The Late Show

The late nights of the previous week may have taken its toll as I felt sleepy all weekend. I normally turn in early Friday evenings anyway; the hectic week finally gets to me come Friday evening and it is all I can do to keep myself awake after 10.30 pm. But last weekend, I had a serious case of nap attack. And I had dreams including one where I was travelling.

I did make myself useful – I did my usual Saturday morning routine (it gives me some semblance of normalcy) and also washed my bedroom curtains (ugh). Then I went grocery shopping (I managed to find frozen vegetarian meat at Giant - something I didn’t manage to do at Sogo despite walking up and down the supermarket aisles several times - and I bought the last two packets). Upon reaching home, I cleared my larder of expired food – I’m guilty of overstocking food and forgetting all about them until well after their consume-by dates. Unfortunately, those are where my domestic traits end: I almost burnt the house down shortly after from microwaving my lunch. Well, the packet did say 10-15 minutes in the microwave; it was into the eight minute when I smelt something burning and when I got the kitchen, it was filled with smoke. My lunch got burnt to carbon charcoals and the kitchen smelt like it just suffered a razing fire. Needless to say, I spent the rest of Saturday and the first half of Sunday trying to clear the air from the burning smell.

I follow food instructions to a T. And yet, and yet... I almost burnt my kitchen

So much for trying to cut down on eating out and instead trying a cook-in

After the Saturday afternoon nap, I was ready for the footie match that evening (OK, I did glimpse the smelly match at Old Trafford. Chelshit beat ManUre). We were at home, were dominant (despite being depleted) and in control and we played the last 25 minutes against 10-men Wolves... and yet we couldn’t find the breakthrough until deep, deep, deep in injury time. We were wasteful but we showed the spirit of champs and we fought on. I abandoned the sofa and perched precariously on my gym ball in the last five minutes of stoppage time and as the clock ticked down, I started to cover my face and wondered if we would draw yet again after Birmingham and Barcelona. In fact, it seemed very much headed that way until we were saved in the nick of time – again. It was Saint Nick who resurrected our season on Easter Saturday and kept us in the hunt. Another late show by Arsenal. I was off my gym ball in a flash, turned on the volume and jumped up and down. Seriously, watching footie shouldn’t be stressful but Arsenal are good at making it so and at the rate they play, I will die of premature heart attack soon. I really should get started on making my will.

I was so happy to see Captain Cesc at the match, albeit on crutches. He received a warm welcome from the fans and being the responsible, caring chap he is, went into the tunnel/training room with the team before, during half-time and after the match. Everyone would have understood if he had wanted to just stay away either to get treatment or relax, given he just broke his leg (he did not play with a broken leg contrary to some report). But he came. And unlike loony Shrek, I mean Rooney, who sat in a luxury box and left before the match at OT was over, Cesc limped with his head held high and sat with the team. Djourou and Shava were there too. It gives me the fuzzies to see injured players at the match, cheering their team on, still acting like they’re part of the team and caring about the result and especially if one is the captain himself.

On other Arsenal-related news, Rambo is touched with the goodwill received and misses footie. He spoke about Shawcross, and while he acknowledged that the latter didn’t mean to break his leg, maintained that he should have backed out from the tackle. And bad news: we may miss Song for the match at Nou Camp. Bloody heck.