I hate getting up when it’s pitch black out. Didn’t want to turn on the lights, so managed to fluff packing and dressing myself – before pouring salt on my Cornflakes. Least the train into Town was funny – bloke opposite me was properly wired. Good stuff. Met Rafa and Nathan at Euston, wondered what Robbie and co were up to, and spent a few minutes listening to Pendulum and figuring my **** out.
Weather was dismal from Stafford onwards (too right “It’s grim up north” Ian!). Up to Limey, munched down on a soggy Boots sandwich, and we ended up waiting 2 hours for the usual stragglers – mainly spent thinking “who on earth is that?” and wondering (maiming?) the locals with mad, Arsenal-esque one-touch total footie with Steve and Ian.
We all bussed over to Ian’s place, changed en masse, and skanked one red footie sock off him to go with my blue-and-yellow one. Wasn’t red for long! Matching’s for losers. Pitch was ‘orrible (completely sodden) and churned up in seconds.
As for the game itself, ended up on the South team because of numbers. Plan was to change into Red when Carl materialised but Mike was later sacrificed instead. Agree with Steve, really, the score flattered us. The other lot were fitter, faster, taller, better. Jack pretty much had the freedom of the park, Ian was his usual self, and their left-back clearly has a bit of class about him. Was a good laugh, though, especially watching Carl score the most ridiculous own goal I’ve ever seen. Hope people weren’t too put off by my constant moaning about movement and making space, runs, whatever.
EDIT: Basic situation as I read it, being the ground made it difficult to play. Long balls and flick ons became standard as running with it was largely a no-go. We couldn't really cope with runners from deep, our line wasn't high enough, and we weren't hitting the box enough. Fair play on the other lot: they managed to get the ball down and play a bit. Scrappy goals, largely, each end.
EDIT 2: Jack MOTM for me. Clearly not too shabby between the sticks, and somehow managed to glide over the skanked up pitch that I was struggling to walk through. Good shot on him, good feet, good movement. Maybe I should get baked before I turn up next time as well?
Special word for the spectators: they were rubbish. Fecked off at half time and didn’t even bring oranges. Poor show.
Anyway, trudged back to clean up etc absolutely covered in mud (always a good sign). Haven’t a clue how or why I managed to get it all up my back. Tried to speed shower, but didn’t really have much range of motion by that point and was messier than I thought. Somehow managed to fall out the bath and knock over half the bottles on the side. Smooth as.
Went alehouse. Cheap-as burger, chips, and pint made the world right again. Blame Steve entirely for what happened the rest the night! “Beer o’clock?”... “Ermm, yeh go on that”. “Beer?”... “Oh ****, go on then”! Attempted to play pool and failed miserably. In fairness, my partner wasn’t much better. Cheeky beer at the Tesco then into town. Few bevies and bars later and we ended up in some place with a moody as **** barmaid and a blonde dressed as Santa. Some stupid girl tried nicking my coat in Slaters while the singing and bouncing started (wonder if there were many mancs and bitters in?). Slammers in the next place did me in well and truly.
Not all that aware of Krazyhouse – intermittent moments of lucidity. Don’t think anyone won the kimoso sweepstake. I was skinned and thought it'd be a good idea to have a go - I don't actually remember this (thankfully). Must have looked like a right ****. Screwed over my plans to look cool in front of the internet kids. Apparently took a punch to the face, judging by my nose this morning. Successfully made an idiot of meself, happily boogied on a few podiums, and got my face ripped off by some blonde. Weren’t kimoso, but similar hair and build. Bint kept biting my lip – think I drunkenly got fed up and wandered off. Clearly'd got into a bit of a state by that point, and figured I'd blag anything with a pulse. Given that I could barely stand, let alone dance sensibly, was more David Mitchell than Cassa-friggin'-nova. Devo'd! Plan to impress the internet kids failed. Instead probably came across as a light-weight sex pest that can't dance. Swear it doesn't usually happen when I'm trolleyed, so you all got an exclusive. Happy days for all. Got a gander at Jack’s bird. She was a whale lad. Probably goes for Carl too judging by this morning’s accounts.
So, yes. Struggled not to fall asleep in my chips and mayonnaise (should have got pizza), apparently threw half my life savings at Robbie for the cab, and managed to crash on the floor quite comfortably in the end. Today’s been effort. Thank **** for painkillers (both for crashing headache and aching joints).
Cheers to Ian for putting us up – hope the house isn’t too much of a mess. Was made up with the cup of tea this morning. Hope everyone had a boss time!