Been a long time...

Boo!

Ha. Did I scare you?

It's been very quiet around here for far too long.

I wanted to come back with a bang but I fear that it is like to be more of a pathetic mewing noise. No matter, I shall continue undeterred for I know how long you've all been holding your collective virtual breath, just waiting for Miss G. Raffe Alicious to end her silence.

So a few things to get off my chest.

1.) I turn my back on my blog for a couple of months and what happens? The country, nay the world goes into economic meltdown. Good grief. Banks are being bailed out. Stock markets are in panic. Banks are merging. Politicians are back-stabbing (although that's nothing new). Unemployment is rising. The Liberal Democrats are conferencing (not quite so interesting that bit). I can't read a paper or turn on a TV without hearing about the credit crunch or mortgage rates or investment bankers or A. N. Other huge company I've never heard of going into receivership. Perhaps I should be reading The Sun and watching Channel 5? My friends and fellow citizens of the world, I have the solution: STOP PANICKING! I'm convinced that we're talking ourselves into a far deeper recession than we'd otherwise have experienced. Please note that this is coming for a certified expert on the subject. That's not just any A-level I have, it's an Economics A-level.

2.) Finally a reality concept that I can get on board with - the Revels Eviction. Oh joy! It appears that no longer shall we have to face the horrors of the Coffee Revel! Please excuse me as I take this moment to do a little victory dance.

My victory dance has been sadly cut short by a rumour that they plan to replace said evil coffee flavoured confectionery with a mint creme centred creation. Now I nothing against mint per se
but it does have a terribly unfortunate habit of contaminating everything else that it comes into contact with. I fear a world of minty-orange revels, minty-caramel revels, minty-raisined revels and the like may be upon us. Oh the humanity!

3.) Weather people - I know that it is cruel to accuse them of inaccuracies, meteorology is a rather inaccurate science (or so I'm told) but honestly could they not just hold off on their declarations of 'an Indian summer is coming - get out your sunglasses!'. Indian summer? Indian summer my foot. I was wearing three layers of clothing today AND a scarf - inside! I mean I've never been to India but I'm pretty sure that's not what they wear in their summer.

And finally, I feel moved to utter a few cheers for certain individuals who have made a favourable impression on me over the last few months of blog inactivity.

Giraffe-a-licious salutes:

• Andy Murray, for his wonderful run to the US Open final
• Chris Hoy, for his 3 Olympic gold medals
• In fact, I salute every British Olympic and Paralympic Gold Medallist (and some of the non-gold medallists too for that matter).
• The Script, for their wonderful debut album
• Christopher Nolan, for making the quite simply brilliant Dark Knight.
• ITV4, for buying the rights to and showing the Guinness Premiership Rugby Highlights.

Mamma mia, here I go again.

It's only a matter of time before I turn into my mother. I'm resigned to this fact. Already people are unable to distinguish between us on the phone; worryingly, even my dad can't tell us apart when he calls. My sister doesn't have this problem. She sounds different, looks different... sigh. I've got the same face, voice, temperament. Usually I am able to forget this fact. I can look to the future without seeing myself as my mother. Not at the moment though; my Nana is visiting. My Nana is my mum's mum and the similarities between them just serve to highlight the characteristics shared by me and my mum. I can imagine it must be quite scary for my dad to have three generations of women under the same roof at one time.

Thankfully it hasn't quite got to the point where I am indistinguishable from my Nana, but surely it is only a matter of time. I can only console myself with the fact that I'll always be taller! It's fascinating to look at other people and the traits and features that they've inherited from their parents and grandparents. But when you turn the tables and start looking at yourself it becomes less fascinating and more horrifying! I can't imagine what it must be like to not know your parents, either through tragic circumstances, family break-ups or perhaps because of adoption. I see so much of myself in my parents (whether I want to or not). Granted, it's likely that I see more because of the unusually large amount of time that I spend in their company. Most 23 year-olds would have lived away from home by now and even if they were still at home, I doubt they would see as much of their parents as I do. They drive me round the bend at times (I'm sure that also applies to the other way round!) but it's cool to know where I came from; where some of my weirder character traits emanate from. But on the flip side it's also nice to know which parts are 100% me!

P.S. So Brian Ashton has dropped dear Jonny from his starting XV on Saturday. Rubbish. He played badly, but no worse than the rest of the team. If Ashton's going to drop Jonny then he should drop every other player that was on that pitch last weekend. Bah.

