Stealing A Game

A busy weekend passes and we seem to have found a groove of sorts. It helped significantly that there was a authentic French market visiting Henley. Apparently it comes every 5 months and I'm already thinking that's too infrequently. They had lovely French pastries, French bread and an incredible assortment of cheeses, French candies and them ost amazing produce which I can only assume was also French. The guy selling it was clearly French and, as mentioned, it was amazing. But really, to be fair, who's to distinguish between a French tomato and and English one? Anyway, we visited twice and have had pain au chocolat for breakfast, some lovely brie on baguette for snacks and... well, nothing particularly French for dinner, though we followed dinner up with a macaroon Louis XIV would have been pleased to eat.

Also this weekend, Henley Hockey Club kicked off its new era with me coaching. The team was promoted this year to the next division up and we were facing a team called Trojans who missed out on being promoted from this current division by only a single point last year. So, we were not expected to win. But we did. I fine 2-1 win, having come back from a goal down. Whilst I had almost nothing to do with the outcome, I can confidently claim being 1-0 as coach. Trojans are based in Southampton, meaning the whole family trucked down. Ange, Anna and Jacqui (a friend visiting right now) fared less well with the crowds on Southampton High Street than we did with Trojans Hockey Club. They were exasperated and defeated when I met them and we made a speedy escape from the masses.

I am realizing that I am caught in this horrible middle ground of language that I use. It was apparent to so many for so long back in Calgary, but I find it is fast becoming the result here too. After the game I spoke with the guys about doing a quick chalk talk before the next training to go over some system things. The look I got before the ridicule began was identical to the look the ladies back in Alberta gave me on so many occassions when some element of English slang slipped in. Partly comforting on some level, partly disconcerning that it is becoming increasingly apparent I will never be cool. I should have bought the Passat.

On our way back from Southampton, we stopped off for a very cool evening with Lee and Anna and their lovely daughters Lucy and Mia. Anna was in heaven with two older girls to play with. The photos are both from our evening in a quaint Wiltshire village...

It's only anectodal at this point, but I'm becoming convinced that Pampers nappies (diapers) are superior to Huggies. In fact, no-name may well be superior to Huggies. Or, looking at it yet another way, Huggies are rubbish. Which might go some way to explaining the fantastic deal we got on them. Unscientific research indicates that rabbit ears make Huggies better.