|Reaching for the stars but it wasn't to be|
The day started on an ominous note. No rooster crow at 4am. And nothing since. I think I'm grieving over a stupid bird. And dumber still is that this morning I woke automatically at 4am. SILENCE.
Let's assume the rooster has "passed" as people like to say nowadays. I prefer the word "dead" but for some reason it's taboo. THE ROOSTER HAS DIED. HE IS AS DEAD AS A DOOR NAIL. DEAD DEAD DEAD. I feel better now.
As for the grand final for Miss Hissy's (The Hiss) division 3 netball team, Motley Crew, versus the Rough as Guts team, the less said the better. But here I go anyway.
The Hiss woke up feeling sick. She informed me that she'd vomited at 4am (what is it with this time of day/night?). Not once but three times. Great.
I put the spews down to pre-match nerves and told her to snap out of it. After a brief altercation, I raced up to the shops and spent a small fortune on a hand of bananas - for which I swore I'd never pay more than $5 a kilo.
She ate a banana and we headed off to the netball courts with Spanner and my parents.
I won't go into boring detail, suffice to say it was all downhill from the second quarter. The Hiss, who was Wing Defence, staggered off the court towards the end of the first quarter when MC was still a couple of points ahead. She looked ill - pasty face and clammy skin.
The RAG team went on to win 32-24 or something like that.
In all fairness, MC played a shambolic game and lost the plot. We seriously choked and RAG deserved to win.
So close and yet so far away. Maybe next year. But there won't be a next year for the poor rooster... May he Rest In Peace (or pieces).