Pardon my Dutch

While trying to defrost my bones in the shower this afternoon, I was thinking about the worst weather conditions I've ever played hockey in... Sleet? Check. Wind? Check. Frozen pitches? Check. Not all at the same time though.

Today, we played in driving rain with bowl-you-over gusts of wind. And a maximum of 5 degrees C.

Kutweer. Pardon my Dutch.

The rain was unbelievable. We only played half a match (which felt like eternity) because eventually the match officials decided that the pitch was too water-logged. You don't say - we'd been gamely splashing around for 35 minutes, trying to play a ball which is not known for its floatation properties.

The events leading up to the game were entertaining - we got lost on our drive to the hosting club and decided to ask a passing police car for assistance. We arrived at the club via police escort.

We piled into the changing room, only to find ourselves locked inside. Tugging hard on the door handle simply pulled the knob out of its socket. Considering the weather outside, none of us were particularly keen on leaving the changing room anyway. Unfortunately somebody rescued us so we had to make a pretense of playing.

The shower when I got home was orgasmic. I can almost feel my toes again.

I curled up on the couch to watch some classic E! Network entertainment. Just as I was about to discover whether Lindsay Lohan's boobs were real or fake, our TV very quietly and sedately fizzled out. Mills is blaming me for breaking the TV.

The wind is howling, I'm finally warm and dry.
I have no TV. I'm going to bed now.
Bring on Christmas in SA. I need sun.

ps. By some miracle, Mills and I both passed our fluitencursus.