There's a two-word phrase of displeasure that I don't like to use too often. The kids of today, of course, have no qualms about using it three times in every sentence, but I will only use it when really pushed. And today, I feel pushed. Sorry mum, I'm going to have to say it: Man Alive.
Press conferences with the remaining teams are not a lot of fun - the players are great and you can talk to whoever you want - but they are full of foreign people, laughing at foreign jokes, and generally making me feel like a sore limb, never mind thumb. I can't chortle along in Norwegian! And what's more they have no problem with elbowing me, a girl and all, out of the way to make sure they can run off with their interview first.
And, what's even more [is that a phrase?] is that they're being held in these random places that require myself and the Megane, whom I have named Morag, to drive round and round Preston getting more and more lost [thanks largely to some utterly useless route planners that I AAsked for] until finally a map has to be bought.
I'm sorry, did that sound a bit grumpy? It's rather warmer than I imagined it would be, these two T-shirts and three jumpers aren't helping. I shall get word from the Swedish and Norwegian camps for tomorrow, and don't forget, the first semi is tonight. I shall be there.
