I can't stand it... get me to Antigua now!

Sitting on the train back to Richmond now. Sitting being a luxury, well sort of as it's next to a fidgety girl and a bloke who's clearly been playing football (not soccer or even Soca, which is clearly a style of music). The abject melancholy pervades my being and is exacerbated by the humdrum rigmarole of the relentless loop (or maybe it's that dictionary I've swallowed). Melancholy brought on of course by the clear excitement of the showpiece of our favourite sport.

They always say the last 10% is the hardest part and by my reckoning we're well into that now with regards to the wait we've endured since Barbados.

Frankly Frank's beach blogging is furthering my angst, my chagrin deosn't extend to deny Mr Coster his break however, but all this enjoyment and sixes and talk of sunshine is torture. It's almost tangible nasally - or is that the footballer's b.o.

Roll on March 28th... Quickly, before I 'happy slap' a fellow passenger!