Wednesday won't be Action Cricket night....

but that's not to say I won't still be hungover on Thursday. On Sunday evening our Dobermann, Duke, (I call him Bastard) decides to bully Cassie (one of the Weimaraner girls) to such an extent that she ends up prone in the flower beds. He does that now and then when he's showing off to visitors. The visitors in question are our now ex-neighbours, who sold up and moved to a suburb on the other side of Joburg. Nothing we said or did, I have been told. Anyway, so Cassie is not digging lying in the Agapanthys plants and I take a swipe at Bastard with my right foot, thinking he'll do his usual jink and give me the look like "Ha, missed again, ya knob", but I connect him right under his butt, by the feel of my foot this morning the hardest bone on a dog's body. I suspect a cracked foot, but it's still too swollen to tell... I drop our team captain a note to say I won't be playing, just on the safe side, and she somehow automatically knew what I'd done. Who says women's intuition doesn't exist? So I won't be at Action Cricket on Wednesday.....however... A mate of mine (also working at The Corporation, in the UK) is arriving on Wednesday afternoon to perform a security audit of the SA installations, which they are going to fail miserably, particularly the new disaster recovery site which has just about fuckall security (cost reduction exercises were blamed). I'll probably meet him after hours (by his own admission, he's a cranky bastard when he's tired after a flight) for a "Welcome to Africa" beer or twenty (it's his first time on the Dark Continent) so I have a feeling it'll still be a late one only I won't be so stiff from running between the wickets as I usually am on Thursday mornings...the hangover will most certainly be there though...