Through a combination of James Bond films, war films and 12 crumpets we've managed to see off Christmas Day for another year. Phew. It was touch and go for a moment, but I was able to spend Friday cocooned in warm nightwear at home in complete isolation from the mess of familial obligations and celebrity based TV specials which destroys so many souls up and down the country every December 25th.
Of course, it'll be several weeks before we'll be able to go near a shop for the throngs of bargain hunters willing to lay down their very lives to secure that discounted Kenwood mixer and egg whisk - but as long as I have access to the sammich sto' and they don't run out of crumpets we should be OK.
Always a tragedy when this happens, but it is of course Boyle's fifth law of the Universe that when a chap enters into a relationship he immediately forgets about his pals, his compadres, his fellow mob members, his amigos.
It won't last of course. I don't know Gary Anderson, but he looks like the shallow type to me. I've tried to tell Paul. To explain to him. Even if you were actually to meet him Paul, I said, he'd just use you, use you like a piece of meat, that's all you'll get from the likes of Anderson.
Would he listen? Would he 'eck as fuck. We've all been there of course. So we'll just have to let him make his own mistakes and be there for him at the end to help him pick up the pieces of a shattered life and a broken heart.
So anyway yes, tomorrow possibly the Pigeon's quiz, possibly Pigeon's poker on Monday, possibly even DTD for the second twenty-twenty game. More than likely though, more taking shelter and the further watching of war films and the eating of crumpets.
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