Hot

This is a hot place. I mean this in the very best of ways. I'm ignoring Dr David's advice by even writing this but I feel sufficiently confident, satisfied and (frankly) smug about this that I feel honour-bound to end your week in a green fug of envy. Tell your friends so they can join you as you wallow in a pit of jealousy.

I should put this in perspective: you'd have to like the heat, the sun, the cocktails, the beaches, the occasional glorious downpour, the monkeys climbing telephone wires, the bizarre fruit, the empty, golden beaches, the chorus of frogs (sounding better than Paul frakking McCartney too) and the colourful and friendly birds ( you know what I mean). If not, then this isn't for you.

Saying that, it isn't all love and joy (despite Liverpool getting theirs from the fractionally-less-unlikeable Chelsea). While the Skins (the 11-a-side team for which I play) winning again is a good thing, I read the match report as a fairly clear indictment of my contribution. The match report suggests - in no uncertain terms - that, apart from a lack of pace, inaccurate finishing and panicking in front of goal, I am a valued member. Presumably in terms of reaching 11 players. Gits the lot of them. And there is a better word than 'git'. Nottingham Forest are also perpetuating the misery as long as possible too. It is inevitable that we won't get promoted - we don't deserve it. But come final day, if Doncaster drop points then we have a chance to go up. If not then it is the horror of play-offs again. Where we will lose. Probably to Leed, a club so distasteful I might actually prefer them to lose to Liverpool.


So, I raise a glass to sleep and holidays. I'll need more of one and can't afford the other. Cheers!