Give Brian the boot

My word was it an appalling rugby match today. I'm referring to the Scotland vs England debacle. I can only hope that no-one watching rugby for the first time tuned in to it. They'll have been put off for life. Fair enough, the weather was atrocious but even taking that into account, the standard of play was far far below what it should be for an international fixture of that nature. England looked as though they didn't want to be there.

The only thing worse than their performance was Brian Moore's commentary. Somebody at the BBC needs to show that man the door. He was unbearable during the France match and no better today. Poor Eddie Butler is evidently losing patience with him and it's not difficult to see why. Moore is opinionated to the point of rudeness; loud; aggressive; belligerent. These are traits unwanted in a pundit, let alone a commentator. His job is to inform, observe and explain. Instead he rants and raves over refereeing decisions, player choices and tactics. He is the equivalent of a lager-filled fan sat at home on his sofa convinced that he could do a better job than every man on the pitch and given a microphone by which to makes his views known to the world. Moore was a fine player in his day (or so I'm told!) but he is clearly not suited to this type of media work. In print, he's fine - his Daily Telegraph column is obviously opinionated but if I'm not in the mood to hear his grumblings then I can turn the page. Any one of the BBC's current line-up of pundits would do a better job in the commentary box. You can hear the strain in Eddie Butler's voice. I wouldn't be surprised if come the match against Ireland next weekend we are audio witnesses to a murder! Moore believes his own opinion to be the only true one and will not hear a word otherwise. No matter how much experience he has had on the pitch, he is the junior in the commentary box and he should act like it. He shows no respect for his colleague, the officials, players or viewers.

Be gone Brian Moore and blight my ears no longer!

Oscar, England and delusions of grandeur.

I'm not one to brag but I'm pretty chuffed with the Oscar predictions that I made last month. Six out of eight ain't bad. It's also a lesser known Meatloaf song!


I've also been perusing all the red carpet piccies. I'm no fashionista mind, I just like looking at the pretty dresses! Giraffe-a-licious props to Anne Hathaway and Jennifer Garner who both looked gorgeous and prompted great feelings of jealousy within your favourite blogger.

Now onto more important matters... rugby! What a brilliant match on Saturday night and with the all important right result.
England finally put in a decent second half performance. More Giraffe-a-licious props to Richard Wigglesworth, Nick Easter and Jamie Noon in particular. Plus Mr W of course. If you don't know who I mean by that, then there's no hope for you.

The extent of my sporting activities this weekend amounted to watching the rugby and having a game of tennis on a Wii. Whilst fun to imagine myself teaching Maria Sharapova a lesson in the finer points of the game, the speed at which these exertions zapped my energy reserves combined with the pain in my arm and shoulder this morning mean that she's unlikely to be challenged in the near future. I'll just have to keep relying on Justine Henin to beat her. Hmmm... maybe I could help Justine out by giving her a few pointers? Do you think she's in the Yellow Pages?

The week that will be

I've had one of those weeks that quite frankly I'm glad to see the back of. Various problems and stressful situations have marked it down as one to forget and so I'm more than happy to move on into the 'bound-to-be-much-better' week commencing Monday 18th February. Optimistic as I am, I see it going something like this:

Monday - write blog. Hear a knock at the door. It's the postman. Junk mail, junk mail, junk mail, ah an interesting letter. Dear Giraffe-a-licious... love your blog... blah blah blah... like to invite you to Buckingham Palace for a cup of tea... do say you'll come... love Liz.

Tuesday - spend a couple of hours in morning volunteering for Alzheimer's Society. Head home. Someone flags me down to asks for directions. It's David Tennant. So grateful for my help that he invites me to appear as his assistant in the next series of Doctor Who.

Wednesday - go for meal with friends in the evening. Waiter brings me wrong order. By way of an apology I can have my food for free. Plus, would madam like a Pina Colada on the house? Why yes, madam would.

Thursday - a nice restful day spoilt only by David Tennant's incessant phone calls.

Friday - Wake up and am miraculously cured of M.E. Hop on a plane to some far flung, exotic destination in celebration of miracle. Or see if I can nab some tickets to England v France. That's got the Jonny Wilkinson factor. Hmmmm.... decisions, decisions...

