dissing.
**A complicated pun, may be lost on you.