Good morning to you all. I can hardly even bring myself to boilk the boilk even though the boilk is there to be boilked.
I blame an ex-teammate of mine who insisted that I start drinking yesterday afternoon even though I didn’t meet up with him until 11pm. He knows he’s to blame, although the lady who makes the nicest caiparinhas in town should be held somewhat responsible. But I mostly blame him, the cunting cunt.
I haven’t really looked at what’s going on in the Sunday papers ahead of the Boro game. Arsene Wenger says it’s now a ‘tough league’ or something.
A well placed birdie tells me that it’s possible that Bendtner and Adebayor will start today’s game. I suppose the rest of the team picks itself.
He also talks about Tresor Mputu, the man from Congo who loves the Um Bongo.
Apparently the big guns, of which we are one, are looking to sign 18 year old Spanish wonderkid Daniel Parejo. I wish I could care one way or the other.
And really that’s as much as I can manage. I have to shower, take strong painkillers then go about finding the match in one of the many bars here that will show it.
Bar? More drink? Oh, go on then.
Come on you reeeeeeeds. Till tomorrow.