Giraffe-a-licious's Guide to the BBC Sports Personality of the Year 2007

It's that time of year again. The point at which we sport loving Brits have to decide which of our sportsmen and women will be awarded that much coveted silver camera trophy thingy. The Beeb announced its shortlist of 10 potential winners a little over a week ago.

So in order to help all of you sporting ignoramuses out there with the difficult choice that faces you, behold Giraffe-a-licious's Guide to the BBC Sports Personality of the Year 2007.

Contestant number one....come on down!

1.) Joe Calzaghe - boxing. Undisputed super-middleweight champion of the world. Welsh, but I'll try not to hold that against him. If his success had come in a sport more widely recognised in Britain then he'd be a shoe-in. Guaranteed to make top 3 but I'll be surprised if he wins.

2.) Lewis Hamilton - Formula One motosport. I love this guy. Runner-up in his first F1 season. Could have won it. Personally, I'd rather he didn't win the BBC award this year. Yes, he had an amazing rookie season but I don't like to see a nearly-man beat a true champion like Calzaghe. Hamilton will have plenty more opportunities to win it, no doubt once he is a world champion.

3.) Ricky Hatton - boxing. If Hatton beats Floyd Mayweather in the early hours of Sunday morning then there is no doubt that he will also be crowned Sports Personality of the Year. It feels as though the whole nation is behind him at the moment, even those of us who aren't really boxing fans. But if the arrogant, trash-talking Mayweather beats him then he'll be out of the running. All or nothing for Hatton.

4.) Andy Murray - tennis. Murray has done brilliantly this year to finish the season at 11th in world, having missed 3 months (including 2 grand slams) of competition with a wrist injury. In the same situation as Hamilton - a winner of the future.

5.) Christine Ohuruogu - athletics. World Champion at 400m. What a year for this gal. An absolutely awesome performance in Osaka. The controversy surrounding her missed drugs tests will prevent her from taking the BBC trophy home. However in my opinion she has proved her innocence and it would be great to see her back next year with an Olympic gold medal around her neck.

6.) Paula Radcliffe - athletics. Winner of the New York marathon just 10 months after giving birth to her first child. Great achievement but didn't compete enough this year to justify giving her the title. Previous winner in 2002.

7.) Jason Robinson - rugby union. This guy deserves a lifetime achievement award rather than just this year's gong. Inspirational for England during the World Cup but ultimately they didn't win the final. Now retired - could make it into the top 3 by way of 'thank you' votes.

8.) Justin Rose - golf. European Order of Merit winner. A great season for the 27 year old but for a golfer to make any headway in this competition he must have won a major. Stick him in the same box as Hamilton and Murray.

9.) James Toseland - motorsport, superbikes. World Champion for the second time this year and graduating to MotoGP next season. Sadly his sport is just too obscure for the average punter to recognise.

10.) Jonny Wilkinson - rugby. I get the feeling that Mr W would be highly embarrassed were he to win again (he previously won in 2003). Talismanic for England at the World Cup, he will always remain one of our most loved sportsmen. But he would be the first to admit that many on this shortlist have outshone him this year.

So there you go. No arguments please. "This is my word. And as such is beyond contestation." <-------- name the film! Not you Kate.

Swing Lo, Sweet Chariot

Is it possible to get a hangover without alcohol? That seems to be the case for me this morning. I blame the England rugby team. Did they not read my post on adrenaline? They're cruel men, putting me through the wringer like that. Funnily enough I don't exactly have my blogging head on at this very moment. However, having had a quick skim read of the sports pages this morning, I felt I had to share a few words with those of you who aren't fortunate enough to read the Daily Telegraph.

Paul Ackford's column reports on England's preparation for yesterday's match and contains a number of jokes apparently doing the rounds in the form of texts, in the wake of the quarter-final results last weekend.

What's the difference between the All Blacks and a teabag?
The teabag stays in the cup longer.

What's the difference between an Aussie and a 747?
The 747 stops whining when it lands.

Which video has Wales's caretaker coach been watching lately?
Free Willy. It's the last time whales got out of their pool.

Genius.

Adrenaline Junkie

Merriam-Webster Online defines adrenaline as 'a colorless crystalline feebly basic sympathomimetic hormone C9H13NO3 that is the principal blood-pressure raising hormone secreted by the adrenal medulla'. Exciting eh?

