Anthem envy.

こんばんは喫煙の煙突,

That, I have been assured, is my greeting in Japanese to mark my 3rd and hopefully final dip into the office world cup sweep stake tin. You will have gathered by this time, that its not the most populous of teams that I work in.

I felt a new emotion this week, one that I didn't think I would, given my natural cynicism and likelihood to guffaw indiscreetly at the mugs who must always have the latest Apple product.

You know, the type that would rush out, buy and quaff down a Venrti sized cup of Apple i-boak.

At the risk now of appearing horrifically hypocritical, I have a Sony e-reader, a quite nice thing of useless techyness that does its job, all be it a job of questionable value, that of replacing much cheaper and more easily available paper based books, very well indeed.

I'm actually quite fond of it. Anyway, now, before I bring it out in public, and start swiping through the computer generated pages, I have to have a little look around for potential i-pad users.

This is because I have i-pad envy, and as soon as somebody unzips and unfurls the graphic girth and undeniable throbbing gorgeousness of an i-pad, my little Sony e-reader gets packed away. It just doesn't measure up, and that means I have failed as a man and my tools are less than adequate to even get through a simple 30 minute commute. I suppose it comes with age.

The World Cup, I love it and it has tempted me to the bookies to put a bet on a few match outcomes. A funny thing, the bookies in Canary Wharf, a Coral shop, totally mobbed at lunchtimes, full of bankers doing with their own money, what they do all day with other peoples.

It was so busy and chaotic, a bit like those images of the trading room floors in Trading Places, that I decided to do my betting business on-line.

My deep seated fear of bookmakers could be circumvented I thought, all done virtually, with simple forms and clicks and that. But no, its even more bloody complicated. I had 135 betting options to make for one game, its too confusing and I was momentarily blinded by choice and subsequently made, in hindsight, stupid selections that the directors of RBS probably would have baulked at.

One thing I will mention though, because I think it should be when customer service is often considered a nice to have rather than a prerequisite for retail outlets of any kind. Paddypower.com responded to my issue when I couldn't get a bet on before Algeria's first game because of some technical thing. They contacted me personally and gave me a free £5 bet too, even though my selections that didn't go through were losing ones, I was impressed by that.

I've enjoyed the football, and I've enjoyed how South Africa is being portrayed by the sceptical visitors who thought it would be hellish. I thought it was a beautiful place, populated by really nice, hospitable people and I'm glad the rest of the world is seeing a bit of that too. African pre-conceptions are vivid and almost immovable. But by going there you begin to realise that its no different to anywhere else, just people getting through the day, sleeping, working, eating drinking and laughing. Sometimes they clash, sometimes they hurt each other, but its the same in every town in the world. Even in my hometown of Dunblane, a place where the entire population could fit in an upper tier of a stand behind the goals in one of these South African stadiums.

Saying that, I hear those vuvuzelas and I hear a million hornets playing kazoos through a comb and paper, aggressively. But when I see all these fans waving them over there heads in that rhythmic dance, i see machetes, Kalishnikovs, burning tyres and impending hacking.

Probably its because of the images I grew up with on the news, if so, today's school generation hopefully will have a totally different view of Africa, and the World Cup will go someway to giving them that.

Everyday at work, I get in the lift to the 22nd floor. Its always packed and stops at nearly every floor from the 14th up. Now, when it gets the the 17th floor it stops and the pre-recorded message, provided by a vaseline voiced mature hottie that I imagine looks like Anna Ford says, "Level 17". As soon as she says that, in fact, now its started before she says it, as soon as we have left the 16th floor, a voice starts singing in my head " I'm so tall, I'm so tall, you build me up, and then you let me fall". Now that is a little strange, but only a little if that 80's ditty was sung by the Level 17 of my immediate location, but its not, its by Blancmange, so how do you explain that?

I nipped for a haircut on the way to work the other day, a risky strategy given the incredible length of time my new barber, Georgios, takes to cut my hair, I mean, its not like I'm David Ginola or someone. Now, I was the first customer of the day, and I don't know if its tradition he keeps or not, but I was given a first customer of the day coffee, which I tought was a nice touch. It had the desired affect too, because I rounded up my £8 haircut to a tenner as a tip for himself and in the process think I stumbed upon the very root of the whole credit crisis and world wide shortage of money. Imagine if everyone payed 25% more for everything than was asked, even if they receive something for nothing ie, coffee, i ended up paying £2 for it when it probably only cost a pound. Times that by 100 billion and that suddenly explains where all the money is, its in tip tins in bars and barbers all over the world.

I have this unfortunate affliction, one that I have been unable to find any cure for, or help in easing the effects. When I mean to type THE, I always type TEH. Its some kind of finger autism or digit dyslexia. I don't know what to do, my spellchecker is beginning to grumble about working hours and terms and conditions.

I was offered a Jelly Tot the other day. The golden years of sweety satisfaction came sugar rushing back to me. But as I remember it, Jelly Tots were only one of three joyful candy princes of 70s confectionery royalty. While Jelly Tots has enjoyed a long e-number fuelled position at the very top of our affections, even enjoying privileged accommodation in an over sized cardboard tube at Christmas time. The two lesser brothers have trodden a less sure path, often turning up in budget bags of dolly mixtures and in the baking aisle of the supermarket. So, who can tell me the three points of the Tot triangle that controlled the sugar supply to kids in the 70s. Jelly Tots, was one, tell me the other tots and I'll blog happier in future with the belief that someone is actually reading these havers.

I hear today that Danny Boyle, the Oscar winning film director, has been picked out of the creative British gene pool to imagine the Olympic opening ceremony. Which provides an opportunity to consider exactly the kind of spectacle we might get. I would suggest a Trainspotting inspired routine, with a huge Beijing size junkie dance rave mash up followed by a synchronised glassing in the middle of the stadium by a load of Begbies. Then we could have a giant worst toilet in the world rising up from underground with the mascots climbing out.

The only thing that would come close to topping that would be if the the organisers had gotten all mixed up and booked Frankie Boyle by mistake. Then we could have looked forward to a turn involving folk having mass simulated sex with oversize British woodland animals, a kitten for the cuddles and shagging an owl doggy style because of the eye contact.

One last thing about the World Cup. I have seen all the teams in the competition now, which means 32 National Anthems and without doubt, as if there was any doubt, the English one, and remember, its partly ours as well, is without doubt the very worst there is. The French have a rousing tear inducing skelp, the Italians, the Americans, the Mexicans, even the Nigerians and North Koreans have joyful, uplifting spirited tunes that instill only pride. You actually get the feeling that if you played them before a battle, it would be worth a good few men of a start. This is embarrassing but I think totally by design and not a fluke of national tastes. You see, the countries with the great anthems have all had revolutionary pasts Tunes that have them marching down the high street with pitchforks whereas our anthem was probably written to suck the rebellious spirit, and every other spirit, out of us. After listening to God Save The Queen are you more likely to meet your pals and burn down the post office, or go and put the kettle on. I'll let you decide.

Lang may yer lum reek.