It's coming home, it's coming home...

... it's coming, England's coming home! Again, it has been long since I last posted anything, but in my defense, there is a world cup going on! Admittedly, I don't have too many friends left after Germany blitzkrieged England on Sunday, but Jess and Maxi came over for a couple of days, which meant that I didn't have to cut back on my socialising. But, much as I'm THRILLED for Germany's win, I'm also quite bummed that it had to be like this. I would have liked England to stay in the tournament a bit longer, and not only because the mood in the country is quite subdued at the moment (today's Guardian front page of despair says everything, really). And the ref's decision not to give the Lampard goal was a blooming injustice, of course. I still think that it was about bloody time that a ref started favouring Germany, especially after the Serbia match, but even the most ultra German supporter has to agree that the ball was about two feet behind the line.

On Saturday, when all my British friends weren't yet resolved to hate me for the rest of my life, it was Gareth's 26th birthday. Luckily, it coincided with the Hard Rock Calling concerts in Hyde Park, with main acts Pearl Jam, Jamiroquai, Stevie Wonder and Sir Paul McCartney, so we gathered our picnic paraphernalia and traipsed to Marble Arch. Gareth had invited a huge crowd, and even though we're all dirt poor and had to stay outside the gates of the main stage, we could still hear the music and had a good time in the sun with cider and heaps of food. At about half eleven, we went on to The Intrepid Fox, on of the tourist trap places near Tottenham Court Road and had a bloody great time dancing to atrocious (except for the time they played Johnny Cash) music and fending off the advances of even more atrocious hairy men (well, some of us did). I believe on the way back I started an argument with an increasingly panicky Byron (the lad to my right in the first picture), demanding to know why I'm always stuck talking to the awful mates of the guys my friends end up snogging by the end of the night. He couldn't get rid of me fast enough, while I ranted on to everyone who would (or wouldn't) listen.

All this, of course, means that I got barely any work done during the last week. I went to the library again on Friday (and the St Pancras reading rooms are worth another post at another time, but feel free to skip it if you're only interested in my drunken adventures), but they closed early that day, so that didn't really help either. I met up for lunch with my friend Alex who I met in Russia and hadn't seen in more than a year, and who luckily isn't a football person (he's into archery and huntin' shootin' fishin') and had a blast catching up and discussing Buffy and Angel's relationship with him (no, I'm not obsessed, there's just a lack of romance in my life due to recent events). He pretended to be having a good time as well.

Again, this is it for now, because the Paraguay - Japan match has just started and I have to concentrate on Roque Santa Cruz's thighs. As always, I wish you all a stunner of a week and thank you for putting up with my ramblings!