Gertrude’s Diary #5 – Time, Popes and Football

Gertrude's Diary

Well, I”ve cracked 3,000,000 on 3D Pinball but my aim now is to reach 6,000,000. Actually, after a couple of weeks of intensive playing in a fruitless attempt to achieve mastery of the game, I”m completely bored with the whole thing. Moreover, my hands hurt.

As a rule, I enjoy wasting time. Compulsive reading alternating with frenzied socialising has satisfied this appetite for many years, as well as the occasional bout of pointless paid employment to subsidize the good life. Oh, sorry. Reading thousands of documents in order to feed the Government”s need for the reams of spin necessary to justify their demolition of our perfectly good industrial relations system should not be construed as time-wasting.

I should be careful what I write here, you might get the wrong impression of me. I don”t mind the odd bit of fun, but I also have plenty of residual guilt from my early indoctrination into the Roman Catholic Church to keep me on the straight and narrow. Sure it”s less than hip these days, but a bit of guilt will keep you high functioning when you might otherwise slide into debauchery. I mean, look at the Pope. He could have been enjoying his twilight years, sitting back in a Jason recliner, watching Wheel of Fortune; yelling at young people with long hair on the bus; riding a motorized buggy down the middle of the road. On reflection, perhaps he did do all those things. But he also had to keep putting on those heavy robes and waving. It killed him in the end.

That reminds me, somewhere I”ve got a set of rosary beads that were blessed by a Pope, but I wore them to a fancy dress party and a dominatrix sucked the crucifix on the end, so maybe that doesn”t count anymore.

But I digress. Deliberately. What on earth would I write about otherwise? Hey, some bloke on Lateline just said, “one of the most difficult tasks for the new Pope will be dealing with the legacy of the last Pope”. Now there”s an insight. You could substitute the words “coach” or “captain” for “Pope” and it”s exactly the sort of formula you”d hear in a football commentary. (If you were unlucky enough to be exposed to the dreary predictability of grown men chasing a bit of leather around a winter paddock, and the ridiculous media attention that they generate). God, I hate football season. The endless dissection of each game, team, player, season” I”m bored already.

I”m trying to compose some lyrics to be sung to the tune of the Pina Colada song (sorry to mention it; hope it doesn”t bounce around your head for the next week in a way that makes you want to bash it out with a brick) that might fully encapsulate my feelings about football and sport in general. I”ll leave you with the first couple of lines of the chorus

“I don”t like football much really, or those weirdo”s that yell,
In fact I just don”t like ball sports; they make my boredom
glands swell.
If you think football is amusing, I”m afraid I must go,
Because I think that I”d rather, eat ground glass in the

Yes I know, needs work. With a machete.


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