Chelsea Blues

Eitan and I go to the Chelsea-Newcastle game yesterday, which ends in a nil-nil draw. Woo hoo. It's a perfect afternoon for it - cold and mostly clear though the few hanging clouds turn pink and orange over London as the sun sets around 4PM. Chelsea dominates the game taking 27 shots on goal (vs two for Newcastle) but no net. The fans are grumpy then angry and shout epitaphs not suitable for an eight-year old but hey - this is half the fun. Eitan, as my fearless readers and family will know, is a committed Manchester United fan and the boy refuses to compromise wearing his Man-U reds: shirt, hat and scarf. He makes a point of telling anybody who will listen that he hates Chelsea until I order him to put a sock in it; eventually he notes "I am a bit scared of the fans." Regardless of team-colours we see our heroes: Lampard (pictured), Joe and Ashley Cole, Deco... for Newcastle, there is only one: #10 Michael Owen, who exploded on the scene with a marauding run straight through the Argentine defence from the halfway line, finishing with a thumping shot to give England a 2-1 lead in the '98 World Cup second round, a match which England eventually lost on penalties - of course. I watched the game at a pub in Fulham amidst a delirious, joyful and ultimately irreconcilable audience. Magic.

Sonnet spends the afternoon with Madeleine taking her to the movies and pizza (pepperoni of course). The girls do some shopping on the Richmond High Street. Madeleine has fallen in love with my hat and begs me to get her one too - she looks rather cute in it, I must say. Scrappy.

Madeleine, making an omelette: "Can I put peanut butter in mine?"