Yo All In The Game Yo

I come home to an inside job as Sonnet tears up the living room. We are going room-by-room and eventually the en suite gold leaf toast. Sooner the better. Our bedroom's green carpet also high on the priority list but, for now, another day. So, pictured, we rip out the existing horrible carpet, correct the ceiling cracks, take down the heavy drapes and change the overhead lights; we sink the flat-screen TV into a wall and re-wire everything. Wi-fi, baby. The fireplace will stay the same, God bless. Sonnet selects a cream and pewter colour palette. Tres lounge. Eitan and I smack Obama-rocks re the new hi-def screen which will cable June World Cup. England BTW ranked eighth going into the finals with, given the talent, a reasonable shot at the title. We have been here before, dear reader. Oh, my, the thought of being in the UK when the World Cup trophy returned to football's founders -- Oooh. oo. oo. I remember like yesterday watching the '98 semi-finals when 18-year old Michael Owen carved up Argentina at the Stade Geoffroy-Guichard, Saint Etienne (France) in a thriller England lost, 3-2. It was like the Cal-Stanford Big Game, '82. Well, almost. Madeleine could care less. Yo, all in the game, yo.