Yes, it rained – sort of. Light showers, as you call them, not enough to green up Matabeleland but a top effort nonetheless. You know that irritating light sprinkling in your hair and on your shoulders. Peeps were traipsing into the pub like there was free hairspray samples at the door.
Chilled with the crew at the Scud, waited for the Liverpool-Chelsea “match”. So there we were in our corner, screaming and hollering for the Reds, and the ref misses a couple of clean obvious penalties! For fuck’s sakes! Bleeding heck, the bastards drew *again*…what does it take for us to win?
Bleeding Crouch lumbering around up front: the geezer drifts too deep anyway, and it almost defeats the purpose to punt high balls to him cos he’s too weak to win them anyway. Anyway, why am I whining? Cos we had the posh bastards, that’s why. No worry, there’s always Sunday.
Had a laugh, though. As always.