I am someone who loves to procrastinate. I have been wanting for few days to sit down and put pen to paper; or as is the case with me commit thumbs to type away on my phone incessantly until a verbose of sorts has been formed; mull over it for a day or two, come back to it, edit it and once I am satisfied with the quality of the verbose on offer-send it off into its intended destination to take its iota amongst the other roaming data in the world of blogosphere.
You see I am a perfectionist too. Being a procrastinator and a perfectionist are two traits that a writer (or anyone else) should not have to deal with simultaneously. I think I have become someone who over the years perfected the art of procrastination. I will delay something until it can be delayed no more. Until I have no choice but to see to it.
It is not like I have hit the dreaded writer’s block, on the contrary my creative juices have been overflowing of late so much so that I have several posts that I started and never got the chance to finish or publish. I blame the World Cup and the rare glimpses of sunshine we are currently experiencing in England. Even the meteorologists have us believing that at times the temperatures have been on par with that of Brazil… really? I know I am sceptical of such claims too but us Brits like to indulge in a bit of a hyperbole where the weather is concerned.
Of course there are always things, both living and otherwise that irk the peaceful equilibrium of my cerebral cortex. Unfortunately for the culprits involved in challenging my peaceful existence they serve as a great musing for my next blog post. Karmically, it provides me and you with something to ponder over; though I always give them the joy of anonymity, at least where living beings are concerned.
Unlike the usual writer’s block that most writers stumble on I have been contending with a dread of different calibre- procrastination and perfection. With the myriad of things happening around me, inspiration seems to be just round the corner. But procrastination would have me delay inspiration under the clever guise of perfectionism. To borrow Freema Agyeman’s words “I swing between procrastination and being really thorough so either way things aren’t getting done quickly”.
But great posts like all good things such as goal-line technology are worth procrastinating over and perfecting, because once they materialise we can all marvel over them, dispute them or just be indifferent. I am still undecided if that goal in the France v Honduras game was a goal or not.
And you know what being indifferent, undecided, on the fence, are all fine too…
Unless you are a referee or reading a great post I procrastinated laboured over and perfected for you to marvel at… In which case it isn’t!!!
It is that time once again, where foreign flags of friendship reign supreme… Side by side they stand in a perfectly choreographed choir singing internationally recognised hymns – chasing dreams of conquering round stuffed objects. Where countries that once fought as foes, in the United Nations of football now stand side by side and compete in healthy wars.
They now find themselves in league tables where there are no guarantees to permanent membership; the weak and absolute all in the same category. Or is it? I suppose the cynic in us would say it only takes bribing a pundit or two to match fix. I quite fancy the look of Group G- what do you make of it?
It is that time once again where new identities emerge and old trans-national identities are challenged. Will I support England – I suppose UKIP would want me to, or would I root for France, or perhaps Spain..? I know Nick Clegg would strongly support the latter. Hmm maybe I am not so sure anymore. I know David Cameron would welcome my reticence. Let’s go for a referendum he would say and we shall go for majority vote. Labour and Ed Miliband wouldn’t want me to discriminate. I can almost hear their cries of we are all equal and each team brings something different. Ed and Co would have me support the whole World. Well funny they should say that because I am a lover of all things underdog. Such was the case during the 2010 World Cup quarter finals between Ghana and Uruguay.
In retrospect (what a joy of a mental tool that is), there were two things that stuck out for me during that game. Of course I am not sure if Uruguay would qualify as an underdog because I am not aware of their football plight or the lack of it. But Ghana I was semi versed in their footballing plight, at least within the context of the African Cup of Nations and thus Ghana was an obvious choice to rally as part of my campaign to pledge support for all the teams that were unlikely to go past the first qualifying rounds.
Any who, the thing or things that stuck out for me during that long winded game where neither teams were ready to call it a day was that:
- Londoners were uncharacteristically friendly even engaging in football banter (I happened to be in London at the time of that game). As a Northerner I always had that lot as an aloof forever grumpy bunch. We Northerners will always strike a conversation with one another (99.999% of the time it will always be about the weather).
- I found my body ridding itself of any lady like attributes it may ever have had. I had what I could only characterise as an out of body experience. Imagine a five foot five (and three quarters) lass amongst a swamp of testosterone rage, shouting obscenities at a plasma screen urging Asamoah Gyan to better not miss that penalty!!!
Lo and behold when he did miss it, I was protesting profusely that I could have done a better job. Where did I see such display of tantrums before, eh? More importantly how did I come to learn such behaviour?
Ahh such is Football…and life in general I suppose… you win some you lose some.