For the record, I'm not an adrenaline junkie. Adrenaline is not my friend. One reason for that is probably genetics. My mum is actually allergic to adrenaline. So much so that when she visits the dentist she has to have a different type of injection to everyone else. But I think the main reason for my less than friendly relationship with this 'basic sympathomimetic hormone' lies within the whole 'fight or flight' scenario. Adrenaline is one of the hormones released when the body is under undue stress. The brain is programmed to release all this gubbins when it thinks we're in danger. Adrenaline and it's co-conspirators are designed to get you ready for fight or flight. That's all very well, but my M.E. saturated body is equipped for neither. No matter how much adrenaline is coursing through my veins, it's pretty improbably that I'm going to be much use in fighting a fly, let alone something that could genuinely do me harm. Instead I end up as not much more than a jittery mess! Physically dodgy, mentally useless and emotionally spent.

Now you may ask, "Surely Giraffe-a-licious with her M.E. and lack of energy does not often find adrenaline charging around her blood stream?" The answer to that my friends is that I acquire my adrenaline vicariously. Let me use last night as an example. England were playing Tonga in the Rugby World Cup and had to win in order to remain in the competition (albeit just to get squashed by the Australians next weekend). I love sport, I love rugby and I love England but I was nowhere near where the action was happening. There was no reason for my 'fight or flight' mechanism to go into overdrive. Yet it did. Apparently I was personally having my adrenaline handed to me by the England rugby team. It's often sport that causes me this problem. If you collected all the adrenaline produced by my body over the years, purely from watching Tim Henman matches then it would probably fill a swimming pool.

I've no doubt that I would be much better off not participating in the viewing of these events. But I think adrenaline production is also a sign of excitement and having fun. Some people get theirs from rollercoasters, I just watch British sportsmen.

God Save The Queen? Bobbins!

I'm as English as they come. English to the point of boredom. As far as I'm aware there is not a trace of foreign blood within my family tree back to at least my great-grandparents. So I don't understand why I'm not all that patriotic. I classify myself as British, rather than English. You'd never catch a Celt making that mistake. Friends of mine with only the slightest bit of Welsh, Scottish or Irish heritage to speak of make a huge deal out of their roots. This despite the fact that most of them are still three-quarters English! We just don't seem to have the same sense of national identity. I suppose it's probably just a case of the majority vs the minority. The underdogs always have that extra passion that binds them together.

I ponder on this because despite all evidence to the contrary I am convinced that I must have a bit of Irish blood in me. Rugby was persuaded me as such. Ireland are second only to England in my level of enthusiastic support. And it's pretty much all due to, what up until today I thought was, their National Anthem. 'Ireland Calls' is the most rousing, brilliant piece of anthem writing to ever meet my ears. Check out these lyrics:

Come the day and come the hour
Come the power and the glory
We have come to answer
Our Country's call
From the four proud provinces of Ireland

Ireland, Ireland,
Together standing tall
Shoulder to shoulder
We'll answer Ireland's call

Isn't it just perfect for rugby? Amazing. At least I thought so until I was informed by Wikipedia that it was written in 1995 specifically as an anthem for the Irish team! I had obviously noticed that there are often two anthems sung by the Irish before the kick-off but my simple little brain had reasoned that one was for Northern Ireland and the other for Eire. It turns out that what I had thought was the Northern Irish anthem is in fact Amhrán na bhFiann - the original Irish anthem. However, Unionists don't like the militant and potentially anti-British feeling of the lyrics. So in '95 the Irish RFU commissioned the new song. It's all rather complicated isn't it? But not to worry. I love this song and it would be even better if I was Irish! There aren't many anthems where you get to belt out your country's name in such a fashion. Plus it has its piece de resistance - a key change! If you've never heard it have a listen at the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIxe5ooQtqI

Altogether now.....#Ireland, Ireland...#

Football schmootball

The Rugby World Cup 2007 is about to kick off with France v Argentina. I just thought I'd share with you a list of the countries involved, arranged in order starting with the team I most want to win down to the Australians - also known as the team I'd least like to win! That way you can establish exactly which team I'm supporting for every single match!

N.B. Kudos to Argentina for their somewhat tuneless but enthusastic anthem singing.

England
Scotland
Ireland
Italy
Wales
Argentina
Fiji
Samoa
Tonga
Canada
USA
Romania
Japan
Georgia
Namibia
Portugal
New Zealand
France
South Africa
Australia