England (provisional) squad:
Robinson, James, Green; G Neville, Campbell, R Ferdinand, Terry, Carragher, A Cole, Bridge; Beckham, Gerrard, Lampard, Carrick, Hargreaves, Jenas, J Cole, Downing, Lennon; Rooney, Owen, Crouch, Walcott*
Am baffled. But in a good way, I think.
*Theo's never played a premiership match. Garth Crooks isn’t happy at all.
As I walked from Westminster tube I did wonder how I was going to find the Elephant because the map and itinerary (I never realised elephants were so organised whilst travelling) were a bit vague. And then I turned into Horse Guards Road and there was the distant sound of an incredibly loud live band playing that specific brand of French pop music. I knew I was in the right place. And there were to crowds too, they were a bit of a give away.
I was brave and went on my own. I decided that I would go to the finale as I couldn’t go for long and wanted to make sure that I spent that time well. We are, at Froosh Towers, awaiting the transformation of bump to baby so we don’t like to stray too far from the nest for too long. It turned out to be a great decision.
Just as I arrived at the parade, which was full of people the Little Girl and the Elephant were making their way round the corner from the Mall. I managed to wriggle my way quite near the front as they came past.
It was awesome. It made me feel a bit tearful, actually. There were lots of small children on people’s shoulders (it was the must-have accessory) and I thought I wish I’d seen this when I was a kid and then I realised that it didn’t matter that I wasn’t a kid because it was working the same old magic. It’s nice sometimes to realise that life hasn’t got you trapped in its icy grip quite as tightly as you thought.
Its the Royal Court's fifieth anniversary this year and there are lots of events and galas celebrating fifty years of one of the great british theatres. The Sultan's Elephant goes to show that we, in this country, know nothing about theatre. Timely bit of Arts Council funding there.
Anyway, here are some photos.
See the tiny, tiny people on top of the elephant - that's how big the elephant was. The sultan is the guy in the red hat, I think.
Here's the Elephant, here's his steeple (trunk) look inside and here are the people. That's how it works! I get it. Oh, no actually I don't. Its still amazing.
For some reason, my being a muppet I expect, blogger won't let me do this in one continuous post. So, here it the next exciting instalment of Froosh and the Elephant's city break:
She was the hugest Little Girl ever. 
The Elephant and the Little (huge) Girl congregated in the parade ground near the rocket. I think the Elephant was a bit sad because it was nearly all over. As we all were. On the balcony, near the windows, there were two dancers, which goes to show how enormous the Elephant was. The music was great too. It was so loud that it was making the ground vibrate with the bass.
The tiny tiny men lowered the Little (huge) Girl in the rocket after they had put her helmet and goggles on. Safety first.
Clunk click every trip
And then the Elephant blew water into the rocket to fuel the Little (huge) Girl on her journey home. Then all this smoke and orange light filled the parade and when they lifted the lid off the rocket – she had gone. We all gasped because it was amazing. Where did she go? I don’t know. That’s the magic of theatre, people.
I crawled through the legs of people thronged ten, even twelve, deep to bring you these pictures of the elephant in repose. Because as every Roy Castle fan knows - dedication's what it takes.
Bye bye Elephant - come back soon. And bring friends, let's make a really huge party of it. You can stay in my garden, the squirrels said its okay.I think Orange picked the wrong animals to go with their talk plans. Firstly, how do dolphins send text messages? They haven’t got any thumbs. Also, the word ‘text’ much like the word ‘party’ isn’t a verb.
I therefore propose:
Squirrel
For the absent-minded
Squirrel is for people who put their phone down and then can’t remember where they left it.
Hyena
For the socially inept and irritating.
Hyena is for people who think the whole train/bus/street/pub/world want to listen to their conversation. When actually the whole train/bus/street/pub/world could cheerfully strangle them with their annoying lanyard.
Peacock
For the vacant poseur.
Peacock is for people who have the latest camera, pda, mp3 phone and can move the satellites over Russia but can’t work out answer it when it starts endlessly chiming Goldfrapp.
Mole
For the older user.
Mole is for people who press the buttons on their handset very slowly and very very hard and for people who have to hold the phone as far away as their arms will allow in order to see those buttons.
Sultan’s Elephant
For those who have the wrong number.
Sultan’s Elephant is for those people who get a lot of calls not really meant for them, not quite wrong numbers but still not actual callers.
Apparently the Fog Index is a measure of clarity in writing – writing with a high fog index will be difficult to understand; with a score of 50 meaning your writing is unreadable. Clear writing has a fog index of between nine and 12.
To calculate: Take an extract of 100 words, don’t count proper nouns and hyphenated words are one word.
I am minded to believe that you should vote on local issues in local elections, rather than bloody the nose of the government at the expense of a lot of councillors who want to do a good job for their communities. But sometimes, happily, you can have your political cake and eat it.
Once upon a time the Froosh lived in quite near Queens Park, when it wasn’t the four wheel drive infested nanny exploiting Notting Hill sluice pipe it is now. I rented a flat which was owned by a Labour councillor. Let’s call him Marmoset Jenkins. It was in a house that had been badly converted into two flats. Marmoset owned the whole house.
Although this property was Marmoset's registered address, allowing him to stand in the ward, he didn’t live there. He lived in another ward entirely. Although the property had formally been divided into 2 separate flats, we had our own gas and electricity bills, each flat paid half the council tax bill, which suggested as though all the tenants lived in the same house. How mysterious. How dishonest. How Nu Labour.
So, given that Sarah Teather seems to be doing such a great job, which suggests that she’d do an even better one with the council behind her, I shall vote Lib Dem. Along with most of Willesden Green if the posters in windows and placards in gardens are anything to go by. You could be forgiven for thinking that 'Lib Dem Winning Here' was an extraordinarily busy estate agent.
Maps Ahoy!
Other enormously informative post with nice picture. And another one.
Thank you for visiting - please sign our visitors book on the way out.
That's it, you look all cute while I'm taking your picture. Then run off with my camera and fill it with your filth. Twelve adult consenting squirrels indeed.
