Chivvy along, gentlemen.

(I love this chap - Andy Zaltzman. His zest for the game is only matched by my sheer ineptitude for it. Its probably a good thing to get a political satrist to come in and write up about the plaid-slow game that cricket is.

Go Wisden. )

	'No slower human movement has ever been officially recorded than that of two umpires sludging towards each other to confer over the light'

The Ricky Ponting over-rate controversy has been one of the more baffling episodes of recent times, but is something of a breakthrough for those who see slow play as one of the most inexcusable and avoidable blights on the game, a tedious tactic indulged for too long by the authorities.

Cricket has found some spectacular means of worsening its own product in recent times – the current craze for building stadiums which are inaccessible to those unable to paraglide, for example, or pitches as dead as WG Grace, or the rebranding of Bad Light to Mild Murk. Slow over-rates are proud members of this hall of shame, and it is curious that the fitter and more athletic players have become, the less able they have been to average one delivery every 40 seconds.

In my next blog, I will suggest some means of ensuring that over rates are crisp enough to prevent Gubby Allen spinning too dizzyingly in his grave. In the meantime, is it too much to ask for umpires to start setting a brisker example?

No slower human movement has ever been officially recorded than that of two umpires sludging towards each other to confer over the light, like a pair of amorous teenage tortoises unsure of whether to make the first move, or two unhappy commuters trying to miss the same train.

This is sometimes equalled by the funereal dawdle to co-examine the roundness of an allegedly-misshapen ball, as if this responsibility is a holy, god-given ritual as old as time itself, and the ball is a precious relic whose molecules must not be woken.

Such sloth might have been understandable in the olden days of cricket, when umpires were only allowed to stand when they had attained a sufficient age to guarantee that their eyesight had failed. Now, however, the game is officiated by primed, thrusting superathletes (or at least by fit and mostly youngish men who probably have gym memberships). And yet, at stages of matches when they might be expected to scurry urgently in the hope of providing an expectant crowd with maximum value for their considerable money, they seem to move as if they are adjusting tentatively to a brand new spinal cord.

We'll all float on anyway.

Not to sound like a broken record or anything, but things with my friends are becoming weird, and I’m honestly not sure why I’m caring. I know there’s always been the politics of inter-weaving friendships, treaties and wars, so I shouldn’t really be surprised that some nations are having talks and closing borders while I stand here and govern my own little island.

But alas, less with metaphors/analogies (I don’t know the difference, never have, never will) and more with the real stuff. I'm sitting-out work again today. It was late to start the day with in any case, and the cubicles seem to buzz fervently every time I walk past. Signed up for another set of tests and found something that’s actually interesting.

Yeah, I’m bored.

Contemplating the Casual Grip of the Workday

Its been the sixth consecutive day in the training schedule. And the end seems to be the really far side of a dark tunnel. Or in my case, a well lit conference hall where most words discussed are written in capitals and nobody cares to elaborate what they stand for. So I have regressed pretty much in to the things that I do best. Doodle as I dawdle.

With the last bits of my sobriety ebbing, I delve into dark voyeurism as I look around me and the strange quirks that hide behind people become surprisingly evident. I find it an incredibly compelling thing to see middle aged people do some very childish things. I don't mean petty or small things, but actual unconscious actions. For instance, there was this suited sales head that complained that his tummy was sore, rubbing it for effect. Or that friendly European woman that kept swatting feverishly at a fly, wanting it to go away but too scared to actually hit it. Or when I see any of the speakers act shy or awkward or nervous. I once had this new geography teacher at school that was terrified of her class, and spoke in a voice that shook along with her hands. And as a class I don't think we made her life any easier either. Felt kind of bad for her, and even made the schoolboy error of voicing concerns to peers, who in turn peered down and declared "you fancy her!"

I guess it is foolish to assume that adults are in fact always adult 100% of the time. My own definition of adulthood is weird and pretty narrow. An adult is someone that is either successfully doing the family thing, and/or doing the whole career thing, who buy photo frames and pepper shakers and have creases in their facebook.

