Before we start I would like to point out that this blog does not formally recognise Tim's spelling of the word 'bollocks'. Not even a bit.

Well, the mistake has been made before by greater luminaries than me, and it will be made again in the future...get confident about NZ cricket and you inevitably end up looking silly. I was tempted to edit my previous post so that 5-0 read 4-1, but honesty won through (damn). I now dare to predict we will win the remaining games...actually maybe 3-2 to New Zealand is a more likely result. If we lose 2-3 though, I will be forced to eat my pants, being short of a hat (although possibly I could eat Tim's hat). I still predict test series triumph provided the weather holds out (doubtful, to say the least).

A while ago I was thinking about various small ways in which I could go about trying to lose some weight, being just over the top of the healthy line in the BMI department and feeling a bit unfit, and I thought one thing I could possibly do would be to stop drinking Coke. However, about 40 minutes into today's shift, I realised this is probably impossible, or would at least require much more willpower than I am willing to spend. At 3:40 or so, I neededa Coke. A Coke was required. I think it is safe to say I am actually addicted to Coke - not sure if there is any actual physical basis for this or not, caffiene maybe? - but in realistic terms I am a Coke junkie. I'm sure I could contemplate reducing the amount of it I drink dramatically but I really don't think I could stop altogether. In fact I would find becoming a vegetarian easier by several orders of magnitude.
Perhaps I should go and become a hardcore anti-globalisation protester, and that way I would be forced to go cold turkey, because should my comrades see me with any Coke, they would beat surely the snot out of me.
The fact that this is the only solution is more than a bit sad.

Civilisation was duly played for 12 (count them...12!) hours last night, as dutifully recorded by the obviously-stupidly-tired-at-the-time Luther. Those who follow this man's blog will know that grammar, spelling and even the laws of physics are often callously trampled by the frantically rumbling word stampede that is his chain of thought prose style. However, even I am prepared to recognise that he would, under fully functional conditions, pick up on the fact that 'feinitly' is no kind of decent word. For once, any inaccuracies can be attributed to the slumber deprivation of the sleepy Thracian nation.

This brings me on my point, which is that the best part of gathering a large posse and playing tactical boardgames long into the night (and indeed the morning) are the stupid jokes. Here is the breeding ground for many a running joke specific to TBALC and its affiliates. Shared experience: go get some. It's inherently funny. Especially at 4:37am. Any sentence that starts we "Remember that time we..." almost always ends up with everybody smiling - with a few exceptions; only the sadistic take pleasure in a reminscence such as "Remember the time we all watched helplessly as Uncle Vernon sank inexcorably into that quicksand while carnivorous tree frogs slowly dissolved his head?"
But then this isn't the kind of thing you bring up at Christmas, is it?