I will sing psalms of praise, yea, lift up my heart and rejoice.
Obviously been to church this morning.
And boy did I need to after Saturday's debacle with the football team. We need a miracle and if one happens I will, with a gladsome mind, render up joyful sounds.
I didn't even bother to note the goals. Six? Seven?
The opposition scored from the kick off. The bloke kicked it towards our goal. It hung in the air for so long that the goalie could have tied his shoelaces, picked his nose and set up home with at least three women.
He did none of these things and as the ball descended I looked on disbelievingly from the right wing as it dropped over his head into the goal.
1-0 before kicking a ball. Indeed before even needing to move my legs. Incredible. I simply twisted my torso to face the half way line.
The other side were good in that they kept possession well and those who weren't altogether comfortable on the ball passed it quickly to those who were.
I think it was 4-0 at half time and the only thing I can say that they were trying to showboat a bit in the second half. They weren't that good to do that and did lose concentration a bit. We should have scored one.
Well beaten.
Which is what galley slaves undoubtedly were.
And the scenes in the battle ship in the film Ben Hur remain among my favourites. Not necessarily for all the greased up torsos but for the sadistic cox (it's so homo erotic) who pounds fervently onto a drum the beat for "ramming speed".
My sister was on the phone just after Easter telling me that Ben Hur was on TV in England. I said it was on in France too. I thought of watching it to find out exactly what ramming speed was in French.
Not the kind of thing they teach you at university but more useful to my humour.
I woke up this morning to find out that Charlton Heston had died. He of mighty muscle and ubersquare jaw in various epics such as Ben Hur, the Ten Commandments and El Cid.
I like the bit in that film where he and the amassed armies avow to capture the Saracen stronghold of Valencia.
Chunk Heston turns that jaw into the Cinemascope, bares his strong shiny teeth and utters: "Valencia".
I've always watched Valencia's progress in the Spanish league since.
They're not likely to be relegated; we are.
I'm going to wheel out the videos from my video library of Ben Hur and El Cid in honour of a Hollywood legend.
God rest your soul Chuck. They don't make films like that anymore.