Since there are 2 parties that I have to be at tonight, and it is quite likely that I will end up driving when I shouldn't after I sit up late with friends playing video games and poker. It always makes me smile when we have those same old conversations that we had way back when, and realizing that despite appearances, people don't actually change that much. Not in a bad way of course. All their good points stay the same, its just their vices that evolve. From chocolate to booze to smoking and to other stuff. Our sins become more glamorous whilst our virtues remain true and steady. But then again, that is for later in the day.

For now, I am still in the same training session with its well lit conference hall and boring questions from people. Also, today was one that was wanting of any kind of action. And this kind of day always annoys me, where nothing is really achieved. The real regret is you know that you could easily have done something cool, maybe even awesome, or failing that, at least something useful and productive. I always end up getting all fired up to do shit and then within a few hours lose all momentum to follow through. The vicious and fairly linear circle thing. I blame my incredibly short attention span now that my mid-life angst is fast running out as a legitimate excuse.

You know what really brightens a day?

Being diagnosed with pneumonia.

Yeah, despite starting to feel a little better on Tuesday, the fever returned over the week and never left. I also feel like ass and sound even worse. Finally, I gave in and called the doctor this afternoon.

So, ahead of me, I've got at least a couple of days of staying at home and a nice big pile of antibiotics. On the upside, I have a nice bottle of codeine-rich cough syrup to make my days at home fly by. Hopefully I can avoid any conference calls. I'd hate to slur my way through an important meeting.

I keep see-sawing with the cold, alternating between phlegmy death and 100 health and armour every hour or so. Got caught in some nasty weather yesterday, my own fault for shunning sweaters in favour of the breezy look. I've always felt the cold more than most, and have taken to wearing thermals all the time, and sleeping with both a duvet and a blanket.

Stupid global warming. Why can't it just live up to its name.

On this day.

Five years ago I was having problems making the omni-directional vehicle run omni-directionally and swearing that patent applications cost too much. Really.

Four years ago I was sacrificing sleep to tell everyone about the ex-girlfriend. We met up and she returned all my belongings, and then she gave me seven hundred rupees that she owed me. I spent the next weekend drinking myself to death because I couldn’t deal with it.

Three years ago I was wondering if I might actually make it through the mba. All plans to be the suitable boy seemed to be gone with the weed.

Two years ago I was racing down the east coast road. I had candy in my till. A cutie to thrill.

One year ago I was wondering if its normal for your kid sister to gift you a zippo for your birthday. I had to bribe a friend to bring back an i-touch for her.

Six months ago I was buying a camera I couldn't afford.

Today? Hmm.... I just might tell you about it next year.

New Lease on Life

My first day in a house spent alone, I wander around my house wondering what to do with myself. I shower with the door open, alternating between singing cheesy songs as far out of tune as is humanly possible and thinking about post-big-city arrivals, when I’ll have nothing but at least a few more months stretching out in front of me. Suddenly friends are creeping out, half-blinded, and socially inept from spending too long pouring over notes on excel sheets they’ll never really understand, grabbing me by the shoulders and pleading let’s go for a drink as if it’s not quite acceptable yet.

Its my place now, so I dress in my shabbiest and yet comfiest clothes and wander around the house. I empty the box of spoons and pots that my landlord gave earlier, and fill my cupboards, I sit in every antique chair in the living room, each giving me a slightly different perspective than the one before. The doorbell rings and the salesman asks for some name I haven't heard of. I explain the person hasn't been living here and that nobody has lived here for a few years,

I sit, cross-legged on the carpet on my living room floor; organising my office bag & tearing up those sheets that invariable accumulate. I have a series of tests coming up and I choose topics to study, and mark them carefully with a bright post-it. Open book exams are a blessing. When the flatmate finally arrives home, he greets me with an expression reminiscent of the Hillary-Tenzing adventures and a Marks & Spencers bag-full of beer.

It was warmer after that.