On murder

On Sunday morning, R casually asked me what would be a good way to kill me. (I suggested a few practical and efficient ones, but she wanted outlandish Villanelle kind ideas)

Last two days she’s been watching a new serial, ‘How to get away with murder.’

If I die or disappear, you know where to look..

Wuss, moi.

I planned the run in my head.

I got dressed in running gear.

I started the warm-up routine.

….

Then I felt too cold.

The head was full of excitement from a breakthrough in the morning’s work.

Chewie was still wrapped up in bed.

But mainly, I felt too cold.

So I chickened out of the run. I changed back into home clothes. And am now back at work.

Wuss, moi.

TIL: “Your boys took a hell of a beating”

I discovered this gem of Football commentary today. It’s from a Norway-England match in 1981. I love the passion, sprinkled with humour.

We are the best in the world! We are the best in the world! We have beaten England 2-1 in football!! It is completely unbelievable! We have beaten England! England, birthplace of giants. Lord Nelson, Lord Beaverbrook, Sir Winston Churchill, Sir Anthony Eden, Clement Attlee, Henry Cooper, Lady Diana–we have beaten them all. We have beaten them all.

Maggie Thatcher can you hear me? Maggie Thatcher, I have a message for you in the middle of the election campaign. I have a message for you: We have knocked England out of the football World Cup. Maggie Thatcher, as they say in your language in the boxing bars around Madison Square Garden in New York: Your boys took a hell of a beating! Your boys took a hell of a beating!

Bjørge Lillelien

No wonder…

It was not unusual for Norwegians to turn off the sound on the TV and listen to him on the radio instead.

For more fun, follow the link above and read some of the parodies inspired from the commentary :)

Running + dogs = el mejor

…I took the leash off, and we ran.
We ran next to each other. A mini stampede. We were completely in sync, and not thinking about much but the present moment. We ran as fast as we could as the trees whooshed by. Gizelle came up to my hips, but she never tried to jump in front of me or nip at my feet like a lot of dogs would. Her jowls flapped in the wind and her long pink tongue flailed happily out of her mouth as she ran next to me. Like a protector. Like a friend.

—Lauren Fern Watt, in Gizelle’s bucket list