Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Oh kom op scheidsrechter!

I've been musing on this for some time. I've tried listening quietly, intently, like I was at Bletchley Park in the 40's trying to figure out Enigma. I've tried singing along loudly and with enthusiasm, channeling my inner Brighton boy band and hoping the words will automatically flow out of me. I've asked other people's opinions, hoping someone in nuhziland can interpret britspeak. (Not unless it refers to sport, it appears. Kiwi fans are able to repeat 'Aw, come on ref!' in at least five languages, and perform the haka in nearly 30 english dialects, but would be unable to ask directions to the nearest library in Leatherhead or Statford on Avon.)
I refuse to resort to looking it up on or its ilk. The last time I did that, I went around singing about stoic squirrels in Alanis Morissette's 'Uninvited'.
What the hell are the lyrics!?!
I know, she knows, that I'm not from the right school...
I know, she knows, that I'm not a fond rascal...
I know, she knows, that I'm not the Fonz on skis...


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